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<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
The green dress I\u2019d saved up for was still in Claire\u2019s bedroom when my phone slid beneath her couch. I reached into the narrow gap and pulled out something bearing my own eight-year-old face. Then I noticed a note in Claire\u2019s handwriting dated the exact day we matched on Tinder\u2014and realized she\u2019d known who I was before I knew anything about her.<\/p>\n
My phone had disappeared between Claire\u2019s couch cushion and the armrest while she was in the bedroom changing into the green dress I\u2019d bought her. I muttered something I definitely wouldn\u2019t repeat around my mother and pushed my hand into the gap. My fingers brushed against two quarters, a pen cap, something that felt disturbingly like a fossilized potato chip, and finally my phone. But when I pulled my hand free, a photograph came out with it.<\/p>\n
It dropped facedown onto the rug. I picked it up automatically. Then I stopped.<\/p>\n
The photograph was old enough that the colors had started fading along the edges. A group of children sat on what appeared to be a library floor, each holding a book. Near one end of the row sat a skinny boy with uneven brown hair and a missing front tooth. Me. Eight years old, maybe nine. I knew immediately because I remembered that horrible striped shirt. My mother had insisted it made me look \u201chandsome.\u201d<\/p>\n
I had never given Claire a childhood photograph of me.<\/p>\n
Beside me stood a girl about the same age wearing purple glasses. I turned the picture over. Written in faded blue ink were the words: Below that, written much more recently in black ink, were five words: Underneath was a date. I checked it twice. It was the date Claire and I had matched on Tinder.<\/p>\n A chill crawled across my arms even though Claire\u2019s apartment was warm.<\/p>\n \u201cEthan?\u201d Her voice came from the bedroom. I kept staring at the handwriting. A second later, Claire stepped into the living room. The dress fit her exactly the way I\u2019d hoped it would. Emerald green, just as I\u2019d imagined when I returned to the boutique without her. Her dark hair was loosely pinned behind one ear, and she was still fastening the earring on the other side.<\/p>\n For a moment she smiled. Then her eyes landed on the photograph. Her fingers remained frozen against the earring. She never finished fastening it.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere did you get that?\u201d Instead of answering, Claire looked at the photograph. I read the note aloud. \u201c\u2018Found Ethan today. Tell him.\u2019 Tell me what?\u201d The answer should have made things clearer. Instead, everything became more confusing.<\/p>\n For six months I\u2019d believed I knew exactly how Claire and I had entered each other\u2019s lives. I was 25 and almost ready to give up on dating apps entirely. Claire was 45. She had seemed different from the first message she sent me\u2014direct, funny, completely sure of what she wanted. The 20-year age difference made me hesitate, but not for very long. Our first coffee lasted nearly four hours. She remembered that I hated cinnamon in coffee. I remembered that she bought terrible refrigerator magnets whenever she traveled. By our third date she knew my boss\u2019s name, my favorite pizza place, and how I\u2019d gotten the scar on my wrist. With Claire, I\u2019d never felt like I had to wonder what she meant. Apparently, what I\u2019d been wrong about was where she had come from.<\/p>\n \u201cSo you matched with me because of Nora.\u201d I picked up the photograph again and tapped the newer handwriting. \u201cYou wrote this before you saw me again.\u201d I looked at the date once more. \u201cWere you ever going to tell me? Where was this taken?\u201d Then small pieces started coming back to me. Low bookshelves. Beanbags. A paper sun hanging crooked from a ceiling tile. I could almost smell the dusty carpet. Then another detail surfaced. Yellow. I stared harder at the photograph. The memory arrived so suddenly that I had to sit down. A girl sitting cross-legged in thick yellow glasses, holding a paperback much too close to her face. I still couldn\u2019t remember what book she was reading. But I remembered being annoyed with her.<\/p>\n \u201cYou want to go there?\u201d Claire asked. It was the first thing she\u2019d said all evening that didn\u2019t sound as though she\u2019d already decided what was best for me. I grabbed my jacket. \u201cTake me to the library.\u201d<\/p>\n Claire changed out of the green dress without saying another word. Twenty minutes later we were standing beneath the fluorescent lights inside the Pine Street branch. The adult section looked completely unfamiliar to me. The children\u2019s room didn\u2019t. It was smaller than I remembered. Far smaller.<\/p>\n I moved slowly past the shelves until I reached the back corner. \u201cThere used to be a blue rug.