Page 23 of The Incredible Kindness of Paper
“Yes, it’s… about Ben.”
Oliver stopped in the middle of the crosswalk. The woman behind him swore as she nearly ran into him.
“Is he all right? What’s wrong? I can be on the next plane or train—”
“Shhh, relax, champ. The sky isn’t falling. It’s just that… taking care of me is a lot. This year in particular… my body’s breaking down more than before, that’s the truth of it. And Ben, well, you know Ben. There’s a reason he’s in the restaurant business; service is who he is. But he’s working himself too hard, pulling eighteen-hour days between me and the new restaurant.”
Oliver exhaled.Okay. This was a solvable problem. Thank god.
He made it to the other side of the street before the light changed to red.
“Ben needs help,” Oliver said.
“I wouldn’t ask if—”
“No, Dad, I should have thought of it sooner.” Oliver clenched his jaw and shook his head. “I should have hired a home nurse as soon as Ben decided to open his own restaurant. I should’ve known how much more time he’d be spending away from you.”
“Home nursing is very expensive.”
Oliver wished he could live closer to his dad to help. But New York and Virginia were too far apart to make it work.
“I’ll look into private nurses as soon as I’m finished with this next meeting,” Oliver said. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll take care of all of you.”
Oliver had hardly set down his briefcase under his desk when his boss glided into his office. Puja Nagaswaran was an elegant woman in her fifties who carried herself with the confidence of knowing she’d broken through a thick glass ceiling that had historically kept people like her out. Flawless as usual in a tailored pantsuit, she helped herself to the chair across from him.
“Good morning, Puja.”
“Happy Friday, Oliver. Do you have plans for the weekend?”
“I’ll be here. Same as always.”
“You don’t have to work every second, you know,” Puja said. “You’re allowed to have a life.”
Not with Zac breathing down my neck,Oliver thought. But to Puja, he just shrugged.
She smiled and pointed at his window. “Maybethatwill counsel you otherwise.”
Oliver had no idea what she was talking about. He turned to look out the window behind him but only saw other buildings. “I’m sorry?”
“The yellow paper rose on the windowsill,” Puja said.
He saw it now and frowned. “How did that get there? And what is it? Wait… I’ve seen one before—a waiter at a Greek restaurant had one.”
“It’s some kind of feel-good trend, I think. I’ve seen a bunch of people around the city with them, too. Each origami flower has a message inside. I got one this morning in Central Park from a couple of sweet white-haired ladies. Mine saidDreams don’t require permission slips.” Puja nodded to herself. “Maybe that’s encouragement to propose the new quant spin-off division I’ve been contemplating but was afraid would get shot down. If you don’t dream it, you can’t achieve it, right?”
But Oliver was hardly listening. He caught the word “quant,” because the mathematics of Hawthorne Drake’s ventures was the reason he was here, but otherwise, he was scrutinizing the paper rose.
He approached it with the tips of two fingers, as if it might be contaminated. He’d grown up with a mother who trafficked in false hopes, and he’dspent years after the cratering of their life hoping that it could all go back to the way it’d been.
Hoping didn’t do a damn thing.
Puja laughed behind him. “It doesn’t contain anthrax, Oliver.”
“No, worse,” he said. “It’s foolishness, masquerading as something that matters.”
“Ouch,” Zac said.
Oliver whipped around, leaving the paper rose on the windowsill. In the minute or so that he’d been turned the other direction, Zac had appeared at his door, resting against the frame in that infuriating way like he owned the place and had the right to be everywhere.
