Page 34 of Clonely You

“Can you feed it to the cows?”

She makes a face. “Don’t you think that would be weird?”

“Butyoueat it.”

“Drink it. But yes. Milk is great, and butter is even better.” I must show my feelings on my face because a smile curves her lips. “Don’t tell me. You’ve never had butter?”

I shudder. “Lactation by-product from a beast? Hideous.”

A laugh escapes her. Michaela’s face is incredulous, and the more she looks at me, the more she keeps laughing. “But you eat eggs!” she protests.

“Correction. You eat eggs. I prepare them for you.”

That makes her laugh even harder. Her giggles, sweet and delightful, fill the air. “You mean to tell me…” she manages between gasps, “that you find all of this…repulsive?”

“All of it,” I agree solemnly. “Even the smell.”

Peals of laughter shake her, and she grips her sides, bent over with sheer delight. I love that I’ve made her laugh, even if it’s on something as small and ridiculous as this. “Well then,” I say, “Once all of this is in the molds, what next?”

“We clean up.” When I give her a suspicious look, she continues. “No, seriously. If we don’t clean up in the barn, all the spilled milk is going to leave a horrible smell that is impossible to get rid of. We need to hose the area off.”

“You mean I will need to do so.”

“Fine, fine, you do it. I’m not going to fight you over that.” She rolls her eyes, but her smile lingers. “By all means, do all the hard work.”

She is fighting me less and less on things, and her mood is good. I take these both as excellent signs and let her instruct me on how to clean the barn. We get out a hose with a sprayer attached and rinse off all the metal and the flooring, spray soap, and do it all again. Michaela is meticulous in the cleanliness of her work area, and I spend the next two hours scrubbing equipment to her cleanliness standards.

“I think it takes longer to clean the equipment than it does to make the butter,” I point out when I shake the last of the water from my hands. My fingertips are shriveled and everything smells heavily of soap.

“It’s never just about the butter,” she agrees, and her mood is practically cheerful. “Now, let’s check on that sick cow before we head in.”

It’s another hour before we make it back to the house. The one cow is indeed sick, a vast quantity of mucus running from its mouth and nose. I’m horrified at the sight, but I’ve also never been around animals much. The thing makes a mess in the barn, from its nose to the fact that it seems to poop even as it stands around, chewing on hay. She runs medical checks on it while her datapad makes noises and confirms that the cow has, in fact, eaten something bad for it. Medication is administered, and she wipes the cow down gently, whispering sweet words to it to calm it. Even though I’ve vowed to handle all the work today, I let her take care of this part. She knows how to treat the creature, and I’ve never even been this close to one before. It seems wise to let her help the sick creature so I don’t make it worse.

Once she’s satisfied it’s taken care of, we head back to her house. Sure enough, most of the day is gone, and I can see how she finds it difficult to go into town. She makes a lot of work for herself, but it is because she cares about giving her customers the best butter she can. She cares about taking care of her cattle.

I could help her with her dairy farm, I muse. With two of us working together, she would get done in half the time. She would not be as stressed, or as lonely. Granted, she would not be in control, but I think perhaps this much control is not a good thing.

I loop my arm around her shoulders as we head in. “We made a great deal of butter today.”

She eyes me speculatively. “We did, though half of it doesn’t have the right texture and I can’t sell it.”

“My half. You sold it to me. And look at what happened.”

Michaela quirks a brow. “What happened? Nothing happened.”

“Precisely. Nothing happened. The barn did not collapse. The butter was not destroyed. No arms fell off. Nothing happened. You gave up control to me and it was fine.”

The look she gives me is suspicious. “I…guess. Still, half the butter?—”

“—Was bought by me. I would not make that mistake again. It isfine.” I want to shower her with kisses to show her how proud I am that she has allowed me to assist this much. That she has not fought or refused to play along. She has been reluctant, but what person would not be? She has trusted me, and in return, I have helped her. “Will you let me assist you in the future if you run behind or feel overwhelmed?”

“Maybe…?” She pokes me in the side. “Don’t press your luck. I still have a filthy kitchen to go back to. Remember that?”

Chuckling, I hug her shoulders. “Oh, I remember. We will wash up, and once we are done showering, we will go into town for a meal. How does that sound?”

“Sounds like you’ve already decided.” Michaela tries to keep a stern face and breaks, a smile curving her lips. “I’m not sure what to make of this bossy side of you.”

Panic flares inside me, but I hide it as best I can. What if she doesn’t want me to challenge her? I have not until this point. “You like it as much as my other side, I hope?”

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