\u201d I looked around the room. Then I noticed a display filled with adventure books. Another piece of memory returned. Nora slamming a book shut. Me accusing her of skipping three pages. Her telling me I was just slow. I laughed before I meant to. Claire didn\u2019t ask what was funny. I glanced over at Claire. She smiled, but the smile wasn\u2019t really for me. It belonged to someone who wasn\u2019t there anymore. I hated how much that hurt. There it was. The truth she\u2019d apparently been carrying toward me for the past six months. I looked at the empty chair beside me. \u201cI didn\u2019t know.\u201d Despite everything, I laughed. It lasted maybe two seconds. Then the question I\u2019d been avoiding came back. I stared toward the shelves. Somewhere behind us, a child laughed. Neither of us spoke for a while. Then I asked, \u201cNobody told me?\u201d Claire looked down at her hands. \u201cBecause I thought I\u2019d finally been given a chance to tell you.\u201d I waited. \u201cI didn\u2019t know your last name for years,\u201d she continued. \u201cI knew Ethan. I knew your mom used to pick you up in a red car. I knew you moved not long after Nora got sick. By the time I thought seriously about finding you, I had almost nothing useful.\u201d Good. At least she wasn\u2019t trying to pretend that it did. I leaned back in the chair. I stood up. \u201cWhat happened after that doesn\u2019t erase what happened before it.\u201d I picked up the photograph. \u201cYou kept deciding what I was allowed to know.\u201d That was the first answer she\u2019d given me all night that didn\u2019t seem wrapped in something noble. I folded the photograph once, instantly regretted it, and opened it again. I walked outside alone. And for once, Claire didn\u2019t follow me. But halfway across the library courtyard, another memory surfaced. Nora snapping a book shut. Me furious. My own childish voice saying: \u201cFine. Finish it yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n I stopped walking. Because suddenly I needed to know whether those had been the final words I\u2019d ever said to her. I texted Claire. \u201cCan you come outside?\u201d<\/p>\n She appeared about a minute later but stopped several feet away from me. I looked down at the photograph. For years, Nora had existed somewhere inside my mind as a missing piece I\u2019d stopped noticing was missing. Now she was slowly becoming a person again. Yellow glasses. Cheating at games. Skipping pages. Getting angry with me.<\/p>\n I looked back at Claire. \u201cI believe you love me. But I don\u2019t know what I trust yet.\u201d We spent another hour talking. There was nothing dramatic about it. Nora hated raisins. She wanted a motorcycle when she turned 16. She believed rules in board games were \u201csuggestions.\u201d<\/p>\n When we eventually returned to Claire\u2019s apartment, the green dress had been folded neatly over a chair. Then I went home.<\/p>\n Four days later, I went back to the library by myself and checked out the book Nora and I had once argued about. The ending was terrible. I texted Claire. Claire arrived 20 minutes later. We sat together at the same small children\u2019s table. As I read, her hand automatically moved toward the page. I put one finger down. I finished the paragraph. Then I turned the page myself.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The green dress I\u2019d saved up for was still in Claire\u2019s bedroom when my phone slid beneath her couch. I reached into the narrow gap and pulled out something bearing … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":57,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1758","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"yoast_head":"\n
\nNora + Ethan, Summer Reading Club.<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nFound Ethan today. Tell him.<\/strong><\/p>\n
\nI nearly laughed. \u201cYour couch.\u201d
\nClaire didn\u2019t respond. I lifted the photograph. \u201cWho is Nora?\u201d
\nHer hand slowly dropped. \u201cEthan\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d I pointed at the date. \u201cWhy did you write this the day we met?\u201d
\nShe looked toward the couch as if another explanation might somehow be waiting there. Finally she said, \u201cBecause I knew who you were.\u201d
\nI stared at her. \u201cBefore Tinder?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\nThe bright green dress suddenly looked almost ridiculous against the room. \u201cYou knew me before we matched?\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cHow?\u201d<\/p>\n
\nShe reached for the back of a dining chair but didn\u2019t sit down. \u201cNora was my sister.\u201d
\nI looked again at the little girl beside me. Something shifted at the edge of my memory. Purple glasses. A laugh. A book lying open across two sets of knees. But each image disappeared before I could hold onto it.
