Page 48 of The Incredible Kindness of Paper

Oliver

Unsurprisingly, Oliver hadn’t slept much after the gala.

Also unsurprising was that Julie had indeed uploaded the video of him and Zac’s brief rooftop fight onto the Hawthorne Drake Slack chat.

He wasn’t tagged on the original thread, but that didn’t stop the video from going viral within the company, and Oliver had been tagged in plenty of comments after that.

The real shocker was that Puja hadn’t emailed him yet to schedule a call about it.

Maybe his boss did a better job of work-life balance on the weekends than he did; it was possible she hadn’t logged on and seen the video.

Even if people had talked about it at the gala, that gossip might not have gotten as far up the chain as the executives at Puja’s level.

It would soon, though.

Thankfully, Oliver didn’t have to be in the office this week. The Neo Fintech Conference in Washington, D.C., started tomorrow, so he planned to fly down later today. And then after the conference was over, he’d spend a couple days in Virginia with his dad and Ben, Elsa, and the twins.

Oliver packed his suitcase, making sure to throw in a couple of casual outfits that could withstand Noah and Davy’s sticky syrup-covered fingers, an inevitability because Ben liked to whip up a huge breakfast for the family before he headed to his restaurant.

Oliver’s stomach growled even thinking about it.

Maybe Ben would make his famous cinnamon-peach pancakes; since it was peak peach season, the chances seemed pretty good.

Chloe would like those pancakes, Oliver thought as he tossed his bag of toiletries into the suitcase.

During their summers in Kansas, she’d never been able to get enough peach cobbler and peach cake.

And it was a given that the Ice Creamery would have Peachy Keen on their menu through all of July and August. Another flavor devised by Chloe and Oliver, it was peach ice cream with a ribbon of peach jam and lots and lots of chunks of peach pie.

At the thought of her, he checked his phone again.

Last night, she’d said she needed time to think, and while Oliver was more than willing to give whatever space she needed, he also kept hoping that she’d text or call him sooner rather than later.

He had his ringer on and had triple-confirmed that his notifications were on, too, but so far this morning, the only chimes on his phone had been from the company Slack chat about that godforsaken video.

He looked at his phone again now, just to check for Chloe.

Nothing new.

Maybe she’s getting a late start? he tried to convince himself.

But deep down, he knew her hesitation could very well be that she had decided to break things off with him—or at the very least, back off to platonic friendship—and she was trying to figure out how to tell Oliver they were done.

A wave of nausea rolled through him, and he had to brace himself against the dresser for a minute before it subsided into a low but constant tide in the background. Not bad enough to keep him from functioning, but still ever present so he couldn’t forget.

His phone rang, and Oliver startled and dropped it on the floor. He scrambled to pick it up and instead knocked it under the bed, where it slid so far, it caromed off the wall.

“Dammit!”

Oliver plastered himself flat on the ground and stretched his arm as far as it could go, but it wasn’t enough. The phone was dead center beneath the king-size bed.

He ran to his closet for a hanger. But by the time he got back to the floor and had swept the phone toward him, it had stopped ringing.

Breathless, he checked the list of missed calls.

Not Chloe.

Puja.

Shit.

A moment later, his phone chimed, indicating a new voicemail.

“Oliver—please call me asap.”

That was it. Just five terse words. Oliver swallowed hard. Puja was usually warmer than this; she was the kind of boss who led her teams like a favorite aunt, someone you respected because she had more experience than you, but whom you could also joke around with.

But like a relative, when she was disappointed, it came out blunt. And because Oliver admired Puja, letting her down stung. His hand shook a little as he hit the button to call her back.

She answered on the first ring. “Good morning, Oliver.”

“Morning, Puja. I, er, got your voicemail.”

“You know what this is about?”

“Probably.”

“What were you thinking?” Puja said. “Zac’s date? Really? That’s beneath you, Oliver.”

He sat heavily on his bed and sighed. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

“HR might have to get involved… But I might be able to circumvent them if you talk to Zac.”

“About what?” Oliver asked.

“To apologize.”

“What? He’s the one who came at me swinging!”

“Oliver! That woman came to the gala with Zac.”

“Chloe was my best friend growing up and my girlfriend in high school.”

Puja let out a long exhale. “Oh my god.” In this moment she really did sound more like a long-suffering aunt dealing with her misbehaving nephews than a boss.

“Look… Zac shouldn’t have tried to hit you.

You could actually file a complaint with HR if you wanted to.

But… you’re both extremely talented and valuable members of my team.

I need you and Zac. So I would like it if you two could make some kind of peace. ”

Oliver pressed his free hand to his temple.

“Puja… even before Zac and I realized we both had feelings for the same woman, he hated me. I don’t know what his problem is, but from the second I walked in the door at Hawthorne Drake, he’s had a target on my back.

