Page 5 of A Little Spilled Milk

“Crap.”

My milk—it was in the freezer. It still had a chance. Maybe the temperature would be cool enough there thanks to the space being pretty full. I crossed my fingers, only to open it and see the worst-case scenario in front of my eyes.

The ice cubes were puddles in the trays. The milk—thawed, and not even cool to the touch.

It was times like these I really needed a Daddy.

I slammed it shut, willing myself not to cry. It was only milk and not even the entire month’s worth. It could be replaced. Sure, I wanted it for tonight because my week had been so rough, but I could handle this. Really, I could.

After a few cleansing breaths, I pulled out my phone to leave a message with maintenance, to order something to eat, and check the app to see if anybody had any spare milk for sale. I doubted it. Most people had waitlists for their supplies. But I was going to try anyway.

Unlike moms who needed their milk for babies, men who sold to adults could still have a beer and not ruin a pumping session.I’d seen a few who sold their “pump and dump” last minute. It wasn’t ideal, but what about this situation was?

After a week, I was going to need some, and if it had some alcohol in it, that was fine. It would taste different, but it always did, even within the same bulk batch. It all depended on what that person ate and drank that day. There were even people on the app who ate the same thing daily and listed that menu for prospective customers to see.

Did I have the extra money to do this? No, but if having milk meant later on in the month I’d have to skimp on bottle size or live on insta-noodles, so be it.

I tapped away at the app and found someone who said they had milk available immediately—cash only. They cited an unexpected cancellation. I really didn’t care why.

Please let them mean now.

A opened up the contact page and a couple messages later, we had a deal and they sent me their address. I was racing out of the building, not even waiting for the elevator, bounding down the stairs and driving over to the other side of town for my liquid gold.

It was an older house, and the man had the door open as I walked up the steps.

“I got what you need,” he said, holding a mason jar of milk. “I just pumped, so this is all there is.”

It was plenty. And without a fridge, it wasn’t like I could store any that was extra.

I took out my wallet and handed him the cash, and he thanked me. When someone in the back called him to dinner, I thanked him again and headed back to my place.

After a quick stop at the convenience store for a bag of ice to keep my leftovers cool, I was home. Not wanting to break my jar, I didn’t chance the stairs, instead taking the elevator despite the wait.

Little me was so excited—I’d be able to shower, have my milk, go to sleep. Forget dinner. Forget the fridge. Forget it being dark. That could all be dealt with in the morning,

But the milk—that I wasn’t waiting on.

Only, as I raced to get back to my apartment, the bag of ice kept slipping in my hand, causing me to get distracted, and I tripped on the corner of someone’s doormat, falling to the ground.

The jar of milk flew out of my hands, crashing onto the ground and breaking into a thousand pieces, and my body landed on the ice.Ouch.

And because it was the kind of day it was, there was no thinking reasonably about it. None. Instead, I started to cry.

And not a little cry, either. All my Big feelings were coming out as I sobbed, picking up the glass shards so that no one would get hurt, as the ice started to melt on the carpet.

And if I couldn’t make matters any worse, who should walk by but my neighbor.

And not the little old lady one.

No.

It was my sexy next-door neighbor, seeing me cry over spilled milk.

“Hey, need some help?” Why did he have to see me? If he’d been five minutes later, I might’ve been cleaned up.

I shook my head, wanting the walls to suck me inside whoever’s apartment I was in front of.

*Is that raw milk?”

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