\n\u201cYour sister?\u201d
\n\u201cMy half-sister. She was much younger than me.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy am I in a picture with her?\u201d
\nClaire finally looked directly at me. \u201cBecause you were friends.\u201d<\/p>\n
\nClaire didn\u2019t try to avoid the question. \u201cAt first, yes.\u201d
\nI put the photograph down on the coffee table. \u201cWow.\u201d
\n\u201cEthan, I wasn\u2019t trying to trick you into a relationship.\u201d
\n\u201cYou literally recognized me from childhood and didn\u2019t tell me.\u201d
\n\u201cI know.\u201d
\n\u201cYou went to coffee already knowing who I was.\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cAnd I knew nothing.\u201d
\nClaire shut her eyes for a second. \u201cYes. I meant to tell you that day.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThe old Pine Street library.\u201d
\nI frowned. \u201cDidn\u2019t they gut that place years ago?\u201d
\n\u201cThe original children\u2019s room is still there,\u201d she said. \u201cThey rebuilt around it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHer glasses were yellow.\u201d
\nClaire blinked. \u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cNora\u2019s glasses. They were yellow.\u201d
\nClaire looked down at the picture. \u201cThey were purple.\u201d
\n\u201cNo,\u201d I said. \u201cThey were yellow.\u201d
\nShe stared at me for a moment. Then she laughed. \u201cShe painted them.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat?\u201d
\n\u201cWith yellow nail polish. My mother almost lost her mind.\u201d<\/p>\n
\nI looked up at her. She immediately realized what she\u2019d done. \u201cSorry. Wrong question.\u201d A moment passed. Then she tried again. \u201cIf you want to know where the picture came from, I\u2019ll tell you here. Or I can show you. Or I can leave.\u201d<\/p>\n
\nClaire pointed. \u201cRight there.\u201d Now the rug was gray. I lowered myself into one of the small chairs at a little table. My knees barely fit underneath. Claire remained near the doorway.<\/p>\n
\n\u201cShe cheated,\u201d I said.
\n\u201cOh, constantly.\u201d
\n\u201cShe skipped ahead.\u201d
\n\u201cAlso constantly.\u201d
\n\u201cI hated that.\u201d
\n\u201cShe knew.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWas she sick?\u201d I asked.
