Page 16 of The Incredible Kindness of Paper

Chloe

At lunchtime on Monday, Chloe stood at a subway exit with a wicker basket full of yellow paper roses.

She had written notes with her signature rosebud hearts and folded flowers all weekend until she couldn’t feel her fingertips anymore.

She had also withstood Becca’s comments about how the origami weren’t supposed to multiply like rabbits, and couldn’t Chloe work in her room instead of at the kitchen table?

But now that Chloe was here, she questioned her original plan.

She’d thought she could position herself at the top of the subway staircase and hand the paper roses to commuters.

Watching them rushing out of the exit and swarming around her through the plaza, though, she realized her initial idea was entirely the wrong approach.

She could already imagine how it would go:

“Good afternoon,” Chloe would say to a woman in a suit marching toward her. “Can I offer you a message of joy to start off your week?” But the woman would ignore her and shove past as she power walked.

“Excuse me,” Chloe would chirp at a man wearing headphones. “Can I offer you a message of joy to start off your week?” And the man wouldn’t even hear her, let alone take a flower from her hands.

No, it wouldn’t work. Maybe for someone else with a bigger personality, but Chloe wasn’t the sort who wanted the limelight, not like the contortionist on the other side of the plaza who was successfully drawing a crowd and collecting tips.

Rather, Chloe preferred to work quietly.

As a guidance counselor, she’d enjoyed helping her students behind the scenes; she didn’t need credit for the encouragement she gave them.

Just making that small difference was all that mattered.

A tall, wispy blonde—probably one of the many aspiring runway models living in New York—whisked by.

The edge of her trench coat brushed against Chloe’s basket and caught a paper rose petal, and the flower tumbled out onto the ground.

The model unknowingly kicked it with the toe of her stiletto boot, and the rose skittered across the plaza.

It landed at the feet of a pair of college students who were watching the contortionist perform an impossible backbend. The girl had been stealing glances at the boy next to her, but he hadn’t seemed to notice.

The girl picked up the paper flower, cocking her head in curiosity.

Then she gave one of the petals a tug, and Chloe could see the surprise lift of the girl’s eyebrows when she discovered there was a message inside.

Chloe had no way of knowing which note it was, but the girl looked from the origami to the boy next to her, to the origami again.

Then she took a deep breath, nodded once to herself, and kissed him.

He was startled, but as the morning sun filtered through the skyscrapers onto him, his face bloomed as long-bottled hope rose to the surface.

His eyes met the girl’s, and then he leaned down and kissed her back.

She looped her arms around the back of his neck, fingers clutching tightly to the paper rose that had given her the bravery to set her love in motion.

That , Chloe thought, as joy fizzed across her skin like champagne bubbles. That’s what I want these flowers to be.

She thought about Thelma the Terrier Lady, and Giovanni the Croissant Guy. The origami flowers had found them, just like this one had found the girl and the boy. Chloe loved the idea of serendipity—that seemingly random things could change your life, if only you were open to them.

And perhaps there was a kind of power in kindness and goodness. Maybe if she left the paper roses around the city—like little happiness sprinkles everywhere—a few would find their way to the people who needed them.

Five hours later, legs aching but heart on fire, Chloe had crisscrossed the city and deposited her origami flowers everywhere.

She left a few in the Midtown Manhattan Library, including in the paws of Patience, one of the lion statues out front.

(Chloe also picked up a few books for herself while she was there.) She put a paper rose in the napkin dispenser at a bagel cart, and on the little tables in Bryant Park.

There was a flower left on the seat of an M116 bus, another on the M102, and several in Penn Station and all over Times Square.

She stepped out of the way of the flood of commuters now heading down into the subway on their way home and called Zac.

“Hey! I had the best day,” she said. “I’d love to see you and tell you all about it! Tonight?”

She heard him clicking his mouse, probably pulling up his calendar. “Bloody hell… Okay, yes, but I can’t get away from the office early. Can we meet at my place since it’s closer to my office? Besides, your apartment is so small and Becca’s always there.”

“I thought you liked Becca?”

“I don’t think she likes me . Sorry, Chloe, I have to run. Meet me at my place at six-thirty?”

She checked the time on her phone. It was a little past five now. “Okay, I’ll see you then.”

It was nearly nine by the time Zac got home.

Chloe didn’t have a key because they weren’t at that point of a relationship yet—they technically didn’t even have a “relationship” since it had been barely six weeks and they weren’t exclusive—so she’d spent almost four hours at the bar next door until he showed up.

Maybe it would have been fun if she were the kind of person who relaxed with a few drinks, but being part Japanese, Chloe had inherited the unfortunate characteristic of flushing crimson after even an ounce of alcohol and she didn’t like when people assumed she was sloppy drunk even though she’d only had a few sips.

Also, the cocktails were way out of her budget.

So she’d just read one of her new library books and nursed a single nojito all night, much to the bartender’s displeasure. Honestly, Chloe should have gone home.

But as soon as Zac appeared, she forgave him, because he ran his hands through his hair while he apologized, and that plus the well-cut suit plus his accent made Chloe’s knees weak. Maybe it was vapid, but hooking up with a hot British guy was not a terrible way to end a day.

The uniformed doorman nodded at them. “Good evening, Mr. Billings, Ms. Quinn. I have the food you ordered here.”

Chloe frowned, confused, but her stomach growled as he brought over a bag from Sushi-Ya! It was her favorite Japanese restaurant in this area.

She looked at Zac. “Oh my god. You called ahead for dinner?”

“Of course.” He flashed her one of his Jane Austen/Mr. Knightley smiles and Chloe thought she might dissolve in a puddle right there on the lobby floor.

