My mother locked my bedroom door on prom night.
That was the moment I knew something was wrong.
I knew something was wrong.
Downstairs, Noah was waiting for me in a navy suit and the bow tie he’d been talking about since November.
I could hear him chatting with my aunt through the floor.
Then Mom turned toward me.
“You can go with Noah tonight, Chrissy. But only on one condition. I need one promise from you.”
“But only on one condition.”
“I know. That’s generally how dates work.”
Her voice sounded strange.
“Okay…” I actually laughed. “Let me guess. Midnight?”
The fact that she used my full name wiped the smile off my face.
Mom’s hands were trembling.
Her voice sounded strange.
“You have to hear something first.”
Her eyes flicked toward the closed bedroom door.
She sat on the edge of my bed.
Then she said something I never expected.
“I owe both of you the truth.”
Noah and I met because of raisins.
Our first-grade teacher had given everyone those little red boxes during snack time.
I was quietly stuffing mine beneath a napkin when the boy beside me whispered, “That’s smart.”
“I owe both of you the truth.”
He was doing exactly the same thing.
“You hate them?” I asked.
“Old grapes are gross,” he said.
By lunch, we were best friends.
By lunch, we were best friends.
Noah knew an unreasonable amount about dinosaurs and had strong opinions about which one would win in a fight.
The first time I showed him my Tyrannosaurus rex, he stared at the page for several seconds.
“What is… that? It looks like a potato with arms!”
” It looks like a potato with arms!”
He laughed so loudly our teacher separated us.
At six, that mattered to me considerably less than the fact that he cheated at dinosaur trivia by memorizing the answers before asking me the questions.
Our friendship was simple.
Until another kid made it complicated.
One afternoon, our teacher announced she was getting married.
Somebody insisted a wedding needed a trampoline.
“My wedding will have chocolate cake.”
“Excellent choice, Noah.”
“My wedding will have chocolate cake.”
“And no slow songs, Miss Veronica.”
A boy across our table snorted.
“You’re not getting married, dude.”
“Nobody’s going to marry you.”
I remember the exact second Noah’s smile disappeared.
“Nobody’s going to marry you.”
He looked down at his hands.
Something hot rose in my chest.
The boy turned toward me.
“Somebody will love Noah.”
A wave of giggles rippled through the classroom.
“That’s enough, boys and girls,” the teacher said, silencing the room.
“Somebody will love Noah.”
But I could see Noah was upset.
Later, after class, he looked at me with serious eyes.
“Chrissy… would you… love me?”
I considered it for a moment.
Noah immediately looked up.
I suddenly realized I had talked myself into a very serious situation.
“Chrissy… would you… love me?”
Then I remembered something my older cousin had been talking about.
“But first we have to go to prom,” I added.
“No. Prom is when we’re almost grown-ups.”
“Oh.” He held out his pinkie. “Promise?”
I hooked mine around his.
I forgot about it by dinner.
Twelve years is a long time for a friendship to survive childhood.
We didn’t always have the same classes. We made other friends. We developed different interests.
Noah became obsessed with baseball.
I forgot about it by dinner.
I became obsessed with art.
He tried teaching me baseball statistics.
I retaliated by making him visit art museums.
Neither campaign succeeded.
Then, when we were 12, my parents divorced.
That changed me in ways I didn’t understand at the time.
Our house became quieter.
Then, when we were 12, my parents divorced.
Dad moved into an apartment 20 minutes away.
Mom started pretending she wasn’t crying.
I started pretending I didn’t notice.
At school, I stopped eating much at lunch.
He never asked me to explain.
He never asked me to explain.
Once, he spent 15 straight minutes explaining why our baseball team needed a new relief pitcher.
I understood approximately four words.
Years later, when I failed my first driving test, Noah appeared at our house carrying two ice creams.
“One because you tried,” he said.
“Because you drove badly.”
At 16, when I told him I wanted to quit art because a girl in my class had laughed at one of my paintings, he stole the ugliest dinosaur drawing I’d ever made.
“Because you drove badly.”
The next morning, I found it taped inside his locker.
“Still looks like a potato with arms.”
“Then take it down,” I demanded.
“Because you can’t quit yet, Chrissy.”
“Because the dinosaurs haven’t improved.”
“Still looks like a potato with arms.”
I laughed despite myself.
He just stayed long enough for whatever hurt to become bearable.
And when my first boyfriend dumped me three weeks before junior homecoming, Noah showed up with chocolate ice cream.
He sat beside me on the porch while I cried.
He just stayed long enough for whatever hurt to become bearable.
After 10 silent minutes, he finally spoke.
“I told you he was an idiot.”
I looked at him through swollen eyes.
I laughed so hard I nearly choked on my ice cream.
Noah still tells that story.
I still threaten him every time.
“I told you he was an idiot.”
So when senior prom came around, there was never really a question about who I wanted to go with.
But Noah apparently believed there was.
One afternoon in February, he found me by my locker.
“Do you remember first grade?”
“Do you remember first grade?”
Then he held out his pinkie.
And suddenly I was six again.
A promise I had forgotten that afternoon and somehow spent 12 years keeping anyway.
And suddenly I was six again.