\nClaire looked briefly toward the doorway before answering. \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHow sick?\u201d
\n\u201cShe had a chronic condition from childhood. That summer was one of the better stretches.\u201d
\n\u201cSo she came here?\u201d
\n\u201cEvery week she could.\u201d Claire came closer but stopped on the opposite side of the table. \u201cShe hated people asking about her health before they asked her name.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThat was why she liked you.\u201d
\nI gave Claire a sharp look. \u201cDon\u2019t turn me into some saintly eight-year-old.\u201d
\nClaire almost smiled. \u201cYou weren\u2019t. You made her cry once because you said she cheated at Uno.\u201d
\n\u201cDid she?\u201d
\n\u201cAbsolutely.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cWhat happened to her?\u201d
\nClaire pulled out the chair across from me. \u201cCan I sit?\u201d
\nI nodded. She sat down. \u201cNear the end of that summer, our mom took Nora out of town for specialized treatment. Everybody thought she\u2019d be gone a few weeks.\u201d
\nMy fingers found a scratch carved into the surface of the table. \u201cAnd?\u201d
\n\u201cShe got worse.\u201d My thumb stopped moving over the scratch. Claire continued quietly. \u201cShe died that winter.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\n\u201cBut you knew I existed.\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cYou knew who I was when you saw me on Tinder.\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cSo why then?\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBut eventually you did.\u201d
\n\u201cSeventeen years later, your face showed up on my phone.\u201d
\nI rubbed both palms against my jeans. \u201cAnd you swiped right.\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cTo tell me Nora died. That was the whole plan?\u201d
\n\u201cOne coffee. Tell you who I was. Tell you what happened. Thank you for being her friend.\u201d
\nI looked at her. \u201cAnd then?\u201d
\nClaire gave a tired little laugh. \u201cThen you ordered another coffee. You stayed until they started stacking chairs around us.\u201d
\n\u201cThat doesn\u2019t answer why you lied, Claire.\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIf Nora had never existed, would you have swiped right on me?\u201d
\nClaire watched me silently for several seconds. \u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d That hurt more than a nicer answer would have. She continued before I could respond. \u201cI probably wouldn\u2019t have stopped on your profile long enough to find out.\u201d I turned my face away. \u201cBut Nora got me to that coffee shop,\u201d she admitted. \u201cShe didn\u2019t make me order another coffee. Or stay until they stacked the chairs around us.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI know.\u201d
\n\u201cThere you go again.\u201d
\n\u201cSorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\nClaire didn\u2019t try to defend herself. After a moment she said, \u201cYes.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy?\u201d
\n\u201cAt first, because I didn\u2019t want you to think I was using Nora to get close to you.\u201d
\n\u201cYou were using Nora to get close to me.\u201d
\n\u201cTo meet you. Yes.\u201d
\n\u201cAnd later?\u201d
\nClaire stared down at the gray carpet. \u201cLater I was scared you\u2019d leave.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI need some time by myself.\u201d
\nClaire stood. \u201cDo you want me to leave?\u201d
\nI considered it. Then I shook my head. \u201cStay here.\u201d
\nShe nodded.<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI remembered something.\u201d Claire waited. \u201cI told Nora to finish the book herself.\u201d I rubbed the edge of the photograph with my thumb. \u201cWas that the last time I saw her?\u201d
\nClaire slowly shook her head. \u201cI don\u2019t know exactly what your last conversation was.\u201d Strangely, that answer helped more than false certainty would have. \u201cBut she talked about you afterward,\u201d Claire added.
\n\u201cWhat did she say?\u201d
\n\u201cMostly that you were annoying.\u201d
\nI laughed. Then Claire smiled. \u201cShe also said you always waited when she fell behind reading.\u201d<\/p>\n
\nShe stayed where she was. \u201cI understand.\u201d
\n\u201cNo, you don\u2019t. Neither do I.\u201d
\nClaire nodded. \u201cWhat do you want me to do?\u201d
\nThe question surprised me. \u201cTonight? Tell me about Nora.\u201d
\n\u201cAnd after?\u201d
\n\u201cI want to go home.\u201d
\n\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cDo you want me to return it?\u201d she asked.
\n\u201cNo.\u201d Claire looked at me. \u201cI bought it because you wanted it,\u201d I said. \u201cThat part didn\u2019t change.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNora was right. The ending is awful.\u201d
\nHer reply arrived almost immediately.
\n\u201cShe was unbearable when she was right.\u201d
\nI smiled. \u201cI\u2019m still at the library if you want to come argue about it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHey. I\u2019m not done.\u201d
\nHer hand stopped. \u201cSorry.\u201d
\nShe pulled it back. And waited.<\/p>\n