Cattle Stop by Kit Oliver

Chapter Thirteen

On the traininto the city, Whit stares out the window, his eyes tracking across the landscape and his thumb rubbing against a crease in his jeans.

Cooper leans into him, bumping their shoulders together. “What’re we looking at?”

“I can’t remember the last time I was down here.”

“Ooh, buildings, pretty.”

“Did you always take the train?”

“I know you’re a glutton for punishment, so I’m sorry I spared you the experience of driving into Manhattan,” Cooper says. He’s close enough, he could rest his chin on Whit’s shoulder, though he draws back an inch before he can give in to the urge to cuddle up to Whit’s warm, broad back. “Yeah, Grandpa’d drop me off at the station upstate.”

“And your mom would pick you up?”

“Smarty-pants here.” Cooper taps a finger against Whit’s temple. “But I’d just take the subway back to good old Brooklyn.”

Farm boy in the city, Cooper thinks. And maybe in some other life, Cooper would tease Whit, press a kiss to his cheek, and whisper into his ear about being a country bumpkin.

But no. Cooper sits up a bit straighter and says, “Which is the train that goes from Grand Central to where I grew up.”

“I thought you said your mom worked near where we’re going.”

“Yeah, but ‘working’ is the key word.”

Cooper can smell the soap still on Whit’s skin. Not a couple, he tells himself when he wants to tuck his nose into Whit’s neck and breathe. Not a couple, not dating, and not snuggling together, because scratching a mutual itch is real different than a romantic fucking train ride.

Cooper forces a couple more inches between them, though he lets himself reach past Whit to press a finger to the window, his arm brushing Whit’s shoulder. “Look,” he says, “oh my God.”

“What?”

“You see that?”

“See what?”

“Is that—oh shit, hey, Buttercup!” Cooper slaps the flat of his palm against the window, waving excitedly, and Whit bats his hand down. “He must be making his big break into the city life. Look at him keeping pace with us.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Think he wants to be an actor? Showbiz, this is where it’s at!”

“Absolutely absurd.”

“Too bad you’re stuck with me anyway.”

Whit settles back into his seat. His knee knocks into Cooper’s, jostled by the motion of the train. “Too bad,” Whit says.

In Grand Central, crowds sweep out onto the platforms. Cooper grabs the bag of cheese, checks the ice packs nestled carefully around the packages Drew selected, and steps into the swirl of pedestrians.

“Where’re we going?” Whit asks.

Cooper slips between a trash can and a family with a stroller and shopping bags. “Just follow Buttercup.” He turns, ready to catch the roll of Whit’s eyes.

Whit isn’t behind him.

No, Whit’s stymied in the crowd, stutter-stepping when a knot of teenagers passes in front of him, like a calf unsure how to push forward to the hay feeder.

Cooper works his way back and snags Whit’s wrist. “We’re heading for the four, five, or six.”

“The green trains?”

“Please, we don’t call the trains by colors, this isn’t Boston.”

“What?”

Cooper tugs. “C’mon.”

Long, warm fingers lace through his. Cooper’s stomach leaps and he presses his teeth together. Oh, how easy it would be to pretend. A day trip down to the city with his gorgeous boyfriend, lunch with Mom and Terry, an idle wander down the sidewalk as they sip expensive coffees and window shop, shoulders brushing together.

Cooper pulls Whit forward, unrelenting against the press of the crowd. They’re delivering cheese and he’s embarrassing himself.

“Would we have to do this every time to make a delivery?”

Business as usual, Cooper thinks and jerks his wallet out of his pocket in front of the turnstiles. He’s got an old metro card in here somewhere, creased and bent but a couple dollars on it still, and he swipes it twice, nodding Whit through ahead of him.

“We get this account humming,” Cooper says, “and Drew can probably just hire someone or arrange something with Brad’s market.”

Whit’s hand twitches at his side. Cooper tucks his into his pockets, refusing to reach for that warm palm and those gentle fingers again, and winds his way toward the stairwell, far slower than he would if Whit weren’t following him.

