Page 85 of The Incredible Kindness of Paper
However, the no-sweets rule didnotapply to birthdays or holidays, and per tradition, the family had gathered to decorate “Nana Cookies.” It was an idea Nana had devised many, many years ago, when it became clear that the “grandkid” generation would be quite substantial. She loved having a big family and wanted everyone to remain close, and to do so, she needed to create the scaffolding for that to happen. Hence Nana’s Summer Cookie Extravaganza was born. As well as Kansas Gingerbread Christmas and New Year’s Day mochi and ozoni soup for good luck, always using her large home as an anchor for the family. Now, with the beginnings of a great-grandchild generation, it was more important than ever to gather the chickens of her brood together when she could.
Chloe and her mom had spent the whole morning baking close to two hundred sugar cookies, which was precisely the balm Chloe had needed after spending last night thinking about the CLOVER memory box and, after that, fretting about the deep hole of debt she was in. Could she press charges for what Jennifer had done? But even if it were possible,wouldChloe do it? It would take months—maybe years—for the police and then the courts to sort it out, and meanwhile, Chloe would remain mentally tied to the Jones family, when what was best for her was probably a clean break.
That didn’t solve her immediate money problems, either.
She needed more time to think about what to do next. Hence, the relief at getting to bake this morning. Sugar was only a temporary reprieve, but still, it was a reliable comfort.
Nana, as usual, had chosen a party theme, and this year’s was a botanical garden, so there had been cookie cutters shaped like irises, daffodils, bumblebees, and roses.
“The theme was going to be wild animals,” Nana told Chloe now, as they set out the cookies on the long counter in the kitchen, which still boasted its original orange tiles from the seventies when the house had been remodeled. “But when I read your interview in theNew York Times, I knew the cookieshadto be flowers this year. I’m so proud of you, Lo-Lo. And you gave me a great thing to brag about to the ladies in my bridge club—none oftheirgrandkids are famous!”
Laughing, Chloe hugged her, holding on to her Nana’s tiny, birdlike body for a good, long minute.
“I am not afraid of storms,” Nana said, “for I am learning how to sail my ship.” She patted Chloe’s arm after they’d separated from their hug.
Chloe’s mouth hung open. “What did you say?”
“It’s fromLittle Women,” Nana said. “It means you’re going to be okay.”
Tears swelled in Chloe’s eyes. But she put on a brave smile and nodded.
Soon, though, Nana’s home was no longer a quiet place for small wisdoms. It quickly became a madhouse as minivans and SUVs arrived, spilling out more and more family. Chloe found herself enveloped over and over in the arms of cousins, uncles, and aunts she hadn’t seen in a long time. Even her very pregnant cousin Ashlee came.
“Okay, my dear little hellions!” Nana clapped her hands while beaming at the crowd packed into her kitchen. There were children on the dining chairs, on the barstools, and hanging off the edge of the counter. “It’s cookie decorating time!”
A collective squeal went up, and the kids scrambled for seats at the various folding tables, while their parents brought them blank cookies. Meanwhile, Chloe and some of her childless cousins set up stations with different-colored piping bags and all sorts of decorations—sparkly sugar, pearl-like candy beads, gold and silver dusts, and a rainbow assortment of jimmies.
When every child had what they needed, Chloe stepped to the side ofthe kitchen to observe, but from outside the fray. If anyone thought the noise right now was too much, just wait until the kids had begun eating the decorations. In about fifteen minutes, the decibel level would border on dangerous. Chloe shook her head and smiled, remembering whenshehad been one of the children in this kitchen, jockeying for the icing and decorations.
When Oliver had been right there beside her, using his longer arms to make sure she got the colors and sprinkles she wanted. A tinny pang echoed in her chest, reminding her that the hole he’d left there had never quite healed.
On the other side of the kitchen, her mom’s older brother, Uncle Mitch, let out a roaring guffaw. “Hey, which of you kids did this?” he said, still laughing. “Are you all trying to be like Chloe?”
He scooped something up in his large hands and held them aloft. Then he opened his palms and let a dozen yellow paper roses cascade through the air, back down onto the orange-tiled counter.
None of the kids responded to Uncle Mitch. They stopped their cookie decorating for about two seconds before they decided the grown-up’s question was boring and irrelevant, and they went right back to chattering and shoving icing and sprinkles straight into their mouths.
But Chloe gasped. One of them was the gold-foil-striped paper rose from her pen pal. Were the rest of them from him, too?
She rushed through the crowd of family, weaving around moms and dads and grandparents helping their kids, and through cousins sharing bad dating stories over beers. She arrived on the other side of the kitchen right as Uncle Mitch said, “Well, let’s open up these flowers and see what messages are inside.”
“Stop!” Chloe shouted.
Every single person in the kitchen froze.
“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just that… those are mine.”
Uncle Mitch grinned and made a casual swatting motion with his hand, dismissive not in a rude way, but like a member of the older generation who was used to hearing youthful silliness. “There’s so many here. We can share.”
“No!” Chloe said, which earned her some stern looks. She softened hertone, simultaneously trying to think of an explanation for her outburst that wouldn’t sound absolutely bananas. Telling everyone that she’d been having an ongoing conversation with traveling paper roses wasn’t going to cut it.
“Um,Imade those,” she lied. “But I’m not done yet. I wanted to put some finishing touches on them first.”
Uncle Mitch laughed and swatted his hand again. “Well, why didn’t you just say so. Here, take them. We can be patient.”
Grateful that suspicion did not run in her family, Chloe swept the paper roses into a kitchen towel, then hurried—as nonchalantly as possible—down the hall with them, to the farthest side of the house.
The sunroom was a side porch that Chloe’s grandpa had enclosed during the same 1970s remodel, because Nana had wanted a quiet place to read and enjoy the sun without being harassed by mosquitos. There were wicker armchairs with floral cushions, a bench swing (also with floral cushions), and a fat, overstuffed sofa incongruously upholstered in a repeating pattern of “KU” in interlocking block letters and the university’s red-and-blue Jayhawk mascot.
