I recalled that just the day before a boiling pot of pasta water created steam which rose up to the ceiling forming dripping beads of water while Ian sat at the kitchen table and talked about buying a cow for the fresh milk. I imagined as we drove out of town that the dripping beads were probably still there, that’s how quickly Ian decided we should go and look at the actual cows. So we turned up a narrow country road leading to a dairy farm where two Guernsey cows were spared for purchase.

Blue skies rolled into green pastures that made Ian’s eyes as blue as the indigo night. Ian and the farmer walked around the rolling hills discussing the quirks of cows. I strolled around the farm’s barn and thought their conversation was such a similarity to the cows, bland and stark. When I came around the corner there was Ian bent over an old tree stub writing out a check. I had to smile to myself at the sight of Ian, tall and handsome, his left handedness smudging the ink as he drags his fist over the handwriting on the check. He was enthusiastic about his purchase as he entered the numbers into the checkbook diary. When I started running towards Ian waving my hands, shouting, “Wait, no!” Ian looked up, “They can have the spare room!” he shouted back.

The whole way home I held onto the dashboard as Ian was speeding. His pensive flipping of the visor and quick looks into the side and rearview mirrors kept repeating the streets like the ribs in the road. The contrasting flash of the incessant sun and blinking shadows from the flipping visor made me wish and wish and wish. Ian talked randomly about things like time trials, bicycle wheels and broken bike clips while I stared in the rear view mirror worried about the farmer in the truck following us. It didn’t seem like that old truck could keep up with our speed. I finally spoke out about the cows to Ian when I found a calm moment. I said, “How are we going to sleep at night with two spare cows mooing in the backyard?”