“Who is Nora?”
Her hand slowly dropped.
“Ethan…”
“No.” I pointed at the date. “Why did you write this the day we met?”
She looked toward
the couch as if another explanation might somehow be waiting there.
Finally she said, “Because I knew who you were.”Get Mobile Apps
I stared at her.
“Before Tinder?”
“Yes.”
The bright green dress suddenly looked almost ridiculous against the room.
“You knew me before we matched?”
“Yes.”
“How?”Plan a Birthday
Instead of answering, Claire looked at the photograph.
I read the note aloud.
“‘Found Ethan today. Tell him.’ Tell me what?”
She reached for the back of a dining chair but didn’t sit down.
“Nora was my sister.”
I looked again at the little girl beside me.
Something shifted at the edge of my memory.Shop Sofas
Purple glasses.
A laugh.
A book lying open across two sets of knees.
But each image disappeared before I could hold onto it.
“Your sister?”
“My half-sister. She was much younger than me.”
“Why am I in a picture with her?”Get Writing Tools
Claire finally looked directly at me.
“Because you
were friends.”
The answer should have made things clearer.Get Writing Tools
Instead, everything became more confusing.
For six months, I’d believed I knew exactly how Claire and I had entered each other’s 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. Direct. Funny. Completely sure of what she wanted.
