The green dress I\u2019d saved for was still in Claire\u2019s bedroom when my mobile phone slid underneath her couch. I reached into the narrow gap and pulled out an object featuring my own eight-year-old face. Then I discovered a note in Claire\u2019s handwriting dated the exact day we matched on Tinder, which made me realize she\u2019d known my identity beforehand.<\/p>\n
My phone had vanished between the couch cushion and the armrest while Claire was in the bedroom changing into the emerald dress I\u2019d bought her. I muttered something unfit for polite company and thrust my hand into the dark opening. My fingers encountered two quarters, a pen cap, an object that felt suspiciously like a stale potato chip, and finally, my phone.<\/p>\n
However, when I drew my hand back out, a photograph came along with it. It fluttered down and landed facedown on the rug. I picked it up automatically, then froze in place. The picture was faded enough that the colors had blurred around the edges. A small group of children sat on the floor of what appeared to be a library, each clutching a book. Near the end of the row sat a skinny boy with uneven brown hair and a noticeable gap where a front tooth belonged.<\/p>\n
Myself. Eight years old, perhaps nine. I recognized it instantly because of that dreadful striped shirt\u2014my mother had always insisted it made me look dashing. Yet, I had never given Claire any childhood photographs of myself. Standing right beside me was a young girl around my age wearing purple glasses.<\/p>\n
I flipped the photograph over. In faded blue ink, someone had inscribed: \u201cNora + Ethan, Summer Reading Club.\u201d<\/i> Below that, written in much newer black ink, were five distinct words: \u201cFound Ethan today. Tell him.\u201d<\/i> Underneath those words was a date. I checked it twice. It matched the exact day Claire and I had matched on Tinder.<\/p>\n
A chill rippled across my arms despite the comfortable warmth of Claire\u2019s apartment.<\/p>\n
\u201cEthan?\u201d Her voice drifted from the bedroom. I stared at the handwriting. A moment later, Claire emerged into the living room. The dress fit her flawlessly\u2014emerald green, just as I had envisioned when returning to the boutique without her. Her dark hair was pinned loosely behind one ear, and she was still fastening her other earring.<\/p>\n
For a single heartbeat, she smiled. Then she caught sight of the photograph. Her fingers froze on the earring, leaving it half-fastened.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere did you find that?\u201d<\/p>\n
I almost let out a dry laugh. \u201cUnder your couch.\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire remained silent. I held the photograph higher. \u201cWho on earth is Nora?\u201d<\/p>\n
Her hand drifted slowly down. \u201cEthan\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d I pointed straight at the date. \u201cWhy on earth did you write this down the very day we met?\u201d<\/p>\n
She glanced toward the sofa as if hoping another answer might be sitting there. Finally, she murmured, \u201cBecause I recognized who you were.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at her in disbelief. \u201cBefore Tinder?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
The green dress suddenly looked blindingly bright in the room. \u201cYou knew who I was before we even matched?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow?\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire looked down at the photograph instead of answering. I read the note aloud once more: \u201c\u2018Found Ethan today. Tell him.\u2019<\/i> Tell me what?\u201d<\/p>\n
She reached for the back of a dining chair but didn\u2019t sit down. \u201cNora was my sister.\u201d<\/p>\n
I glanced back at the little girl in the photograph. A forgotten memory stirred at the edge of my mind\u2014purple glasses, a sudden laugh, a book held open between two sets of knees. Nothing stayed clear enough to grasp.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour sister?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy half-sister. She was much younger than me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy am I standing in a picture with her?\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire looked directly into my eyes now. \u201cBecause the two of you were friends.\u201d<\/p>\n
That answer should have brought clarity. Instead, it complicated everything. I had spent six whole months believing I understood precisely how Claire and I had started. I had been twenty-five and nearly finished with dating apps; Claire was forty-five. She had stood out from her very first message\u2014direct, witty, and certain of what she wanted. The twenty-year age gap had made me hesitate, but only briefly. Our first coffee date had lasted nearly four hours. She remembered that I hated cinnamon in my coffee; I remembered that she collected awful refrigerator magnets on her travels. By our third date, she knew my boss’s name, my favorite pizza joint, and the story behind the scar on my wrist. With Claire, I had never needed to guess her meaning. Apparently, I had only been guessing where she came from.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo you matched with me because of Nora.\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire didn\u2019t dodge the question. \u201cAt first, yes.\u201d<\/p>\n
I set the photograph down on the coffee table. \u201cUnbelievable.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEthan, I wasn\u2019t trying to trick you into a fake relationship.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou literally recognized me from our childhood and kept it from me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou walked into our first coffee date already knowing who I was.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I knew nothing at all.\u201d<\/p>\n
She closed her eyes briefly. \u201cYes. I intended to tell you that very day.\u201d<\/p>\n
I picked the photograph back up and tapped the newer ink. \u201cYou wrote this before you even saw me again.\u201d I checked the date once more. \u201cWere you ever planning to tell me? And where was this even taken?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe old Pine Street library.\u201d<\/p>\n
I frowned. \u201cDidn\u2019t they gut that entire building years ago?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe original children\u2019s room is still there,\u201d she explained. \u201cThey just rebuilt everything else around it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then, fragments of it returned to me: low shelves, beanbag chairs, a paper sun hanging crookedly from a ceiling tile. I could almost smell the dusty carpet. Then something else emerged\u2014yellow.<\/p>\n
