Page 6 of The Incredible Kindness of Paper
Oliver tried to suppress another growl. Zac had given a talk at Finovate-Europe in London in FebruaryandFinovateSpring in San Diego in May, and he mentioned the prestigious conferences whenever he could.
The elevator stopped and a few more people got on. When it began its descent again, Zac said, “Well, aren’tyougoing to congratulateme?”
Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “For what?”
“You didn’t hear? Puja tapped me to cochair the efforts to redesign our quantitative analysis program.”
“What?” Oliver’s voice was sharp enough that several people in the elevator jumped.
Puja Nagaswaran was the partner in charge of their division. And rebuilding the quant program was supposed to beOliver’sjob.
Zac shrugged. “Over lunch today, I mentioned to Puja that wereallyneed something to present to the shareholders in the annual report to show significant improvements in the quant program. But, Tolly, you’ve already been here for three months… While your progress may be good from the perspective of a Goldman Sachs researcher, the pacing here at Hawthorne Drake ismuchmore demanding.”
“Ihavemade significant improvements already, and there are more—” Oliver scowled. “No. Why am I justifying this to you? Besides, cochairing is a nonstarter. I can’t work with you, and I won’t.”
“Well, no offense—and Puja agrees—you need some help on how to present things to the C-suite. Talking to our CEO and CFO is different than to other math geeks.”
Oliver clenched his fists. Partly because he wanted to punch Zac in his too-handsome face, and partly because he knew Zac was right. Oliver’s taciturn, antisocial tendencies had worked fine in the back offices of Goldman Sachs where the quant nerds and data scientists worked, but he could come off as prickly and stuck-up in the garrulous offices of Hawthorne Drake. (See: previously referenced lunch invitations from colleagues, cross-departmental birthday celebrations, et cetera.)
They reached the first floor, and everyone spilled out of the elevator. Zac strode out ahead of Oliver but turned back to smile over his shoulder. “Just trying to help, Tolly. But if you really don’t want to work with me, all you have to do is tell Puja. I’m happy to chair the committee alone.”
It had been a perfectly good day at the office until those last few minutes, and now Oliver needed to cleanse his palate of the bad taste Zac had left behind.
So Oliver headed to Constantinides Family Taverna, a small restaurant in the heart of Little Greece in Astoria. Native New Yorkers didn’t often venture from their own neighborhoods to eat, but Oliver wasn’t originally from here. Besides, his secretary from his last job had lived in Astoria and she swore by this restaurant; she’d found out about it from her neighbor who knew the high school guidance counselor for Xander Constantinides, the restaurant owners’ son. (That was a long string of acquaintances, but no matter; Oliver had eaten there a dozen times now, and his secretary had been right—the food was excellent.)
Right as Oliver arrived, a couple vacated one of the few tables on the sidewalk and opted to sit inside. He slid into one of the still-warm chairs and pulled out some of the napkins from the dispenser to quickly wipe down the aluminum table. It wasn’t bad, just some crumbs and water rings left over from the complimentary basket of pita bread and glasses they’d taken with them indoors.
It had been a hot day but had now cooled enough to be pleasant, which was a nice surprise in New York because the summers tended to be muggy. Oliver wondered why the couple had given up this prime table. Sure, there was traffic a few yards away in the street, but anyone who lived in the city was used to that.
He sat back and took a deep breath, trying to leave Zac and the office behind. It was another reason he’d come out to Astoria for dinner—here, surrounded by brick buildings with varied shop fronts and friendly chatter as people walked by him on the sidewalk, it felt like a world away from the skyscrapers and suit-clad bankers and cookie-cutter Starbucks on every corner in Manhattan. While Oliver usually liked the anonymity that Manhattan afforded him, he occasionally craved the reminder that neighborhoods like this existed. Even if theywerestill part of the huge metropolis of New York, they grounded him, tied him to the Boy from Small-Town Kansas that he used to be.
Soon after, Xander approached with a familiar wave.
“Good evening, Mr. Jones,” Xander said as he brought over a fresh glass of water. “It’s nice to see you again.” Xander knew not to ask if anyone would be joining him for dinner; Oliver always ate alone. “Would you like to hear our specials tonight?”
“Just my usual. Please.”
“Okay,” Xander said. “Spanakopita, souvlaki, and a glass of the house white, it is. It’s good to know what you want in life, right?”
“Mmph.” Oliver was, as a general rule, economical with his words. And he’d already used up too much effort on Zac back at the office.
Xander scampered away. Oliver did feel alittleguilty about his gruffness. Maybe Zac was right that his social skills were a little… jagged around the edges. And Xander reminded Oliver of his own brother, Ben, who’d known from the time he could talk that he wanted to own a restaurant one day. As soon as he was old enough, Ben got himself a job as a dishwasher, then slowly worked his way up the ranks. When he was promoted to the waitstaff, Oliver and their dad, Richard, had shown up for dinner the very first night Ben was on the schedule as a server. The number of times Ben spilled their water or confused the food orders that evening still made Oliver laugh fondly, and that was a big deal, because Oliver rarely laughed these days.
Shrill cheers broke through his memories. The next table over was a party of a dozen women; one of them wore a glittery crown and a sash that read “Bachelorette,” and the rest wore sashes that read “Final Night of Freedom.” The women lifted shot glasses of ouzo and shouted “Opa!” before knocking them back and pouring more.
They must be the reason the couple had decamped indoors earlier.
The blonde next to the bachelorette raised her next glass in Oliver’s direction and smiled. That made the six women opposite her turn around, check him out, and giggle.
Oliver let out a long exhale. Then he got up from his chair and moved to the other side of his table, sitting with his back to them. He had zero interest in a one-night stand.
In fact, Oliver foundanyromance to be an ill-advised pursuit. Love was too messy, full of dark, hidden corners of unspoken expectations and illogical emotions. Look what his mom had done to his dad. Sixteen years laterand the man was still dealing with the aftereffects, like an earthquake that never stopped shaking.
And then there was Chloe, also a long time ago…
Oliver could still smell her camellia shampoo, could still see the trust in her deep brown eyes as she looked up at him in that moment when they teetered on the cusp of being best friends and something more. And then when he finally kissed her, he could taste the chocolate they’d just been eating, and even though they were only sixteen years old, he had felt sure he knew exactly how their lives would turn out. Together.
“Right,” Oliver scoffed out loud now.
