Me.
Eight years old, maybe nine.
I knew immediately because I remembered that horrible striped shirt. My mother had insisted it made me look “handsome.”
I had never given Claire a childhood photograph of me.
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:
“Nora + Ethan, Summer Reading Club.”
Below that, written much more recently in black ink, were five words.
“Found Ethan today. Tell him.”
Underneath was a date.
I checked it twice.
It was the date Claire and I had matched on Tinder.
A chill crawled across my arms even though Claire’s apartment was warm.
“Ethan?”
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’d hoped it would.
Emerald green, just as I’d 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.
For a moment, she smiled.
Then her eyes landed on the photograph.
Her fingers remained frozen against the earring.