I stared intently at the picture. \u201cHer glasses were yellow.\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire blinked in surprise. \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNora\u2019s glasses. They were yellow.\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire looked back down at the photo. \u201cThey were purple.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I insisted. \u201cThey were yellow.\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire stared at me for a second, then let out a laugh. \u201cShe painted them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWith yellow nail polish. My mother nearly lost her mind.\u201d<\/p>\n
The memory hit me with such force I had to sit down. A young girl sitting cross-legged with thick yellow glasses, reading a paperback inches from her face. I couldn\u2019t recall the book’s title, but I distinctly remembered being annoyed by her.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you want to go there?\u201d Claire asked.<\/p>\n
I looked up.<\/p>\n
She caught herself immediately. \u201cSorry. Wrong question.\u201d<\/p>\n
A beat passed before she tried again. \u201cIf you want to know where the picture came from, I can tell you right here. Or I can take you there. Or I can just leave.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was the first thing she\u2019d said all evening that didn\u2019t feel calculated for my benefit. I reached for my jacket. \u201cTake me to the library.\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire changed out of the green dress without another word. Twenty minutes later, we stood beneath the fluorescent hum of the Pine Street branch. The adult section looked entirely foreign, but the children\u2019s room did not. It was smaller than I remembered\u2014much smaller. I walked slowly past the shelves until I reached the back corner.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere used to be a blue rug right here.\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire pointed. \u201cRight there.\u201d<\/p>\n
Now it was gray. I sat at one of the small tables, my knees barely fitting underneath. Claire lingered near the doorway. I looked around until I spotted a display of adventure books, and another piece clicked into place: Nora slamming a book shut, me accusing her of skipping three pages, and her telling me I was simply too slow.<\/p>\n
I laughed before I could stop myself. Claire didn\u2019t ask why.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe cheated,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, constantly.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe skipped ahead.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAlso constantly.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI hated that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe knew it.\u201d<\/p>\n
I glanced over at her. Claire was smiling, but not at me\u2014she was smiling at someone who wasn’t there. I hated how much that sting hurt.<\/p>\n
\u201cWas she sick?\u201d I asked quietly.<\/p>\n
Claire glanced toward the doorway before answering. \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
There it was. The reality she had carried toward me for six months.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow sick?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe had a chronic condition originating in childhood. That particular summer was actually one of her better stretches.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo she came here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEvery single week she was able to.\u201d Claire walked closer, stopping on the opposite side of the table. \u201cShe absolutely hated when people asked about her health before asking her name.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at the empty chair beside me. \u201cI didn\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat was precisely why she liked you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I shot her a sharp look. \u201cDon\u2019t turn me into some saintly eight-year-old.\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire almost smiled. \u201cYou certainly weren’t. You made her cry once because you claimed she cheated at Uno.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid she?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAbsolutely.\u201d<\/p>\n
Despite myself, I laughed, though it lasted only a couple of seconds before the heavier question returned. \u201cWhat happened to her?\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire pulled out the chair across from me. \u201cMay I sit?\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded. She sat down.<\/p>\n
\u201cNear the end of that summer, our mother took Nora out of town for specialized treatment. Everyone assumed she would be gone for just a few weeks.\u201d<\/p>\n
My fingers traced a minor scratch carved into the table surface. \u201cAnd?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe took a turn for the worse.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stopped moving my thumb over the wood. Claire continued softly, \u201cShe passed away that winter.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared out toward the shelves. Somewhere nearby, a child giggled. For a long while, neither of us spoke.<\/p>\n
Then I asked, \u201cWhy didn’t anyone tell me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo one thought to.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut you always knew I existed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou knew who I was the moment you saw me on Tinder.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo why wait until then?\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire looked down at her hands. \u201cBecause I felt I\u2019d finally been handed a chance to tell you.\u201d<\/p>\n
I waited.<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t know your last name for years,\u201d she continued. \u201cI only knew Ethan. I knew your mother used to pick you up in a red car. I knew you moved away shortly after Nora fell sick. By the time I seriously considered tracking you down, I had almost no useful information.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYet eventually, you did.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSeventeen years later, your face popped up on my phone screen.\u201d<\/p>\n
I rubbed both hands over my jeans. \u201cAnd you swiped right.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust to tell me Nora died? Was that the entire plan?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOne cup of coffee. To tell you who I was, explain what happened, and thank you for being her friend.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at her. \u201cAnd after that?\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire gave a tired little laugh. \u201cThen you ordered another round of coffee. You stayed until the staff started stacking chairs around us.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat still doesn’t excuse why you lied to me, Claire.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, it doesn’t.\u201d<\/p>\n
