8. Alex
“You don’t wantme to train Molly?” Kit asks, grinning at me. It’s Molly’s first day on the job, and we’re in my office while I gather Molly’s paperwork. Between the four of us, we’ve already milked the cows, shoveled the shit, and had breakfast. Kit’s gotten better about waking up on time and also wearing pants, so the mornings have been a lot more enjoyable. “I’m very good at my job,” he continues, practically preening.
“You’ve been doing ‘your job’ for exactly two weeks. And Friday, you screwed up an order and double-charged someone, and I had to come down and fix it for you.”
“I’m better with people.”
So true. “I don’t think Molly needs training to talk to people. She needs to learn the software and how to stock, which is my forte. Plus, you’ll be gone someday and I’m the one who is actually her boss,” I point out. “Despite your efforts otherwise vis-à-vis the HR department.”
That argument conveniently overlooks the fact that Kit has no plans to leave anytime soon, and when he first came to stay with me, it was for “a month or so.” I don’t mind at all; I love having Kit around, and it’s nice to have extra hands around the farm, especially when I can call someone up and have help in less than five minutes, versus calling Jesús and interrupting his family time or Perry and making him drive the thirty-eight minutes it takes for him to commute.
“Fine,” he allows.
I’m a little relieved. Kit can charm the pants of most people, and I don’t want him working that charm on Molly.
Because she’s my employee, and that would make things weird.
Minutes later, I walk down the driveway to the farm shop. Since I’ll be there for a while, I leave Trixie up at the calf hutches with Kit and Perry while they work on minor maintenance tasks. I arrive at 8:55 A.M. to find Molly already here, her bike leaning against the back of the shop while she waits by the door, fiddling on her phone. She smiles when she sees me and salutes. “Hey, boss.”
She’s wearing jean shorts and a flowy top with no sleeves, and I suspect she’ll be cold today since, unlike the barn, the shop stays pretty cool with the air conditioner running.
Now that I’ve seen her van, which made me feel like a giant, I can’t help but think of her as pocket-sized. The shorts sure do make her legs look long, though. Long and strong, with tanned and freckled thighs.
I snap my gaze away from her bare skin and unlock the door. I hope Molly is a quick learner, so I don’t have to stay here in this little room with her all day.
Molly bounces in behind me. “No Trixie today?”
“No.” I step behind the counter and wiggle the mouse. An abandoned solitaire game comes up, and I swallow back a sigh. Kit plays games because he’s bored as fuck back here. However, I don’t want to set a precedent with Molly. “No games when customers are in the shop. I know it gets slow sometimes, but if you see someone coming in, don’t look bored.”
“Got it. Can I read a book if I’m alone?”
“Sure.” I show Molly how to log in and how to make sure the POS is working. I’m running over the merchandise when our first customer pulls into the small parking lot out front. Molly follows me back to the counter. I can feel her standing behind me as we watch two people get out of the car and look around before entering.
The first woman, a curvy brunette, smiles at me, and then her eyes flit about the space. The second woman, shorter and with a side cut who had her hand on the first’s back when they entered, meets my eyes, and I give her a chin dip as a greeting.
I once went to a Hibachi restaurant in Albany where the staff shouted “irasshaimase!” any time someone walked in. It was the most uncomfortable dining experience of my life. There is no need to force friendliness, in my opinion.
Behind me, Molly leans on the counter. I return to our lesson in the merchandise, but quietly.
The women grab a dozen eggs and pay. I’m showing Molly how to ring them up when she smiles at them. “It’s my first day,” she explains. “He’s training me.”
“Fun job,” the shorter woman says, and I tense at the sarcasm.
Molly doesn’t notice it. “I know, right?” I’ve known her less than a week, and I can tell without looking that she’s smiling. “It’s really beautiful out here, and Alex promised me I could pet a cow later. Plus, I get to take home fresh milk and eggs, and let me tell you, those eggs will blow your mind. Have you ever had farm-fresh eggs?”
When has Molly had our eggs? I told her one perk of the job was getting as many eggs and milk as she wants—she’s one tiny person. How much could she consume? I gladly send four dozen eggs a week home to Jesús’s family of five—but I was going to send Molly home with some today.
