13. Oliver
CHAPTER 13
OLIVER
I ’m standing outside Nora’s apartment building, hands in my pockets, trying to remember the last time I took a Saturday off. It must have been sometime in school, before my life became a series of meetings and deadlines.
I check my watch; it’s a habit I can’t shake even today when the only schedule I have is to enjoy the day with Nora.
Her apartment building is as charming as she is, a vintage brownstone that’s managed to resist the march of modern high-rises around it. The red brick facade is warm and inviting, vines creeping up the sides like nature’s own decoration. It’s so different from the sleek lines and glass walls of my downtown office, a reminder that there’s life beyond work if one only looks for it.
I walk up to the second floor, find the number I’m looking for, and knock. The door swings open and there she is, Nora, with a smile that could rival the morning sun. She steps out in a dress that dances around her knees, and I can’t help but think how perfectly she fits into this picturesque scene as if she’s part of the very fabric of this city.
“Hey,” I breathe more than say.
“Hi.” Her smile gets even bigger.
“Ready?” I ask, my voice sounding lighter than it has in years.
“Absolutely!” She’s beaming, and she locks the door behind her.
We walk to my car, a sleek model that speaks more of my professional image than personal choice. But today, it’s just a means to an end, the vessel that will carry us on our urban adventure.
“Have you ever been on one of the architectural boat tours?” I inquire as we slip into the leather seats.
“Can you believe I haven’t? Always meant to.” Her laughter is light, unburdened, and I feel something inside me shift, a weight lifting.
“Then today’s the day,” I say, starting the engine.
The drive to the docks is smooth, the city unfurling before us in a tapestry of neighborhoods, each with its own rhythm and story. Chicago is a city built on architecture, on the dreams and designs of those who dared to reach for the sky.
We park near the river, where boats line the docks like slumbering sea creatures waiting for their cue. I escort Nora to the tour boat, where we’re greeted by the guide, a man whose passion for the city’s architecture is evident in his eager welcome.
As the boat pulls away from the dock, the guide starts his narration, but I find myself only half-listening. Instead, I watch Nora as she leans against the railing, her eyes wide with wonder, drinking in the skyline that I’ve become so accustomed to I’ve forgotten its magic.
“Look at that,” she breathes, pointing to a particularly bold skyscraper that seems to defy gravity.
“Amazing, isn’t it?” I respond, though I’m not really talking about the building.
The wind is a playful accomplice, tugging at Nora’s hair as she laughs, the sound mingling with the hum of the boat and the lapping waves below. I reach into my pocket for my phone, a reflex to capture this moment that feels like something out of a dream, but it’s not there.
“Looking for this?” Nora teases, holding up her own device like a trophy.
“Actually, no.” And it’s the truth. A surprising calm washes over me. “I forgot mine, and it’s okay.”
“Ollie, disconnected from the world? I never thought I’d see the day.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief.
“Neither did I,” I admit, and we both know it’s more than just about forgetting a phone.
For years, I’ve been tethered to that thing, as if missing a call or an email would cause my empire to crumble. But now, with the Chicago skyline soaring above and Nora’s vibrant energy beside me, work is the last thing on my mind.
We spend the rest of the tour leaning against the rail, pointing out buildings that cut sharp silhouettes against the clear blue sky. Nora’s enthusiasm is infectious, and I find myself caught up in the stories behind each structure, each grand design.
When the boat docks and we step onto solid ground, it’s with a reluctance to leave the bubble we’ve been floating in. We head to a nearby bistro, where the clink of plates and the murmur of conversation create a cozy backdrop. Over lunch, we share plates of pasta and stories of our lives since college, careful not to tread too deep into personal waters yet.
“Ready for Millennium Park?” I ask after we’ve had our fill.
“Lead the way,” she replies with a smile.
The park is alive with the buzz of weekend activity. Kids dash through the Crown Fountain, squealing as water cascades down the giant faces and splashes at their feet. Nora and I weave through the crowd, laughing as we dodge a rogue Frisbee and pause to admire the reflections in The Bean.
“Ever think about what you want your legacy to be?” I ask her, gazing up at the towering art piece.
“Every day.” She spins around to meet my gaze. “But sometimes it’s not just about the big things. Sometimes it’s about moments like these — simple, perfect moments.”
Her words strike a chord within me, but I don’t feel like doing anything yet other than just sitting on them. She always was introspective — able to possess great insight both in and out of the classroom. It seems she’s only grown wiser in our years apart.
Nora’s laughter is a melody that weaves through the rustling leaves of Millennium Park as she recounts her dating escapades. We’re sitting side by side on a curved bench, our knees only inches away. Her stories are punctuated with dramatic gestures and wide-eyed expressions that make them come alive as if I’m watching scenes from a rom-com.