Good. At least she didn’t pretend it did. I leaned back in my seat. \u201cIf Nora had never existed, would you still have swiped right on me?\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire held my gaze for several long seconds. \u201cI honestly don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
That hurt more than a comforting lie would have. She spoke before I could interrupt. \u201cI probably wouldn\u2019t have lingered on your profile long enough to find out.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked away. \u201cYet Nora brought me to that coffee shop,\u201d she admitted. \u201cShe didn\u2019t make you order a second coffee, though. Or stay until they cleared the chairs.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stood up. \u201cWhatever happened after doesn\u2019t erase what happened before.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere you go again.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI’m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
I picked up the photograph. \u201cYou kept deciding what information I was permitted to have.\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire offered no defense. Finally, she whispered, \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAt first, because I didn\u2019t want you thinking I was using Nora to get close to you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou were<\/i> using Nora to get close to me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTo meet you, yes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd later on?\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire stared down at the gray carpet. \u201cLater, I was simply terrified that you would walk away.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was the first completely honest answer of the entire night, devoid of any noble packaging. I folded the photograph once, then instinctively opened it flat again. \u201cI need some time alone.\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire stood up. \u201cWould you prefer I leave?\u201d<\/p>\n
I considered it, then shook my head. \u201cStay here.\u201d<\/p>\n
She nodded. I walked outside by myself, and for once, Claire didn’t follow. Yet halfway across the library courtyard, another vivid memory struck me: Nora slamming a book shut, me reacting in pure fury, and my own childish voice declaring: \u201cFine. Finish it yourself.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n
I stopped walking dead in my tracks because I suddenly needed to know if those had been the last words I ever spoke to her. I pulled out my phone and texted Claire: \u201cCan you come outside?\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n
She appeared a minute later, stopping a few feet away.<\/p>\n
\u201cI remembered something else.\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire waited.<\/p>\n
\u201cI told Nora to finish the book herself.\u201d I rubbed the worn edge of the photograph with my thumb. \u201cWas that the last time I ever saw her?\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire shook her head slowly. \u201cI cannot say for certain what your final conversation was.\u201d<\/p>\n
That honest uncertainty helped more than false reassurance ever could.<\/p>\n
\u201cThough she did mention you afterward,\u201d Claire added softly.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did she say?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMostly that you were quite annoying.\u201d<\/p>\n
I let out a dry laugh, and Claire smiled. \u201cShe also mentioned that you always waited up for her whenever she fell behind on her reading.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked down at the picture in my hand. For years, Nora had existed in my mind as a vague missing piece I had long stopped noticing. Now, she was transforming back into a real person\u2014yellow glasses, cheating at games, skipping pages, and getting irritated with me.<\/p>\n
I looked up at Claire. \u201cI believe that you love me. But I don’t know what I trust yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
She didn’t shift her stance. \u201cI understand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, you don’t. Neither do I.\u201d<\/p>\n
Claire nodded quietly. \u201cWhat do you want me to do now?\u201d<\/p>\n
Her question caught me off guard. \u201cTonight? Just tell me about Nora.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd after that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI want to go home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n
We spent another hour talking. Nothing overly dramatic. Nora had hated raisins, wanted a motorcycle for her sixteenth birthday, and believed board game rules were merely \u201csuggestions.\u201d<\/p>\n
When we returned to Claire\u2019s apartment, the green dress was neatly folded over a chair.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you want me to return it?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
She looked at me inquisitively.<\/p>\n
\u201cI bought it because you wanted it,\u201d I said. \u201cThat part hasn’t changed.\u201d<\/p>\n
With that, I went home.<\/p>\n
Four days later, I returned to the library alone and checked out the exact book Nora and I had once argued over. The ending was terrible. I pulled out my phone and texted Claire: \u201cNora was right. The ending is awful.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n
Her reply arrived almost instantly: \u201cShe was entirely unbearable when she was right.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n
I smiled. \u201cI\u2019m still at the library if you want to come argue about it.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n
Claire arrived twenty minutes later. We sat together at the small children\u2019s table, and as I read, her hand moved automatically toward the page. I placed one finger down on the paper.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey. I\u2019m not finished yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her hand stopped instantly. \u201cSorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
She pulled it back and waited. I finished the paragraph, then turned the page myself.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The green dress I\u2019d saved for was still in Claire\u2019s bedroom when my mobile phone slid underneath her couch. I reached into the narrow gap and pulled out an object featuring my own eight-year-old face. Then I discovered a note in Claire\u2019s handwriting dated the exact day we matched on Tinder, which made me realize…<\/p>\n