Page 12 of The Incredible Kindness of Paper
“Maybe try Little Tokyo,” Jackson said.
“All the way in Manhattan?” Sure, Astoria was part of New York City, but it was an outer borough. Chloe didn’t go into Manhattan all that often. It was intimidating.
Jackson shrugged apologetically. “Or you can wait a few weeks for the shipping issues to resolve.”
Oliver
After a quick change in the office bathroom into his jiu jitsu gear, Oliver opened his laptop to type in one more thing he’d just thought of. Then he slung his gym bag over his shoulder and put on a Yankees cap—Oliver didn’t even watch baseball, but he knew the statistics for skin cancer, and Yankees hats were the cheapest form of sun protection. They could be found at every sidewalk vendor and kiosk in New York.
He was exiting the elevator into the lobby when his phone rang. It was his brother.
“Hi, Ben. What’s going on?”
“Hey, Oliver, I was wondering if you could do me a favor? There’s some Japanese ingredients I need for a dish I want to try out at the restaurant, but I can’t find them here in D.C. I could special order them, but there’s some international shipping delays going on, so I was hoping you could buy them for me in New York and then bring them when you come down to D.C. for that conference you’re speaking at?”
“Sure, just tell me what you need and where to go.”
“Awesome, thanks. There’s a specialty Japanese market in Little Tokyo in Manhattan.”
Chloe
On the subway ride to Little Tokyo, Chloe folded origami roses with the few sheets of yellow paper she still had. When she reached her stop, she gathered them and tucked them into the pockets of her skirt. She’d sewn the skirt herself out of strips of different-colored chiffon, and it made her feel like she was made of air as the fabric swished and floated around her while she ascended the station stairs.
Oliver
In Little Tokyo, Oliver walked down 3rd Avenue, looking at the map on his phone as he approached the address for the specialty Japanese grocery store that Ben had mentioned.
Chloe
Chloe walked up 3rd Avenue, looking at the map on her phone as she approached the address for the specialty Japanese stationery store that Jackson had mentioned.
Suddenly, the wind gusted and whipped up her skirt, and one of her paper roses flew out of her pocket.
Chloe gasped and chased after it, focused only on the flower and not watching carefully enough where she was going—
Oliver
He had just glanced up to see if he was close to the Japanese market when a woman crashed straight into him.
“Hey!”
“Oh my god, I’m sorry!” she said, at the same time grabbing his arm to steady herself.
“Watch where you’re—” But the words died on Oliver’s tongue.
Because as he looked at her, he realized who she was.
Chloe Quinn. The only girl he’d ever loved.
“I really am sorry for crashing into you,” she was saying, oblivious to his identity, perhaps because of how his cap shadowed his face. “I got distracted, and I didn’t even see you there, and…”
But Oliver wasn’t listening, because he couldn’t move. He couldn’t summon his voice, couldn’t even be sure if his eyes were telling the truth. It had been sixteen years since his mother had made their family flee their home in Lawrence, Kansas. But even though that was half a lifetime ago, Oliver still would have known Chloe anywhere.
It was in the way she could never keep her dark bangs from falling into her eyes, kissing the spattering of freckles on her right cheek.
The way she bounced a little when she walked and even when she stood in one place, as if she were made of something lighter than most people—not just fifty-five percent water, but clouds.
And it was the way there was always a hint of a smile on her face, like even though the world could be cold, she was lit from within by a belief that it could still be good.