A stop before the one he’d take to get to his mom’s office, Cooper steers Whit off the train and jogs up the stairs until they emerge into the heat of the midday sun, towering buildings and crowded sidewalks.

The market is all modern glass and polished counters. Cooper wants to check the soles of his shoes for mats of hay and manure, as if a drive and a train ride and the subway isn’t enough travel from the farm to wipe him clean.

Hot farmer look, Penny had called it once, when they’d sat on the tailgate of the truck at a farmers’ market, swinging their legs and watching the vendors and customers. Canvas work pants, sun-bleached T-shirts, and scuffed leather boots, and yeah, Penny wasn’t wrong that it’s a damn nice style.

Now, he just feels as out of place as he did when he was a teenager, back in the city again after weeks on the farm, wishing for rolling pastures and the call of birdsong. Though, at least he’s not balking like Whit is. Cooper grabs Whit’s wrist and drags him to the market that Brad had described—white walls and industrial light fixtures and displays full of cheeses and cured meats and baked goods.

Catching the eye of the woman behind the counter, Cooper puts on a smile and steps forward. “Hi,” he says, “can I get one of those cupcakes to go? Boxed up, please, it’s gotta survive a train trip. And while I’ve got you, we’re here from Two Pines Farm. We’re looking for Myra.”

“You found her.”

“Well, hi there.” Cooper sticks his hand out to shake hers. “Brad sent us down to talk with you.”

“Brad?”

“Works for Elaina, at your upstate location? He said he’d been chatting with you about a position as a purchaser here? Great guy, knows his stuff, and look at him already sending folks your way.” Cooper slips the bag of cheese out of Whit’s hand and sets it on the counter. Maybe Brad really will move to the city, and Cooper won’t have to hear the crack of his gum ever again. “I’ve got some samples here. Pasture-raised, Jersey cow milk, all from our own herd. The farm owner, Andrew Madison, he makes it himself.”

Cooper sets out the wheel of Brie, the wedge of Parmesan, and the block of cheddar. The mozzarella, ricotta, and burrata all survived the trip in their plastic containers, and he stacks those, too. Gorgonzola, Gouda—he fishes under the ice packs and draws out the final small box of cheese curds.

“Almost ate those on the way down,” Cooper says with a smile and a wink. “They go fast.”

Myra turns the Parmesan over in her hand. “Do you do any cultured butters?”

“We certainly could.”

“We have a lot of suppliers already,” she says. “And I’m not sure I see anything here that we don’t already carry.”

“But how much of your cheese comes from dairies within the state, like ours?” Cooper asks. “We’re making all our products from the milk we produce ourselves. We’re farmers you can put a name and a face to, cows that we raise from calves, and an operation we oversee every step of the way.”

Myra taps the Parmesan against the counter. “Such a small farm. You could keep up with demand?”

“No problem at all. We’d rather have a great relationship with one or two stores. Get to know what you guys want and need.” Cooper elbows Whit a step forward. “And this guy here is super organized. I’m really just a pretty face.”

Finally, a smile for that. Myra sets the Parmesan down and picks up the block of cheddar. “You came down all this way?”

“What can I say, the good people of New York City deserve this deliciousness.” Cooper points toward the cheddar. “You open that up, eat a slice, and you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Well, I’m not opposed to giving it a try.”

“Perfect.” Cooper slaps his palm gently on the counter. “This is your card? How about we just give you a call once you’ve had a chance to enjoy your samples and we can go from there?”

Cooper leaves with his cupcake and an empty bag, Whit trailing behind him, and once he’s out of sight of the window, pumps a fist into the air. “And that, my man, is how it’s fucking done.”

Whit lets out a long breath. “Do we really have enough milk for all this cheese?”

“If we’re careful with production, sure. But if this works? Yeah, might need some more.”

“Keep back some calves, are you thinking?”

“Probably. It’d be cheaper than trying to buy new cows.”

“It’d take some time before we could breed and milk them,” Whit says.

