37. Harlow
Harlow
The past few days had been full of slow mornings, with warm coffee and soft light shining through Jude’s kitchen window.
All my posts were scheduled, which made Friday a breezy workday as we ventured around town, visiting local businesses together to ask what support they’d need on the day of the festival.
We even got to try Whitney’s exclusive Harvest Festival chili and then sat together in the park, as we answered emails from vendors.
On the weekend, I barely even ventured back to my little studio apartment.
I just wore Jude’s sweaters and not much more the entire time.
We got takeout from Kaneko’s and kissed in the shower as hot water ran over our bodies.
Then Jude had pulled me back to his bed, covered us with a plush blanket and held me tightly beneath it as he explored my skin.
I didn’t know what to call the two of us together just yet. With all the uncertainty about my job, I couldn’t put a label on it. But I did know I finally felt at home by his side.
It had been blissful, and I wondered if, one day, all of my days could feel like those few.
But reality came slowly crawling back. Although we’d already celebrated the weekend before, “real” Thanksgiving was yesterday.
So I called my parents. They answered from their hotel somewhere in the Dolomites.
I’d taken the time to call my grandma too, despite her being British and not really caring about our North American holiday.
What she had cared about was the pair of men’s shoes she’d spied in the doorway behind me over FaceTime.
“That’s not your apartment!” she gasped. “Are you with that guy from the Italian restaurant? Your housemate!”
I quickly turned the camera away, and laughed. “I’ll tell you more when there’s actually something to tell.”
I wasn’t going to spring her on Jude yet. Meeting the extended family wasn’t exactly subtle, and that’s what I had requested. At least for the next two weeks.
Those next few scattering of days would decide the new direction of my life. If I couldn’t keep my job here, then I had to take this new opportunity. But I knew how long distance had turned out before. A detached relationship devoid of love.
Maybe it would work for some people, but it wasn’t what Jude or I wanted.
There was an aching physical pain in my chest as I sat down at my desk, ready to work. But there was no point in worrying just yet, so I turned to my screen.
Even though I had been on my phone for those couple of calls over the long weekend, it hadn’t even dawned on me to check my silenced notifications from late last week. I’d been focused on connecting with vendors in person and those last few golden days.
Until now.
Suddenly there was an influx of buzzing as my phone came back to life. The screen was moving so quickly that I couldn’t catch any specific words, just a blur of letters and usernames.
I inhaled slowly as I waited for the screen to stop lagging.
I’d had posts perform well on client accounts before—everything from beauty brands to coffee shops—but Autumn Creek felt personal, in more ways than one.
I wasn’t just hoping that the Harvest Festival’s success would get me the job I wanted, I truly cared about this place.
So the barrage of notifications filled me with tentative excitement.
I unlocked my phone and found that the video I’d posted of Jude and me at Ravensby Farm had almost half a million views.
There were thousands of comments and a good handful of DM requests asking us questions.
I wouldn’t exactly call it viral by wider social media standards, but for a small town’s Instagram it had done extremely well.
A grin crossed my face as I began replying to queries.
How much does this cost? Free to attend, but you can support us by shopping local while you’re in Autumn Creek.
Is this far from Ottawa? Just over an hour, but worth the drive.
When can I come? Very soon, less than two weeks!
My heart felt full as I saw people tagging their friends and saying how excited they were to celebrate fall in our little town. Then there had been the comments drooling over Jude, which were totally valid. That man looked perfect, no matter the angle.
Wait, our town. Did I really just think of it as mine? Maybe Autumn Creek really was becoming a part of me, and I was apart of—
My smile dropped as I kept scrolling.
More views always came with negative comments; it was the reality of social media.
I knew that. Of course, I didn’t appreciate people just commenting “too far” or “who even wants to go to these boring events?” But I was used to tuning out those sentiments by now.
If the Harvest Festival wasn’t for them that was okay.
Our ideal audience couldn’t be everyone.
But my stomach dropped as I read further. I was glad the office was almost empty this morning because my distress was written all across my face.
The comments didn’t stop there.
User10842708: People like her are destroying my town
User58729484: Don’t listen to her. Autumn Creek doesn’t want tourists.
Anonymous accounts were using our comment section almost as an exposé against me.
Not just on the recent video, but across all our posts.
As I continued reading their rants, I saw that they claimed to be from Autumn Creek.
They said I was a city girl who had bulldozed her way through their peaceful small town.
I was wasting local money on this frivolous festival. I was ruining it.
Ruining?
A sob crept up my throat, breaking free even when I tried to hold it in. Was that what the people of Autumn Creek really thought of me?
I had tried to handle my work here with care. I’d tried my hardest to learn about this town and I had thought I was doing work that meant something meaningful for the locals, the people truly from this place. Unlike me.
I wasn’t one of them. And I never would be.
I wiped at my damp eyes and tried to look for a silver lining. It was only a few anonymous accounts. Maybe I could try to make some changes to appease people, we still had time. And I couldn’t deny that more views were a good thing for the festival, even if some people were upset.
I straightened my shoulders and quickly pressed back onto the Autumn Creek page to assess the situation. I could look past the personal digs at me and try to find constructive criticism.
I can fix this.
Then my heart dropped. Again.
My video from Ravensby Farm, that I’d put love into filming and editing, the one with hundreds of thousands of views, was gone. And not just that one. So many of the posts that I was so proud of…they were wiped from the feed right in front of me.
The screen went blurry as my eyes filled with tears. They were hot on my cheeks.
Did I do something wrong? Did someone report our content?
Everyone who had saved the videos or sent them to friends. All gone.
I stood up, my legs unsteady, and made it to the door leading into the park. The cool air helped to calm my nerves a little.
We still had some time. Hopefully, some people had written down the dates in their calendars or had taken screenshots. We’d diversified with Margot’s blog, and local advertising. And I knew, despite what I’d seen today, a few people at least were excited to come.
Right?
Unless the Autumn Creek locals were just being nice to my face and their true feelings were being expressed by those anonymous accounts. Maybe it was all just a facade.
My lip wobbled as another sob shook my body.
How can I stay here if I’ve messed this all up?
My trembling hand reached for my phone and I called the first person I could think of.