I’ve tried, I truly have, but I can’t work with him.

I can’t do my job if he’s trying to sabotage me at every turn. ”

Puja sighed again, this one tinged with resignation. He wouldn’t blame her if she was thinking how much easier it would be if she had two women mathematicians to work with.

“Are you heading down to D.C. for Neo Fintech?” Puja asked.

“Yes. My plane leaves in a couple hours.”

“Okay. That’ll give me a few days before you’re back in the office to figure out what to do with you two. I’ll… need to do some reshuffling.”

Oliver flinched, even though what she was saying was basically what he’d asked for. He couldn’t work with Zac. Something would have to change. Oliver just hoped he wasn’t the one losing here.

But Zac had been with Hawthorne Drake for years, with all the accompanying goodwill he’d built up over that time, whereas Oliver was new.

Plus, Oliver didn’t socialize or network in the office; if he was going down, no one would speak up for him.

He silently cursed himself for not being more friendly at those monthly birthday gatherings.

“Nevertheless,” Puja said, “you’ll still get the draft for the executive meeting done and to me by Monday at noon? That’s less than twenty-four hours from now.”

Oliver exhaled, relief flooding his veins. At least he hadn’t been kicked off the quant revamp project. Yet.

“Absolutely. It’s already in good shape, but I’ve got a little more to do on it today. I promise I’ll have it to you tomorrow.”

On the plane, Oliver was so deeply absorbed in his work, it took the woman in the aisle several tries to get his attention. When he finally looked up from his laptop, her face was inches from his.

“What the—!” He jostled the tray table; he caught his computer right before it bounced off.

“Oh, there you are, hiii.” She smelled of patchouli, and possibly pot, and smiled at him as if he were a kaleidoscope of rotating crystals and colors.

“Hi,” Oliver said curtly. “Do you mind? I’m in the middle of something.” He gestured at his laptop.

“I won’t take much of your time,” the woman said, still smiling. “I only needed to give this to you.” She held out her hands, cupped together. Inside was a single yellow paper rose.

Oliver arched a brow. “No, thank you.” He’d had plenty of encounters with the origami in New York; he didn’t need more from a hippie on the plane.

“But this one is for you,” she said, pushing her hands toward him.

“Really. No. Thank. You.”

The woman looked at her palms and frowned. “It’s just… I don’t want to bother you, sir. I can see that you’re busy. This flower, though… I can feel its intention. It wants to be with you.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Give me a break.”

She laughed. “No, you don’t understand. I’ve tried to give it away to others, but it wouldn’t leave my hand. Everyone kept picking the other flowers around it. Now it’s the only one I have left, and it brought me to you.” She held out her cupped hands again.

His pulse hiccupped. Because this time, Oliver actually recognized it.

It had that same pattern of gold foil stripes, but in a freshly folded yellow rose, its creases sharp and pristine.

He wondered if the person on the other side of these flowers was keeping the first and second ones that had filled up with text.

“Where did you get this?” he asked, taking it from the woman.

She simply shrugged and blinked at him, again as if he were a kaleidoscope changing colors right before her eyes. “The universe works in mysterious ways.” Then she started humming and wandering down the aisle, not looking back once as she returned to her seat in a different part of the plane.

Bizarre . But Oliver forgot her in the next moment, because he remembered what he and his mystery correspondent had last written—

I can’t promise that wishes always come true. But I believe they can, and I would be willing to bet my heart on that—because if there is anything worth wishing for, it’s a happily ever after.

That’s a wager I can’t match. My heart is too scarred for happily ever afters. I think a lot of people’s are.

And then he unfolded the newest yellow rose:

Happiness and love can be confusing and terrifying things.

“You’re telling me.” Oliver underlined the sentence with his finger. How strange that, for a man who was such a skeptic, he’d begun to feel a connection to this nameless pen pal.

Oliver chewed on the inside of his cheek, still somewhat uncomfortable with the illogical appearances of these paper roses. And yet, he could definitely use a friend right now, even if it was an anonymous one.

He extracted a pen from his briefcase and wrote back:

Do you think it’s ever possible for scarred hearts to heal?

When his plane landed, he brought the paper rose with him. He stopped at a newsstand in the airport, paid for a plastic bag—nothing else—and gently lay the origami flower inside.

As he exited the terminal and walked toward the taxi stand, various people approached him and the other passengers with offers of more yellow roses. This strange little busker project from New York had somehow spread down the coast and was apparently in full bloom in D.C., too.

But when someone tried to give Oliver another flower, he shook his head and showed them his plastic bag. “I’ve already got one,” he said.

Then he laughed softly to himself that he was actually doing this and dutifully tossed the paper rose into the nearest trash can, hoping it would be protected and get to wherever it needed to go.