“Are you already arguing with this plan, before it’s even gotten started?” Just a pretty face, Cooper’d said to Myra. “I’m sure you and Drew can figure it out. Aren’t you the brains of the whole operation?”

“No, I meant—thank you.” Whit’s fingers brush Cooper’s elbow. “I’d have never done anything like this.”

“Yeah, you’d still be asking directions to the green train,” Cooper says.

“I’m serious. You—you said I always just do what I’ve always done, and you’re right. When the farmers’ market closed, I was trying to think of others we could sign up for, definitely nothing on this scale.”

Cooper fishes his phone out of his pocket and checks the time. How odd, to have Whit looking at him like that, all earnest and soft. “You’d have gotten there.”

“No, I don’t think I would’ve. So, thank you. Really.”

Cooper holds up his phone. “Say that again, let me record it,” he says. “C’mon, I’ll play it back to you next time I drive you nuts, and then you’ll tell me I’m driving you nuts, and then I’ll just say I’m doing what I do best. Now, let’s go, enough chitchat, we gotta boogie.”

“I’m really trying to talk to you,” Whit says.

“Talk and walk.”

Cooper checks the time again as they wait at a pedestrian stoplight. He pushes his phone into his pocket, grabs Whit’s forearm, and drags him through a break in the traffic. Two more blocks, then one. Cooper raises a hand to wave at Terry’s familiar profile, her blond hair cut short on the sides and back and falling long over her forehead.

But it’s Terry and Terry alone who waves back. Cooper slows and Whit nearly bumps into him.

“Where’s Mom?” he asks.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“She couldn’t make it?”

Terry wraps him in a hug, rubbing briskly at his stiff shoulders. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

“But we’re here by lunchtime, so—”

No. Of course. Of fucking course, Mom missing his visit was always going to happen. How dumb, to imagine otherwise. He closes his eyes and scratches a finger over his eyebrow, his thumb pressed into his temple. If they’d come here before dropping off the cheese, if Whit hadn’t taken so damn long to make his way to the subway, if they’d hustled out of the farm rather than lingering in the shower—

Whatever, he tries to think. Mom was probably never really going to find the time, no matter how he hurried.

“This is Whit,” Cooper mumbles and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Whit, Terry.”

“Cooper,” Terry says, her voice soft.

Cooper turns to look at the front of the restaurant. “Food, yeah? I’m hungry, but I know, I know, what else is new?”

He yanks open the door so he doesn’t have to see how Whit’s looking at him, his head tipped and eyes too intent.

At their table, Terry rifles her fingers through Cooper’s hair before she pulls out the chair across from him. “Whit, you know, I’ve heard a lot about you over the years.”

“All of it good,” Cooper says. The joke sounds weak. He cracks open his menu but stares at it blindly. He ought to be hungry, but his stomach churns with a slow, hard knot. He should’ve expected this. Should’ve known. Shouldn’t have even gotten his hopes up that, for the first fucking time ever, Mom would take a goddamn break from her work to see him.

“I doubt that,” Whit says. He turns his menu to read the cover, and then flips through the pages that list pizza after pizza. “Cooper, what’re the chances you chose this restaurant?”

Terry rips the top inch of wrapper from her straw. “Family favorite,” she says.

“Let’s spare me the embarrassing childhood stories, please,” Cooper says.

Grinning, she tugs the remaining wrapper slightly down and places the straw to her lips.

Cooper holds up a hand to shield himself. “And don’t.”

But Terry blows the wrapper at him anyway and hits him in the forehead. Cooper balls it up, throws a perfect shot into her water glass, and Terry laughs.

“Cooper has eaten every single one of those pizzas,” she says.

“Terry.”

“I used to find receipts in his pants pockets whenever I did the laundry.”

“Terry, please.”

“When he was little, he knew the names of each of the chefs here.” Terry nods toward the half wall dividing the seating area from the kitchen. “And he used to be obsessed with watching them throw the dough, like a cat watching the dryer spin.”

“This is all a lie,” Cooper says.

“There’s still a stain on our kitchen ceiling from him chucking dough at it.”

