The green dress I’d saved up for was still in Claire’s room when my phone slid into her sofa. I reached in and pulled out something with my own face on it—the one I had when I was eight. Then I saw a note written in Claire’s handwriting, dated the day we matched on Tinder, and I realized she’d known me first.
My phone had disappeared between Claire’s sofa cushion and the armrest while she was in the bedroom putting on the green dress I had bought her.
I muttered something I wouldn’t repeat in front of my mother and shoved my hand into the gap.
She was in the room putting on the green dress.
My fingers found two quarters, a pen cap, something that looked strangely like an old potato chip, and finally my phone.
But when I removed my hand, a photo came out with it.
She landed on the carpet.
I picked it up mechanically.
Then I stopped.
A photo was released with it.
The photo was old enough that the colors had faded at the edges. A group of children were sitting on the floor in what looked like a library, each holding a book.
The photo was quite old.
Towards the end of the row, there was a skinny boy with messy brown hair, with a gap where a front tooth should have been.
It was me.
Eight years, maybe nine.
I knew it was me because I remembered that horrible striped shirt. My mother had insisted that it made me look « handsome ».
I remembered that horrible striped shirt.
I had never given Claire a photo of myself as a child.
Next to me stood a girl about my age who wore purple glasses.
I flipped the photo.
In faded blue ink, someone had written:
« Nora + Ethan, Summer Book Club. »
I had never given Claire a photo of myself as a child.
Below, in much more recent black ink, were seven words.
« I found Ethan today. Tell him. »
Below, there was a date.
I checked it twice.
That was the date Claire and I matched on Tinder.
Below, there was a date.
***
A shiver ran down my arms, even though Claire’s apartment was well heated.
« Ethan? »
His voice was coming from the bedroom.
I stared at the writing.
A second later, Claire entered the living room.
I stared at the writing.
The dress suited her perfectly.
Emerald green, exactly as I had imagined it when I returned to the shop without her. Her dark hair was pulled back loosely behind one ear, and she was still fastening the other earring.
For a moment, she smiled.
The dress suited her perfectly.
Then she saw the photo.
Her fingers remained resting on the earring.
She hasn’t finished putting it on yet.
« Where did you find that? »
I almost laughed.
« On your couch. »
Claire said nothing.
She saw the photo.
I held up the photo.
« Who is Nora? »
His hand fell slowly back down.
« Ethan… »
« No. » I pointed to the date. « Why did you write that the day we matched? »
She looked towards the sofa, as if another answer might be found there.
« Who is Nora? »
Finally, she said, « Because I knew who you were. »
I stared at her.
« Before Tinder? »
» Yes. »
The green dress suddenly seemed absurdly bright in the room.
« Did you know me before we matched? »
» Yes. »
» How ? »
« Because I knew who you were. »
Claire looked at the photo instead of answering.
I read the word aloud.
“ I found Ethan today. Tell him.” Tell me what?
She reached for the back of a dining room chair, but did not sit down.
« Nora was my sister. »
I read the word aloud.
I looked again at the little girl in the photo.
Something stirred deep within my memory.
Purple glasses.
A laugh.
An open book, propped between two pairs of knees.
Nothing lasted long enough for me to hold on to.
« Your sister? »
Something stirred deep within my memory.
« My half-sister. She was much younger than me. »
« Why am I in a photo with her? »
Claire was looking me straight in the eyes now.
« Because you were friends. »
This answer should have helped me.
Instead, it only made things worse.
« Why am I in a photo with her? »
***
I had spent six months believing that I knew exactly how Claire and I had started.
I was 25 years old and I was almost fed up with dating apps.
Claire was 45 years old. She stood out from her very first message. She was direct, funny, and knew exactly what she wanted.
I was 25 years old and I was almost fed up with dating apps.
The 20-year age difference made me hesitate, but only for a moment.
Our first coffee lasted almost four hours.
She remembered that I hated cinnamon in coffee.
I remembered that she collected horrible fridge magnets every time she traveled.
The 20-year age difference made me hesitate.
By our third date, she knew the name of my boss, my favorite pizzeria, and the story behind the scar on my wrist.
With Claire, I never had to guess what she meant.
Apparently, I had only guessed where she came from.
I had never had to guess what she meant.
***
« So, you became interested in me because of Nora. »
Claire did not dodge the question.
« At first, yes. »
I placed the photo on the coffee table.
» Wow. »
« Ethan, I wasn’t trying to trick you into getting into a relationship. »
« You literally recognized me from my childhood and you didn’t say a word. »
» I know. »
« I wasn’t trying to trick you into getting into a relationship. »
« You came for coffee already knowing who I was. »
» Yes. »
« And I knew nothing. »
She closed her eyes for a moment.
« Yes. I intended to tell you that day. »
I took the photo and tapped over the more recent writing.
« You wrote that before you saw me again. »
« I was planning to tell you that day. »
I looked at the date on the photo again.
« Were you really going to tell me that? Where was that taken? »
« At the old Pine Street library. »
I frowned.
« Didn’t they demolish this place years ago? »
« The original children’s room is still there, » she said. « They rebuilt everything around it. »
« Didn’t they demolish this place years ago? »
That’s where I was able to see traces of it.
Low shelves.
Beanbag chairs.
A paper sun hanging crookedly from a ceiling tile.
I could almost smell the dusty carpet.
Then something else.
Yellow.
I was able to see some traces of it.
I fixed the photo.
« His glasses were yellow. »
Claire blinked.
» What ? »
« Nora’s glasses. They were yellow. »
Claire looked at the photo again.
« They were purple. »
« No, » I said. « They were yellow. »
« They were purple. »
Claire stared at me for a second.
Then she burst out laughing.
« She painted them. »
» What ? »
« With yellow nail polish. My mother almost went crazy. »
The image came to me so suddenly that I had to sit down.
A girl sitting cross-legged, wearing large yellow glasses, reading a paperback book too close to her face.
This image came to me so suddenly.
I couldn’t remember the title.
But I remembered being annoyed by her.
« Do you want to talk about it? » Claire asked me.
I looked up.
She immediately recovered.
« Sorry. Wrong question. »
There was a silence.
« Do you want to talk about it? »
Then she tried again.
« If you want to know where this photo came from, I’ll tell you right now. Or I can show it to you. Or I can leave. »
It was the first thing she had said all evening that didn’t seem to have been chosen specifically for me.
« I can show it to you. Or I can leave. »
I took my jacket.
« Take me to the library. »
Claire took off her green dress without saying a word.
***
Twenty minutes later, we were standing under the neon lights of the Pine Street branch.
The adult section was completely unknown to me.
The children’s room, however, is not.
The adult section was completely unknown to me.
Smaller than I remembered.
Much smaller.
I slowly walked along the shelves until I reached the very back corner.
« There used to be a blue carpet. »
Claire pointed at it. « Right there. »
Now it was grey.
I sat down at one of the small tables.
My knees barely fit underneath.
Now it was grey.
Claire stayed near the door.
I looked around me.
Then I saw a display of adventure books.
And another memory came back to me.
Nora was slamming a book.
I was the one accusing him of skipping three pages.
She was the one who told me I was just lagging behind.
I saw a display of adventure books.
I laughed before I even realized it.
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