Page 50 of There's Pumpkin About You
I turn back to Oakleigh. “I won’t lie to you, Lee, I never should have pushed to have it in the barn.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“It was just such a bad time for them. Gus has a broken arm and a fractured collarbone which has put them behind on the harvest. You should see him, Lee, the man looks like he’s holding the entire world on his shoulders.”
“Is there no one helping him?”
I shrug, keeping my voice low in case those around us are listening in. “His brother Bash works on the farm with him but they had to let everyone else go to save money. Now, because of me, Bash feels obliged to split his time between the harvest and the barn and orders are even more delayed than they would’ve been had I not come along.”
Oakleigh smiles gently. “Wrennie, it’s not your fault. You were conducting business, same as them. If it was a bad time then this Gus guy should have said no.”
“He did say no.” I shake my head. “I pushed. I went to the farm every day with a coffee until he said yes.”
She blows out a breath and leans back. “Well, shit, okay you had right on your side until you said that one.”
I groan into my hands. “The worst part is that I can see how it’s affecting him. He gets overstimulated easily, he is a lot touchier about timings and working order. I’ve made it so that I’ve affected someone who literally relies on order to stay functional. I’ve brought my chaos and I don’t even know how to make it better. I’ve never spent time with anyone with Autism the way Gus has it.”
“The way he has it?”
I take a second to think about how to phrase my explanation. “Subtle is perhaps the correct word. I never realized that Autism could be so complex in the sense that it can only be seen in some people when you really pay attention.”
“That’s the evil beauty that is masking, Wren.”
“Masking?”
“Yeah, it’s when someone tries their best to hide something that makes them different. A lot of people who are neurodivergent, but who don’t obviously display as such, sometimes feel as if they have to hide it because others will treat them as less than.” Lee sips her coffee. “It’s the same way a lot of people judge those with ADHD because some of the symptoms seem to them like a cop-out. People look at people with Autism who are still able to function on their own and can still communicate with others clearly and assume it’s a misdiagnosis or it’s nothing more than that person being over dramatic. So, people are made to feel as if they have to try and hide it. Appear normal, I suppose.”
“But they are normal?”
She nods. “And now you see the problem.”
As Oakleigh checks her phone, I take the time to think over this new information.
It would explain why Gus is so adamant that he needs to work and even overworks himself all the time. He feels he needs to overcompensate just to gain the same amount of respect that someone without Autism would receive in his position.
It would explain why he has so many walls up around him. When I replay that town hall meeting in my head, it reads so differently now. The majority of this town clearly sees him as underqualified, not due to his father’s stupidity, but because they see being different as a major flaw. But it’s not a flaw. To me, his differences are a strength that shouldn’t be underestimated. He’s strict with himself and others in a way that warrants a smoothly run business.
“Someone looks deep in thought.” Oakleigh pulls me from my thoughts. She smiles when I jump. “Is this Gus dude becoming someone important?”
“What? No, we’re coworkers.” I avoid eye contact.
She chuckles. “Such a shit liar.”
I can’t even bring myself to laugh alongside her. I just slump in my seat and play with my empty coffee cup.
Feelings for Gus are not a luxury I can afford right now, but I know it’s something that presents itself more and more each day. The anxiety that accompanies even the thought of the possibility reminds me that I’m not yet ready for that. I pretend it doesn’t, but my breakup with Adam really left me broken. He has me in a constant push and pull with myself. One minute, I’m mad with myself for letting him make me believe that I’m less than I am. That I’m unable to be a strong businesswoman who can also have a family and a life outside of that business. But the next minute I’m wondering if he was right, if my determination to do something that I genuinely love and enjoy doing made me lose sight of what was really important. Maybe it’s just not possible for someone to have both, and whilst I really do want to find someone who I can spend my days with and with whom I can build a family, Second Nature Events is something that I’ve dreamed about doing long before I longed for kids and a husband. Doesn’t that mean that if I have to choose, my job would be the correct choice? Wouldn’t that be the choice that would leave me feeling the most fulfilled in life?
And yet, lately something has been stirring inside of me and I’m not blind enough to notice that it’s stronger when Gus is around. I sometimes find myself excited to make my way to Goldleaf Farm in the mornings just at the thought of arguing with him. I’ve spent so much of my life being “nice Wren”, “sweet Wren”, or “generous Wren”. With August, I can just be Wren. All forms of myself including the versions that I hide—“fiery Wren”, “stubborn Wren” and “determined Wren”. I don’t feel that I have to try really hard to please him because he just easily accepts all the parts of myself and I, him.
And recently it seems to be even better despite being awkward. We argue but it’s lighter than before. We don’t aim to insult, just win. Plus, there’s no denying the man is attractive. Over the past few days, he’s had a knack for sitting in his room shirtless and I’d be a fool if I lied and said I didn’t admire the view.
Beautifully tanned skin stretched over hard muscle. It’s clear to anyone that this man is gorgeous.
It may sound vain, but I enjoy the moments when I rile him up enough for him to stand up and leave very little distance between us. The way he towers over me, having to bend down just to allow for his forehead to almost touch mine. There are times when I marvel at how his forearm flexes whilst he types up paperwork, the sleeves of his plaid shirt remaining rolled up to his elbows despite the autumn cold really setting into the bones.
Holy shit, maybe I do like him.
“I’m going to help with the harvest today,” I tell Oakleigh, hoping it’s enough to distract both of us from Gus.
