the town square.
That all changed one Friday morning when I showed up at the studio and noticed October seemed anxious. I assumed I’d done something to upset her, but before I could ask her what was up, she said, “I need to get out of here. I’ll see you Monday.”
She left the studio and then, not long after that, the property.
I spent the next few hours finally cleaning the skylights and then walked down to town for a beer.
When I returned home later that evening, I found a note taped to my front door, written in what looked like an architect’s handwriting. It said:
Joe,
There’s something I need to tell you. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since we met, and I don’t know what to do about it. Please text me when you get this so we can talk.
-Oct
Let’s face it, a normal person would have responded immediately with the requested text. But I am not a normal person. I lack gumption. And as soon as I am aware that I need to do something, I do nothing.
October texted me the next morning: Can you talk?
At this point she and I had spent a considerable amount of time together, but we didn’t know each other very well. Specifically, I didn’t think she knew me very well, because if she did, I reasoned, she wouldn’t have left me a note like that.
And if anyone had asked me back then, before she left the note, if I was attracted to her, I would have had a complicated, undoubtedly evasive answer. Obviously, she intrigued me. I thought she was beautiful, and unlike any woman I’d ever met. On top of that, she made me feel seen—she asked for my ideas, took my opinions to heart, and genuinely valued my contributions to her work.
But the truth is, it never occurred to me to be interested in her, or to allow myself to acknowledge any kind of real attraction, first and foremost because she was my boss, but also because, as far as I was concerned, she was so far out of my league that even fantasizing about her seemed like a joke, never mind entertaining the possibility that she could be attracted to me.
That’s why I acted like a loser.
I was terrified.
Moreover, and not inconsequentially, I knew October had a long-term boyfriend. She’d only mentioned him to me in passing, but I’d heard her talking to Rae about him one day when the two of them were having lunch on the lawn outside the studio. What I’d gleaned about the guy was that his name was Chris, he was constantly out of town for work, she’d only spent two weekends with him in the last three months, and, interestingly enough, they had something of an open relationship.
October was expressing to Rae that she felt disconnected from the guy, was tired of having an absentee boyfriend, and wanted to date other men. Then she said, “I’m allowed to, remember? We give each other that freedom.”
Rae scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Chris adores you, yeah? You’ve been together a long time. And trust me, dating in San Francisco is way worse than a boyfriend who’s never home.”
I remember being curious about the man October chose as her boyfriend. I remember wondering what “give each other that freedom” meant. But the idea that I had a chance with her never crossed my mind.
She texted again: Call me.
I’d quit FarmHouse as soon as October had hired me, but they hadn’t found anyone who could work on weekends yet, so I filled in for them when they needed help. I’d been parked in a driveway in Petaluma that morning, about to pick up a dozen boxes of heirloom tomatoes, and I was so caught off guard by October’s request for a call that I put my phone in airplane mode without writing back.
I couldn’t keep avoiding her though. I lived fifteen yards from her front door, for Christ’s sake. And as soon as I got back to Casa Diez that night and saw the light on in her house, I knew I had to respond. But before I did, I got out my blender and fixed myself a cocktail, adding considerably more tequila than necessary. I downed a glass, waited a couple of minutes for it to start kicking in, and then made the call.
“Hey,” I mumbled.
“Hey.” There was a pause. Then, “I’m sorry if I freaked you out with that note. I have this terrible habit