“Maryam!” I read the memo on my desk for the third time while I wait for my incompetent assistant to come in. “What is this?”

“It’s a memo, sir. The proposal meeting has been moved to tomorrow.”

I hold up the sheet of paper then crumple it in my fists. “I know what it says, but why is it on a piece of paper on my desk? When did we start sending paper memos?”

She shrugs. “Well, I thought it would be fun. I’ve been watching this TV show about an ad agency from the fifties and they typed everything…with typewriters. I just thought it would be a fun change.”

I toss my head back and pinch the bridge of my nose to ward off the headache I can already feel building in my brain. “Madmen? That’s what you’re doing? You’re trying to throwback to the fifties by ignoring our technology?”

“Is that okay?” Her voice is quivering, and I know she’s about to break down in tears. I really don’t want her to cry, but this kind of ignorance can’t be ignored.

“Not really.” I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, trying to find a calm tone to speak to her in. “I work at home at least half the week. I can’t actually see a memo that’s printed on paper and sitting on my desk. That’s why we have email…and online calendars. If you want to feel like you’re back in the fifties, wear a dress every day and set up a wet bar in my office. But no more paper. Everything must be online, so it’s not only documented and saved, but so it’s accessible to everyone…not just the people who happen to walk past it.”

“Yes, sir.” She flicks a tear off her cheek and looks at the ground. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“It’s okay, Maryam. Just make sure my calendar is up to date and get Victor in here. We’ll need to finalize the proposal today, so I can finish my drawings tonight at home.”

“Right away, sir.”

For the rest of the day, I pour over numbers and competitive projects to build the perfect proposal that our client can’t turn down. The university is building a new genetics lab, and my firm specializes in science and medical architecture. I’ve won several awards for innovative design, but every project is unique and requires a pitch that pulls at both their heart and their purse strings. Our clients usually have millions in grant dollars to spend on facilities, so the bidding process isn’t about coming in cheapest or even fastest. It’s all about offering a laboratory they can show off and use to recruit the most talented researchers and scientists in the world.

So Victor, my best account manager, and I give them what they want. The promise of a beautiful space with all the most modern amenities with plenty of room to grow as science changes. I just have to finish drawing the mockup we’re pitching before my meeting at ten am.

After picking up a pizza and eating half of it on the drive home, I trudge inside my house for a shower before getting back to work. I could do everything on the computer, but that’s not my style. I like to do most of my presentation material by hand on a drafting table. For me, it’s faster and makes the client feel like they’re getting some special.

Something personalized by my hands.

Holding a pen between my fingers, I dive into the drawing I’ve been working on for days. The basic structure is complete, but I want to add in some of the custom workstations the client has requested. Of course, everything I do with pen and paper will be recreated by my CAD guys for precise blueprints, but at this stage, they just want to see that I am offering something different. Something they haven’t seen before.

I’m rolling up the finished drawing and about to put it into a case when I hear a car pull up out front. It doesn’t sound like Joseph’s loud diesel engine, so I glance out the window to see who the visitor is. A white Camry is in front of Mrs. Greenly’s house and there are several ridesharing stickers in the back window.

With a quick pull to the string on the lamp in front of the window, I turn out the light so it’s not so obvious that I’m peeping at Mrs. Greenly’s visitor. It would be embarrassing to be caught creeping on her home, especially when I see who climbs out of the back of the car.

I can’t believe it.

Nathan Greenly, the quiet boy who disappeared when he was only sixteen years old, is back…and all grown up. He hasn’t changed that much since I last saw him. He’s grown a few inches, maybe hitting 5’10” or 5’11” now. And he has a few more pounds on him than I remember. But his uncertain stance and nervous bounce is still there as he stands in front of the front door of his childhood home. He hasn’t knocked or announced his presence in any way. In fact, it looks like he’s slowly inching away from the door instead of getting closer.

A window from an upstairs bedroom glows as a curtain is pulled back. Mrs. Greenly looks down at the son she lost so many years ago in shock. She stares for a moment before her hand covers her mouth and her shoulders shake. My gaze shifts to Nathan as he squares up his shoulders and steps up to the door, knocking several times before waiting for her to let him in.

I consider running out there to tell him it’s hard for her to get down the stairs, but by the time I make the decision, the door opens and Mrs. Greenly is falling into her son’s arms. It’s a sweet moment between a mother and son, and I feel like an intruder watching it.

They deserve some privacy, so I step back from my window and let the curtain fall into place.