“I made you wait and starve while I took much too long at the office. The least I could do was make sure you were fed the minute we walked in the door. Oh, also, this.” He pulled two tickets out of the pocket of his suit jacket.

“What’re those?”

“My company’s sponsoring a fancy gala in a few weeks.

I want to take you. And I want to buy you a dress—anything you want—because you’re beautiful and should be shown off.

I’ve put in a call to my person at Bergdorf Goodman and they’ll take care of you.

All you have to do is show up and pick whatever you want. ”

But Chloe didn’t relish the idea of being “shown off,” and Becca’s warning that Zac was a love bomber flashed through her head.

A moment later, though, Chloe dismissed it.

Zac might be over the top, but just because someone was affectionate didn’t mean they were secretly a serial killer.

In fact, it was refreshing to be around someone who so openly cared.

If everyone could be a little more generous with their warmth, humanity would be that much better for it.

“The gala sounds like fun,” Chloe said. “But as much as I love clothes, I don’t need a new dress.”

“Nonsense. You deserve to be spoiled, and Bergdorf’s is waiting for you. But onto more important things—you wanted to tell me about your day?”

They headed up to his apartment, which had been professionally decorated by an interior designer in a style that made Chloe think of an Oxford professor’s study—tobacco-colored leather, richly stained wood, bookshelves full of classic British literature.

Over edamame and sashimi, she told Zac about zigzagging all across the city, and how she’d even managed to see a bunch of her paper roses picked up.

Sometimes the recipients were people who looked beaten down—heads bowed, life weighing on them—but when they opened the origami and read the message inside, they had smiled.

She knew it wasn’t a complete cure for their troubles, but if she could make even a minute of their day a little better, it was worth it.

“That’s great,” Zac said. “I like your paper flowers. It’s a cute project.”

Chloe flinched. Cute project? She didn’t think he meant to come off as condescending, but was that really what Zac thought she was doing—just folding a bunch of paper roses because it was adorable?

She wanted to make a difference. It’s what she loved about being a guidance counselor, and after her experience with Thelma the Terrier Lady and Giovanni the Croissant Guy, she’d thought that these paper roses could bring hope and light to an even broader audience.

Chloe wasn’t doing this because it was arts-and-crafts time.

“I hate to think of you being by yourself all day, though,” Zac said.

“It’s not so bad.”

“Yeah, but you’re used to being at a school with kids around you, people to talk to. I know we haven’t been seeing each other that long, but I think it’s long enough that I know you’re going to miss that kind of personal interaction after a while. I don’t want you to feel lonely.”

Chloe exhaled and tried to let the “cute project” comment go. Maybe it was a Briticism that meant something different in England than here? Besides, Zac was attempting to help.

“What if,” he said, “instead of folding the origami alone at your apartment, you did it somewhere else? Like, find a bench in Central Park. At least that way you can do that Chloe thing of yours where you smile and say hi to people all the time.”

She laughed. It’s true, she did do that. You could take the woman out of the Midwest, but you couldn’t take the Midwest out of the woman. Even if she’d lived in New York City for four years.

“Okay. Central Park might be a good idea.” She leaned over to kiss him.

“Oof, can you brush your teeth, Chloe? No offense, but post-sushi kissing… It’s like doing CPR on a fish.”

She jerked away, mortified.

Zac shrugged. “I’m sure my teeth could use a good scrub, too.” He got up from the table and offered his hand to help her up. “Shall we wash up and turn in?”

She brushed her teeth twice and used mouthwash, just to be sure.

Then Chloe decided to take a shower to wash away the sweat from the hours booking it across all of Manhattan.

She wanted to be fresh when she crawled into the sheets with Zac, where she planned to spend a good hour or more feeling his skin against hers.

But as Chloe sudsed her hair in his luxurious marble shower, the glass door opened and closed behind her. Naked, Zac pressed himself against her.

God, he was hot. And yet, Chloe stopped shampooing.

“What is it?” Zac asked, his voice husky against her ear. His body was slick with water and shampoo against hers.

She turned around to face him. “I want you, I do. But I’ve been on my feet all day, and—”

Zac kissed her. “Mmm, minty. Much better.”

She sighed. It’s not that this wasn’t sexy. It’s just that she’d been craving a long, slow unwinding together in bed. But still, a man with an irresistible accent wanted her.

Chloe parted her lips and let his tongue in. Zac was a hungry kisser, every movement like he wanted to consume her whole.

After a minute, she pulled away. “Let me rinse the shampoo from my hair and I’ll join you in bed, okay?”

Zac shook his head. “Your body is glorious. Please?” His eyes roved over her, the look as voracious as his mouth had been.

She could say no, and he’d listen. Zac was respectful like that. But she also knew he wasn’t lying about how much he wanted her; the physical evidence was very obvious.

He wasn’t perfect for her. They’d only been seeing each other a short time, but she already knew it. Still, he was here, wasn’t he? Chloe had been in love before—a long time ago—with someone who had been perfect for her, in every way. Up until the moment he walked out of her life without a trace.

Maybe it was better to compromise with the people you actually stood a chance of holding on to.

“You owe me a foot massage later,” she said, teasing.

“Deal,” Zac said. With a gleam in his eyes, he flipped her around and angled her hips toward him, and Chloe braced her hands against the shower wall. Zac was aggressive when it came to sex, just like he worked out aggressively and competed at the office aggressively.

He was done quickly, and he kissed her on the forehead. “Your turn when we get into bed.” He left her to wash the shampoo from her hair.

Chloe showered as fast as she could. But when she walked out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around her, Zac was already cocooned under the duvet, snoring.

She wasn’t even going to get a foot massage tonight.