I hooked my pinkie around his.
Then his entire face lit up.
“I already bought the bow tie.”
“Stores run out of things,” he said.
“I already bought the bow tie.”
“They were not going to run out of bow ties.”
That was how Noah officially asked me to prom.
On prom night, I was upstairs fighting with an earring when the doorbell rang.
From just beyond the front door, Noah’s voice filtered in.
“She said that 15 minutes ago!”
I finished the earring and checked myself in the mirror.
Makeup that had taken my aunt almost an hour.
Prom had always seemed like one of those things that happened to older people.
Then suddenly I was the older person.
Before I reached the stairs, I heard Mom open the front door.
Then silence.
The kind that makes you stop moving.
Prom had always seemed like one of those things that happened to older people.
I stepped closer to the landing.
Noah stood in the entryway.
That ridiculous bow tie perfectly straight.
In one hand, he held a small corsage.
Mom blinked. “Oh. Noah. Hi.”
In one hand, he held a small corsage.
Something had changed the second she saw him.
Her eyes dropped to the corsage.
For one strange second, she looked like she’d seen a ghost.
Something had changed the second she saw him.
“Chrissy is almost ready,” she said quickly.
Mom turned and saw me on the stairs.
Noah lifted the corsage. “I have this.”
“I can see that,” I said.
“The florist said it means remembering.” He looked extremely pleased with himself. “And I remember promises.”
Mom made a small sound behind me.
When I turned, her eyes were wet.
This time she didn’t ask.
“And I remember promises.”
The second we entered my bedroom, she shut the door.
“Okay, you’re scaring me, Mom.”
“You can go with Noah tonight, but only on one condition.”
Anger hit me before fear did.
“If this is about Noah having Down syndrome, I swear to God…”
“Okay, you’re scaring me, Mom.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Mom pressed her lips together.
For several seconds, she couldn’t speak.
Finally, she sat on my bed.
“Do you remember the year your father left?”
The question caught me off guard.
“What does Dad have to do with prom?”
“Nothing.”
The kind that makes you stop moving.
Prom had always seemed like one of those things that happened to older people.
I stepped closer to the landing.
Noah stood in the entryway.
That ridiculous bow tie perfectly straight.
In one hand, he held a small corsage.
Mom blinked. “Oh. Noah. Hi.”
In one hand, he held a small corsage.
Something had changed the second she saw him.
Her eyes dropped to the corsage.
For one strange second, she looked like she’d seen a ghost.
Something had changed the second she saw him.
“Chrissy is almost ready,” she said quickly.
Mom turned and saw me on the stairs.
Noah lifted the corsage. “I have this.”
“I can see that,” I said.
“The florist said it means remembering.” He looked extremely pleased with himself. “And I remember promises.”
Mom made a small sound behind me.
When I turned, her eyes were wet.
This time she didn’t ask.
“And I remember promises.”
The second we entered my bedroom, she shut the door.
“Okay, you’re scaring me, Mom.”
“You can go with Noah tonight, but only on one condition.”
Anger hit me before fear did.
“If this is about Noah having Down syndrome, I swear to God…”
“Okay, you’re scaring me, Mom.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Mom pressed her lips together.
For several seconds, she couldn’t speak.
Finally, she sat on my bed.
“Do you remember the year your father left?”
The question caught me off guard.
“What does Dad have to do with prom?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are we talking about him?”
“Because there’s something that happened that year.”
Mom looked toward the floor.
“You stopped eating lunch.”
“Because there’s something that happened that year.”
“He found me one afternoon.”
“In the school parking lot.”
Something in her expression made the room feel suddenly smaller.
“He caught me crying in the car,” Mom admitted.
“He found me one afternoon.”
“I thought nobody saw me.” She rubbed her palms together. “But Noah did.”
Downstairs, faintly, I heard Noah laugh at something my aunt said.
Her face crumpled for half a second before she controlled it.
“What did he say to you?” I urged.
“I thought nobody saw me.”
“He asked me if you were broken.”
“Because you weren’t eating, sweetie. You weren’t laughing. He said you sat by yourself sometimes.”
I looked toward the door.
I’d forgotten most of those lunches.
“He asked me if you were broken.”
“I told him you weren’t broken.” Mom swallowed. “Then he said something I’ve remembered for six years.”
Her fingers closed around mine.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
“He said, ‘Good. Because I don’t know how to fix people. I only know how to stay.’”
“I don’t know how to fix people. I only know how to stay.”
“For six years, Noah has kept a promise to me that you never knew existed.”
Whatever came next was the truth she’d dragged me upstairs to hear.
And suddenly, I wasn’t sure I was ready for it.
Whatever came next was the truth she’d dragged me upstairs to hear.
“I asked Noah to promise he’d look after you.”
“I was falling apart, Chrissy. Your father had left, you barely spoke to me, and Noah was the only person who seemed able to reach you.”
“I asked Noah to promise he’d look after you.”
“He said, ‘Okay.’ Just like that.”
Downstairs, Noah laughed again.
Mom looked toward the door.
“And then I did something I’m ashamed of.”
“For six years, I worried you were sacrificing too much for him,” she admitted.
“I did something I’m ashamed of.”
