Drive, drop, and go.

The life of the local milkman.

I park the truck at the end of First Street and slip into the back to fill a crate with as many full glass bottles I can carry. The crate gets lighter as I make my way down the street, stopping to replace the empties on porches with new ones.

Just your typical Monday in Clover, Kansas.

I round Will and Jovie’s house and find an empty bottle there waiting for me. I lean down to grab it when a little face appears behind the screen door.

Joanne stands up and places her itty, bitty hands against the door.

I grin and take a knee. “Hey, there,” I say, waving.

She smiles right back at me as if we’re old friends, giggling and smacking her hands against the door. She knows me well enough by now.

“What are you laughing at out there, girl?”

Jovie swoops in and she feigns an excited gasp as she picks up Joanne.

“Is that the milkman?!” she asks her. “Say, ‘Hi, milkman!’”

Joanne mutters something that I guess counts as words.

I pull open the door and slip a fresh bottle from my crate into Jovie’s free hand.

“Thank you,” she says with a nod.

“Busy morning?” I ask.

“No more than usual.” She adjusts Joanne on her hip. “How about you?”

I shrug. “Same.”

Will steps into the kitchen, bee-lining straight for the coffeemaker. “Hey, Nate,” he says, waving at me.

“Good morning,” I greet.

“Are you two still gonna make it to Lucky’s on Friday?” Jovie asks me.

I nod. “We should. Kimber’s been talking about it all week but it’ll depend on how she feels on the day. No day is ever the same anymore.” I gesture at Joanne. “As you can probably remember.”

Jovie rolls her eyes. “Gosh, don’t remind me.”

Will hovers over her shoulder with his mug. “We’re flexible. Just let us know.”

“Will do,” I say, shifting a step back. “I have a few more deliveries to finish up. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay. Bye, milkman!” Jovie says. She takes Joanne’s little hand and waves it at me. “Say, ‘Bye, milkman!’”

“Bai.”

Will and Jovie gasp.

I throw my hands up. “Hey! She said it!”

“Say, ‘Bye!’” Jovie says again, nudging the child’s belly.

“Bai.”

“Say, ‘Bye-bye!’”

“Bai-bai.”

Jovie shrieks as motherly glee takes over. Even Will fawns over her, abandoning his precious coffee to congratulate his baby girl.

I take a few steps backward, smiling to myself and leaving them to their moment. Echoes of ‘Bye, milkman’ fade off behind me as I walk down to the next house over. The last stop on my route.

The VanHouten house.

Another family moved into it a long while ago but it’ll always be the VanHouten house to me. I can’t help but recall my first day back in town every single time I walk up the winding sidewalk toward the back door. I still find myself wanting to reach for the door handle, let myself in, and wrap my arms around the beautiful, forbidden woman waiting for me inside.

But I’m not that kind of milkman.

Not anymore, anyway.

I replace the empties with two fresh bottles and head back to my truck to drive home.

The town quickly fades off behind me and I turn off the highway as soon as I see the Scott’s Dairy sign.

We’re always there for you.

It’s good to know that relationship has always been mutual with Clover.

I park the milk truck beneath the oak tree by the barn and head inside through the back door.

“Hey, Mom.”

She glances up from her chair at the table. “Welcome back, kid,” she says.

“Is there more coffee?” I ask.

“I left enough for one more. Finishing up mine and then the boys and I are tackling that fence out there.”

I fill a mug with the last of the coffee. “I’ll get changed and come out to help.”

“Sounds good.”

“Where’s Kimber?”

She snickers. “Guess.”

I deflate and take a quick sip before abandoning the mug on the table.

The old floor creaks beneath me as I head toward the open door just left of the stairs. I glance at the walls along the way, admiring my wife’s paintings and finding something new I adore about them. Just like I always do.

I usually love the smell of her paints but my nostrils flare now as I form a scowl and I lean against the open doorframe of my old bedroom.

Kimber stands in the center with her back to me. She holds a paint roller by her right side, pinched between her thumb and index finger. The roller is caked with a bright shade of blue.

“Kimber…” I say.

She turns around and looks at me, her other hand rubbing her chin. “I think I changed my mind again,” she says.

I take a moment to admire her profile. Her hair is pulled back in that cute, loose ponytail she always wears now. Her sleeveless sundress travels down to her ankles. Her stomach extends out slightly, the beginnings of an adorable bump.

Halfway there.

I step into the room. “You don’t like the sky blue now?”

“Should we go for a dark blue?” she asks, gasping at the idea. “Maybe a night sky theme instead?”

I pause beside her. This is now the third time in as many days that Kimber has had this argument with herself.

“No...” She bites her lip. “We liked the open brightness of the sky blue, right?” Her head turns toward me when I don’t answer, her hand unconsciously traveling down to rub her bump. “Right?”

I say nothing. I gaze at her instead as warmth spreads through my fingers and toes.

“What?” she asks.

I extend my hand. “Come with me.”

“Well, we should decide—”

“Put the brush down and come with me.”

“Is something wrong?”

I guide the roller out of her hand to the mat on the floor and lead her out of the soon-to-be nursery.

“Nate?”

I ignore her, knowing that the concern in her voice will be gone soon.

I open the front door and we step outside onto the porch. She looks at me with cautious amusement but she follows anyway. She always does.

I sit down on the porch swing and gesture for her to join me.

Kimber smiles and takes her place beside me. I turn up my open hand and she lays hers in it, entwining our fingers as we gaze out across the fields.

We see cows eating fresh grass in the fields.

We see the milk truck parked beneath the oak tree.

We see thirty years of beautiful mornings.

“Sky blue,” Kimber says with a nod. “That’s the one.”

I raise her hand to my lips, softly kissing her knuckles. She leans in close to rest her head on my shoulder and I wrap my arms around her.

Thirty years. Maybe more. So many years of life just waiting to be lived.

Years of making love and counting the stars through the bedroom window. Of rolling our eyes at the town folk of Clover, Kansas. Of watching our son grow up, inevitably reject us, and come back when he eventually figures his shit out.

A life where I proudly took my place in the world.

And Kimber learned to love herself, inside and out.

And Gertie never roamed again.