“We belong to a CSA in the city,” the woman says stiffly.
“Oh my god, that’s so cool. So, you know exactly what I’m talking about. What other stuff do you get with your CSA?”
Ten minutes later, I’ve run another transaction for some milk and a T-shirt. Molly and the formerly surly woman have swapped recipes for garlic scapes, and Molly’s given her a flier about our CSA, even though it doesn’t service that far south.
“Bye,” she calls as they leave. “Enjoy the milk and eggs!”
The next customer is easier—a local I know who works as a nurse at the hospital in Climax and passes us on her way home. We chat for a bit—she eyes Molly but is more interested in the local gossip and takes all my grunts as interest. I think she’s also disappointed Kit isn’t here, because she looks around and asks after him.
She finally leaves as another couple comes in, this time a man and a woman who is, I’m pretty sure, but I know better than to open my trap, pregnant.
Like, she’s about-to-pop pregnant. Years ago, my kid brother Samuel, always super inquisitive, asked a lady in the grocery store if she was having a baby. Mom, harried from having to make an emergency trip to the store with five kids, gave him the dressing down of his life.
I remember her squatting down and gripping his little arms. “Unless you see a baby coming out or the woman says she’s pregnant or her water breaks—” Mom had stopped. Looking back, I wonder if she’d been thinking about how water breaking might look an awful lot like peeing your pants, and having to explain the differences to a five-year-old was probably too much to tackle on that day. “No, unless you see a baby or she says she’s pregnant, never assume.”
That was five years before my parents were in a freak accident. I was twelve when they died, and to this day, memories like this still catch me off guard with a deep ache of grief.
I turn slightly and nearly bump into Molly. This space behind the counter is too small for two. “Why don’t you take over?” I mumble.
She lights up. Man, making her smile is so easy.
“Welcome to Udderly Creamy,” she calls to the couple. “Can I help you with anything in particular?”
The woman puts her hands on her lower back and blushes. “Sorry, do you have a bathroom?”
Molly looks at me, and I lead the woman into the back. When I rejoin Molly up front, she’s come around the counter and is talking to the man.
“We saw a sign for a place called Climax and just had to stop. But we got turned around, and then we saw a sign for fresh eggs, and here we are.”
Molly turns toward me. “They’re on their baby moon!”
I raise an eyebrow.
“The last vacation before the baby is due,” she explains.
I’m pretty sure these people are here for the bathroom and not to make a purchase, so I leave Molly to chat with him. The woman comes out of the bathroom and joins in, and a few minutes later, I catch the phrase, “You might as well stock up while you’re here.”
Molly gives them a spiel about our farm— verbatim from the flier—and holds up a bottle of milk and some eggs.
“The eggs aren’t pasteurized,” I call out. “The FDA recommends pregnant women only consume thoroughly cooked eggs, especially if they are unpasteurized. But the milk is pasteurized.”
Molly grins at me. “Good to know.” She turns to the couple and explains, “It’s my first day on the job.” This time, it’s said with more pride and less embarrassment and received with even more warmth. She starts to ring them up and then freezes. “Oh my god, we have kid’s shirts, right?” She darts around the counter, nearly shoving me out of the way. She quickly sorts through the rack of kid’s size T-shirts and pulls out the smallest one she can find. It reads, “Grab life by the teats,” with a stylized cow on it.
“Oh, how adorable,” the woman gushes, and Molly finishes checking them out and even walks them to the door, waving goodbye as they drive away.
She skips back to the counter, her grin mischievous. “I’m good, right?” She sticks two thumbs out, all bluster and cockiness. “I’m so good. I’m gonna smash this job,” she sings, adding a dance to it, putting one hand behind her head and shuffling her feet.
Kit gets like this too, and when someone compliments him, he coasts for days on that high. I gruffly tell Molly, “good job,” and she beams at me. “Call me if you need anything,” I add.
Molly stops dancing. “Wait, what?”
“You’re ready. Give me a call if you have any questions.”
I’ve surprised her, and maybe there’s a flash of disappointment on her face. She’s probably still nervous, but I’m confident she can hold the fort down here better than I can. And on the farm, there’s always more work to be done, so as amusing as it is to watch Molly, I’ve got to get back to my real work before I discover just how much I could like her.