Page 76 of The Incredible Kindness of Paper
“I’m not quite following,” Bonnie said. “How would we do that?”
“Kind of like how Jocelyn is bringing roses to her patients at the infusion center. I imagine, for example, that nursing homes could send in requests to the Paper Roses Foundation for origami flowers to help their residents feel like there are people out there who care,” Chloe said, beaming now at the bud of the new idea. “Or schools could request delivery of origami flowers for their stressed-out seniors who are applying for college—kids like Xander and Ravi. I don’t know the details of the logistics yet… I’ll figure it out, but Zac was right. I have a window of opportunity, and I shouldn’t let it close.”
Jennifer clapped her hands together. “I love it. And I want to pitch in. It’ll be complicated, of course—corporate filings and dealing with the government to get tax-free status. But I know some people who can help.”
“Perfect,” Chloe said.
“I’ll take care of everything for you,” Jennifer said. “Give me a couple hours to reach out and get things sorted. All you’ll have to do is send me the fees for the accountant, lawyer, and the filings.”
Chloe winced. Her bank account was running on fumes, and her credit card was already carrying the Bergdorf Goodman charge. She’d have to take out a cash advance on her card.
But this was worth it. Chloe hadn’t realized that losing her job would turn out to be a good thing, but here were the results. Not working had given her mind and her soul space to breathe, and now she was on the cusp of creating something that would be even better than being a guidance counselor. She’d be able to reach so many kids, in so many schools.
And once they got the nonprofit set up, she’d probably be able to reimburse herself for at least some of the startup costs, although she had a lot to learn first. If Wanda was right and the paper roses were growing into a worldwide phenomenon, it hopefully wouldn’t take long to collect enough donations to get started.
“Let’s do it,” Chloe said to Jennifer. “Whatever it costs, I’m in.”
Oliver
Oliver woke on Wednesday morning in his brother’s house to two monkeys shrieking and jumping on his bed.
“Unkie Owiver, Unkie Owiver! Are you awake?”
As soon as Noah and Davy saw Oliver crack open his eyes, they pounced on him and smothered him in hugs and kisses.
“I am definitely awake.” He smiled and wrapped his arms around them. It was impossible to be mad at four-year-olds who just wanted to cover you in love. Even if they were very loud first thing in the morning.
“Daddy’s making waffles,” Noah said.
“Hmm,” Oliver said, as if he couldn’t decide whether that was a good thing. “I’m more of a pancake man, myself.”
Davy screwed up his face while he studied Oliver. “Noo, siwwy unkie. You’re aperson, not a pancake man. We has a book about a gingerbwead man, and you…” He assessed Oliver one more time, then shook his head as he confirmed his previous conclusion.
Oliver couldn’t help laughing. “You got me there. But since I’m actually a person, I have a few things I need to take care of before I can come down to breakfast. How about I go to the bathroom to splash some water on my face and brush my teeth, and then I’ll meet you downstairs?”
The twins looked at each other in that silent way that siblings have of discussing important decisions with mere glances, then both turned to him and nodded. They scream-hugged him one more time, then bolted out of his bedroom.
After freshening up and running a wet hand through his unruly hair, Oliver jogged down the staircase. Ben was in the kitchen, working three waffle irons at once. Ben was slighter than Oliver and had blond hair and blue eyes, but they both had the same observant gaze of boys who’d grownup having to be wary of a con artist mother, as well as a similar knowing smirk, so it was obvious they were brothers, even though they looked nothing alike.
“Morning, champ!” Their dad, Richard, waved. An older-looking version of Ben, he sat in his wheelchair at one end of the table with an expression of pure contentment on his face despite his ever-present pain, because he was watching his grandsons as they wriggled in their booster seats.
Elsa, Oliver’s sister-in-law, looked up from the other end of the table. “Did you sleep well, Oliver?” A Biewer terrier puppy cuddled in her lap. Elsa was a specialty breeder of the affectionate dogs, and she loved them as much as she loved her kids. She always tried to place her puppies in homes where the owners needed the dogs as much as the dogs would need the owners; Elsa regularly received gushing thank-you letters, like the recent one from a widow in New York nicknamed “Thelma the Terrier Lady,” who had gotten her dog, Rufus, a while ago as a companion after her husband passed away and found renewed joy in life because of Rufus and his other doggy friends.
“I did sleep well,” Oliver said, “although I would like to lodge a small complaint with the proprietors of this establishment about the duo of alarm clocks. Would it be possible to turn down the volume on them a little?”
Elsa laughed deeply, her curly hair shaking. “I’m afraid that’s how the alarm clocks arrived from the manufacturer, dialed up to full blast. Neither Ben nor I have been able to figure out how to change their settings.”
Ben piped up from the waffle irons. “Dad’s the only one who actually likes the volume.”
Their dad chuckled. “Grandpas think everything about their munchkins is perfect.”
Elsa looked fondly at Noah and Davy.
Oliver pulled out a chair at the table and sat, his limbs loose and relaxed in the cozy nest of family. He’d forgotten what this was like. Alone in New York, his apartment was sterile, sparsely populated with IKEA furniture and not much else since he spent almost all his waking hours at work. Here, though, Ben and Elsa’s house was full of framed photos of them at pumpkin patches and decorating Christmas trees, tchotchkes from Myrtle Beach and Ocean City on the shelves, and LEGOs hazardously sprinkled across thefloor. Here, he could feel the warmth oflife, of people whose daily highs and lows vibrated and intertwined themselves so that they weren’t mere individuals but a single, beating heart.
But Oliver was no longer part of that, was he? He was welcome here, no doubt about it, but he was a temporary visitor. They would fold him into their home as best they could, but tomorrow, Oliver would head back to New York and they would continue without him. A different part of the geometry of the universe.
“Hey,” Ben said to Oliver, approaching the table with an enormous red platter. “Frowners don’t get waffles.”
