Love You in All Your Forms

The first thought that went through my head when I saw Claire was "She looks nothing like Katie". It was the first time that has happened since her death. Usually, I find some sort of quality that reminds me of her, but not with Claire. She has sharp lines that create her face shape. Her hair is dark brown, almost black. Claire has a self awareness and boldness that is unparalleled to anyone. It sounds stupid, seeing that I've only met her once, but she captivated me. So it took all the will power in me to not call her the next day and ask to see her again. The same with the next say, and the day after that.

It's Saturday morning and there is an new art collection opening at the Met. Katie was never a fan of art galleries, but I've always appreciated the beauty of it all. I leave our-my house around nine and the Met opens in an hour. I check my watch after parking my car, it's only 9:30. "To Central Park it is," I say to myself.

Wandering around the park, I think about Katie. She wanted kids so bad. She wanted to take them to this park and wander in it all day. I notice a couple talking quietly to each other, and I remember our long nights. Looking at the stars, talking about the future when everything seemed so certain. I find a coffee cart, pay for a cup, and head back towards the Met.

I get in line and check my phone for messages. One from Henrik: WHAT ARE YOU DOING TODAY? We have time off for the Olympics and Henrik is up really late in Russia. THE MET. SHOULDN'T YOU BE ASLEEP? I watch a school group file into the actual gallery, and the lobby gets very quiet. Henrik: TIME DIFFERENCE IS A BITCH. I snort, typical Lundqvist. GOOD GAME LAST NIGHT. There are only two people in front of me now. THANKS. GOT TO ADMIT, I MISS NYC. I smile; Hank always claims he hates the New York traffic with a passion, which we all know is bullshit.

I pay and slide off to the right. I weave my way through the rooms until I find the new gallery. It's all about Amsterdam. I've never been, but have always wanted to go. I smile at each painting, creating a new curiosity to go. I notice someone that looks familiar, examining a painting of the wet streets. I walk towards the person. Her hair is pulled into a low, sloppy bun; and her sweater drapes over her back perfectly to reveal the top of a tattoo. "Claire?" I say. She turns, slowly. When she sees me she smiles, "Since when do hockey players come to the Met?"

We finish looking at the exhibit together and walk to a restaurant after. I can't help but smile when she talks. Claire is one of those people who talks with her hands. Dramatic gestures and sweeping motions fill the spaces in her words. She notices me smiling and says, "What? Do I have something on my face?" I chuckled. "No." "Then what?" Claire looks worried. "You're cute." I say. She blushes. "You are!" I laugh. "So hows the foot?" I decide to change the subject. "Not bad." She nods. "Still a little sore, but nothing a couple Advil can't handle." "Good." I smile.

Before we knew it, Claire and I had spent the whole day together. After lunch, she took me to this part of Central Park I never knew existed. We talked and laughed for hours. I found out that she had moved from Detroit to Nee York for school, and never moved back. She told me about her grandpa teaching her how to skate and her older brother almost knocking his teeth out the first time on skates.
I drove her home, and when I put the car in park, Claire said, "It looks like the start of a beautiful friendship." Then she leaned over and planted a kiss on my cheek before getting out of the car, and going inside.

Notes