“Okay, okay,” she gasps between chuckles. “There was this one guy who thought he was a gourmet chef. He invited me over for dinner, and let’s just say… the fire department showed up before dessert.”
I laugh along with her, my earlier tension melting away like ice cream on a hot sidewalk. But beneath the mirth, there’s a strange twinge in my chest, an unfamiliar tightness that seems to squeeze whenever she mentions another man’s existence. Jealousy, I think, though I’ve never had much use for it before.
“Your turn.” She nudges me with her shoulder, her green eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What about you? Any crazy dating disasters?”
“Hardly,” I admit, shaking my head.
My romantic history could be summed up on the back of a business card — brief and uneventful. “I guess I’ve always been more focused on work. The company was my girlfriend.”
“Ollie, that’s so sad,” she teases, but her gaze softens with understanding. “You really never put yourself out there?”
“Never seemed to find the time.” I shrug, though now I’m beginning to wonder what I might have missed out on.
Nora has a collection of tales, each a colorful thread in the tapestry of her life. What do I have? Contracts, deals, money, a penthouse I’m hardly ever in, and a whole lot of steel and glass.
“Maybe it’s not too late,” she says, her voice gentle. “To find someone who gets you — workaholic tendencies and all.”
“Maybe,” I echo, though the idea feels as distant as the stars above us. Unless…
Unless she’s talking about someone who is sitting right next to me. Someone who has seen me evolve and change, someone who still cares for me even after I went dark on her.
The sun begins its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, signaling that our day together is drawing to a close. Reluctantly, we rise from the bench, our steps slow as we make our way out of the park. I drop Nora off at her apartment, the warmth of her hand lingering in mine as she exits the car.
“Thanks for today, Oliver. It was… really nice.” She smiles, her words wrapping around me like a comforting blanket.
“Anytime,” I reply, meaning it more than I probably should. She turns and heads up the steps, my gaze staying on her until she disappears inside.
With a sigh, I pull away from the curb, my mind replaying every moment of our day together. The city blurs past my window, but all I can see is Nora’s smile, hear her laughter, and feel the echo of her touch. There’s a pile of work waiting for me at home, but it has lost its usual appeal. For the first time in years, I wish I were doing anything but heading back to an empty house and a laptop full of emails.
As I navigate through the traffic, a question surfaces, unbidden and insistent: What if my legacy isn’t just the buildings I leave behind but also the relationships I build along the way? With Nora, even a simple Saturday feels like a piece of something grander, a design I hadn’t dared to dream up until now.
I’ve spent years building walls, not just in my career but around my life, compartmentalizing everything. Work is in the largest section, while personal matters… Well, they hardly seem to have a place at all. Nora, with her quick wit and easy laugh, is like an unexpected window in a solid wall, letting in the light where I didn’t even realize it was dark.
Today was unlike any other, not because of what we did, but because of who I was with. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so freely or felt so at ease. It wasn’t about the architecture or the food or even Millennium Park; it was about Nora.
She’s been in the periphery of my life for years, a college memory that resurfaces every now and then when work allows. But today, she stepped right into the center of my frame, and suddenly, she’s all I see.
A red light stops me, and I take a minute to consider the shape of my life, the space where work ends and emptiness begins. Could Nora fill that void? More importantly, am I ready to let someone in?
There’s a buzz in the industry about balance these days, achieving synergy between the professional and the personal. It’s always seemed like a distant concept, elusive and not quite applicable to someone like me. But watching Nora navigate her life as a lawyer with apparent ease, I’m struck by the thought that maybe, just maybe, it’s not too late for me to find that balance too.
The light turns green, and my foot presses against the accelerator, propelling me forward. I could call her and schedule another meetup under the guise of discussing a new environmental branch of the company. Nobody would question it; it’s logical, practical. But the flutter in my chest at the thought of seeing her again is anything but practical.
“What’s happening to me?” I whisper to the empty car.
Am I actually considering this? Am I contemplating rearranging my carefully structured life for a chance at something more with Nora?
As I pull onto the expressway, the buildings become a blur, and my heart races with the speed of the car. For the first time, I consider not what I have to lose, but what I might gain. It’s terrifying and exhilarating, and as I merge onto the open road, there’s a sense of determination settling over me. Maybe it’s time to build something new, not out of brick or mortar, but out of moments and chances taken.
“Balance,” I say the word aloud, tasting its foreignness on my tongue.
A relationship with Nora wouldn’t be a distraction from my work; it could be the counterweight I’ve needed all along. There’s potential here, in the space between us, and for the first time, I’m ready to explore what that means.