Whit sips at his own water, his eyes on Cooper over the rim of the glass. “The grill at the farm has a permanent circle of burnt cheese,” Whit says.

“Cooper’s calling card.” Terry plucks the soggy straw wrapper from the top of the ice in her glass and deposits it neatly into Cooper’s cup. “We love you so much, Coop.”

Cooper slumps in his seat. “I’m getting mine to go.”

“Now,” Terry says, “tell me all about your summer so far, and don’t leave out any of the good parts.”

Cooper flicks the wet straw wrapper at her. “You mean Sadie?”

“I definitely mean Sadie.”

After lunch, it’s only hotter outside, but Terry still draws Cooper close, cupping his cheeks in her hands, a small, hard smile on her face. “I’m going to have a word with your mother about this.”

“Give her hell,” Cooper mumbles.

“But I’m so glad I got to see you. You’re my favorite stepson, Cooper.”

“You’re my favorite stepmom,” Cooper parrots back, like they always have. My favorite mom, he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut.

Terry leans forward and drops her voice to a whisper. “And I like your young gentleman.”

“Terry.”

“He’s cute and he’s very sweet.”

“C’mon, it’s not like that.”

“Well, he clearly likes you.”

Cooper squirms, but she just chuckles.

“He tolerates me,” Cooper says.

“In that case, I hope you two are having a fun summer ‘tolerating’ each other.”

Cooper wiggles again. “Gross, Ter.”

“I love you.” She kisses his cheek with a loud smack. “Love you, love you, love you, and I’m so happy I got to see you.”

Cooper waves until she’s disappeared into the crowded sidewalk. Then he turns, looking for the closest subway entrance. Enough of the city for today. Cooper wants the dirt and dust of the barnyard and even the damn broken spigot to groan over.

“I thought that was your mom,” Whit says.

“Terry?” Cooper pulls out his metro card. There’s probably enough left on it to get them back to Grand Central. There’d better be, because suddenly the idea of having to punch buttons on a screen and get it to accept crumpled old bills exhausts him. “My stepmom.”

“She picked you up from the farm once.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess. That was ages ago.”

“But you took the train the rest of the time?”

Maybe Whit has a crisp five he’d be willing to throw toward today. Cooper rubs his palm over his forehead. “Yeah,” Cooper says. “Grandpa would drop me off at the station, but I guess the train wasn’t running that day for whatever reason and it was too long a drive for him to make it all the way down here, so Terry had to come up.”

Rented a car, ’cause it’s not like she owns one, and she’d even let him choose the radio stations the entire way back. Because his mom couldn’t pick him up herself. Wouldn’t, he’s thought more than once.

Whit asks, “When you said you took the subway back to your house—”

“Apartment, please, don’t be ridiculous—”

“Was your mom supposed to come get you from the train?”

Cooper huffs out a breath. He doesn’t want to fucking talk about this. Living it was bad enough. He starts down the sidewalk, but Whit just jogs to keep up with him.

“Did she just…not?” Whit asks.

“I grew up in the city, I think I could navigate a subway or two.”

“She didn’t?”

“Look, my folks are different than yours, okay? Leave it at that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, she was too.”

Mom had left a note for him and everything before she got up to leave for work the next morning, arriving home again long after he’d jerked his bedroom door shut tight, like it hadn’t been all summer since she’d last seen him and another day wouldn’t make a damn difference.

Cooper swipes the metro card but the light doesn’t flash. He swipes it again, harder. He has enough on it for at least one damn ride. Whit’s hand covers his, warm fingers and that broad, big palm. Gently, he turns the card around.

Right.

Cooper was holding it the wrong damn way. How embarrassing.

He swipes it again and steps back to let Whit walk through ahead of him, and then does it once more for himself. Plenty left, he thinks dully as the small screen flashes the remaining balance.

Cooper shoves the card into the back of his wallet. There’re pieces of hay caught in there. He touches one, then folds the wallet carefully closed and slips it back in his pocket, before he follows Whit’s wide shoulders through the crowd.