November
Time seemed to simultaneously fly by yet drag on. They’d resigned themselves to being isolated at the farm through the rest of the year. Doc knew they were lucky to be together.
Lucky to have a safe, quiet place amid the chaos.
His words had continued to flow. Both his agent and editor were thrilled. Finally, they had hope for hitting his deadline.
Any deadline.
The tenth deadline he’d been given on this particular work-in-progress. They were kind enough not to remind him. The red lines on his calendar going back through the past year or more taunted him often enough to make up for it.
“Doc?”
“Under the tree.” Doc didn’t glance up from where he was typing away.
“I have a million trees on the farm.” Andie’s voice came from somewhere behind him.
“The large one.” Doc tuned her out again while trying to wrap up the last paragraph. Rupert found him first, flopping across his lap and dislodging his laptop. “Are you going to be my beta reader?”
“Are you waiting for an apple to drop on your head?” Andie strolled between the trees toward him. “How goes the writing?”
“Added a few more chapters.” Doc saved his novel several times, just to make sure, then closed his computer. “My editor should be pleased, terrible taskmaster that she is.”
“Rups. Doc doesn’t need a writing assistant.” Andie tried to pull Rupert away from Doc, but he flopped over on his back instead. He huffed excitedly when Doc rubbed his belly. “Spoiled mutt.”
After a few seconds of entertaining Rupert, Doc got to his feet. He put his laptop under his arm. Andie whistled for her dog, who finally listened and went over to her side.
“Fancy lunch? I’ve gathered up some salad ingredients from one of the greenhouses.” Andie took a tennis ball out of her pocket and sent Rupert flying after it. “It’s surprisingly mild and sunny for November.”
“Lunch and a walk?”
“Maybe not at the same time.” Doc quickly fell in step with her while they made their way through the orchard. He’d enjoyed writing amongst the trees. “Your orchard made for quite the inspiring spot today.”
They picked their way through the orchard in silence. Andie stopped when they reached the edge. She slipped her arm around his.
Most of the leaves were gone from the trees. A few brightly autumn-coloured ones held out here and there. He had a feeling they might be in for a cold and blustery winter.
“We’ll spend Christmas alone this year, I think.” Andie sounded sad, though he wasn’t entirely sure. “I don’t mind being alone with you. I’m enjoying it.”
“But?”
“It’s the holidays.”
“I’m sorry you’re going to miss your family.” Doc had learned the hard way that practical thoughts weren’t helpful when dealing with emotional subjects. “Is it hard? Not seeing all the people you usually do?”
“A little.” Andie looped her arm around his while they strolled up the lane toward the cottage. “Do you miss people?”
“Maybe?” Doc shrugged. He had Andie and Rupert. Everyone else in his life was easily reached via text message or email. It didn’t strike him the same way it seemed to do her. “It’s an abstract thing for me.”
“Abstract?”
“Missing people.” Doc had a wealth of emotions in him, but they didn’t always make sense. “In the abstract. They’re still there. I talk to them—mostly via email.”
“Out of sight, out of mind?”
“Not exactly. I care about my friends and family. Deeply. But I’m not always as connected as everyone else seems.” Doc had struggled with it in his twenties, trying to meet everyone else's expectations. Family connections had always been a little difficult for him to deal with. “Maintaining relationships is sometimes beyond the scope of my capabilities.”
“You read that somewhere.” Andie smiled, likely to show she was teasing him.
“Maybe the wording.” Doc had a tendency to inhale the things he read, practically imprinting phrases on his mind if they struck his fancy. “I do my best.”
“Your best is brilliant and enough.”
“Not for everyone.” Doc didn’t have a smile in him. He’d lost friends over the years because of his difficulties. One of the most potent things Doc had learned was sometimes people weren’t meant to be in your life. “But then again, maybe I’m just not for everyone.”
“It’s a good thing I’m not everyone.” Andie patted his arm. “No one should be forced to meet some sort of shite expectations.”
They were silent for a bit. Doc thought maybe he could do something for the holidays. Andie obviously cared about them a great deal; there was no getting around this year would be very different.
“I enjoy the quiet and joy others experience during the holidays.” He wondered how he might make December memorable for Andie. Little things, big ones. What could he manage while stuck in the middle of Aberdeenshire? “We might still find some Christmas magic for you this year.”
“Maybe.”
While Andie sorted together lunch, Doc considered his options. Essie had done wonders with helping on their first date. He fished his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text to her; she immediately agreed to help him think of some options.
“Deep in thought.” Andie tossed a bit of cucumber at his head. Then, she went back to whisking up a dressing for their salads, a mixture of olive oil, sweet balsamic vinegar, and macerated berries that she’d smashed up along with some fresh herbs from her garden. “New idea for your story?”
“Just sharing a thought with Essie, my editor. She’s a godsend.” Doc knew he’d gotten lucky with his editor and agent. They’d both gone out of their way to meet him where he was. He knew they did a lot of extra work to accommodate his needs. Other autistic authors in his writing group weren’t so lucky. “She’s brilliant.”
“Of course she is; she works with you.” Andie continued whisking up the dressing. “Give me a hand with dicing up some of these little tomatoes?”
“Maybe I’m brilliant because of the people I surround myself with.” He nudged her gently with his elbow. “Yourself included.”
“Well, I think you don’t give yourself enough credit.” Andie added another dash of vinegar to the dressing. “Is it difficult to deal with the publishing world?”
“In general? Or as an autistic?”
Andie considered for a moment before answering him. “Both.”
“Not sure I can speak for non-autistic authors. I’d say it’s more complicated than it needs to be at times.” Doc grabbed another handful of cherry tomatoes and began slicing them up. “Most advice out there is written for them—not autistics.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Maybe.” Doc shrugged. “I’ve been quite lucky with the people around me. They go out of their way to help me bridge the gaps whenever necessary. Not sure I’m talented enough to deserve it.”
“You don’t have to be talented to deserve a world that’s accessible to you, Doc.” Andie pointed her whisk at him, ignoring the dressing dripping from it. “Besides, I believe I’ve already mentioned you’re brilliant.”
“Yes, well.”
“There’s nothing wrong with needing a hand in making the world an even playing field. That’s what accessibility is.” Andie gestured with the whisk before returning to the dressing. “Just making things equal.”