Mom continued.

“That day, I asked Noah to promise me something.”

“What?”

“I asked him to look after you.”

I stared at her.

“You did what?”

“I was desperate, Christina.”

Her voice cracked.

“Your father was gone. You barely spoke to me. I felt like I was losing you too. And Noah was one of the only people who could still make you smile.”

“What did he say?”

She gave a tiny laugh through her tears.

“He said, ‘Okay.’”

Of course he did.

But then Mom’s expression changed.

“There’s something else I need to admit.”

I waited.

“For years afterward, I made a mistake.”

“What mistake?”

“Whenever you defended Noah, whenever you changed plans because someone excluded him, whenever you chose to spend time with him instead of doing something else, part of me worried.”

“Worried about what?”

“That you were giving up too much.”

I stared at her.

She continued before I could respond.

“I kept seeing the ways you helped him. I kept wondering what he might need from you in the future. I convinced myself I was protecting you.”

Her eyes dropped.

“But I wasn’t seeing your friendship clearly.”

The room became very quiet.

“I was so focused on what Noah might need from you,” she said, “that I never stopped to notice everything he gives you.”

And suddenly, I saw the last twelve years differently too.

The ice cream after my driving test.

The ridiculous dinosaur drawing in his locker.

The porch after my heartbreak.

The quiet lunches after Dad left.

The hundreds of ordinary moments nobody else would ever know about.

Noah had never been a responsibility I carried.

We carried each other.

“So what’s your condition?” I finally asked.

Mom looked confused.

“You said I could go if I made you a promise.”

She smiled.

Then she took both my hands.

“Don’t go to prom because six-year-old Chrissy made a promise.”

I waited.

“Go because eighteen-year-old Christina chooses him.”

I felt myself smile.

“Mom, that’s already why I’m going.”

Her face crumpled slightly.

“I know that now.”

PART 3 — The Promise We Chose to Keep

When Mom and I finally returned downstairs, Noah was waiting exactly where we had left him.

He looked from me to Mom.

“You took a long time.”

Mom walked directly toward him.

“Noah, can I have the first dance?”

His eyebrows rose.

“Mrs. Jane, this isn’t prom.”

I burst out laughing.

Mom ignored him and turned on music.

For the next thirty seconds, Noah attempted to guide her around the living room while she repeatedly stepped in the wrong direction.

Finally, he stopped.

“Mrs. Jane.”

“Yes?”

“Chrissy dances better.”

Mom laughed.

“That’s why she’s your date.”

Then the humor disappeared from her face.

She looked directly at him.

“Thank you for staying.”

Noah seemed confused by the seriousness of the statement.

To him, staying had never been extraordinary.

It was simply what friends did.

He shrugged.

“She stays too.”

Mom closed her eyes for a second.

Those three words seemed to answer a question she had been carrying for six years.

Twelve Years Later

Prom itself was surprisingly ordinary.

And that was what made it perfect.

No dramatic announcement was made when we arrived.

Nobody stopped the music.

Nobody treated Noah like a symbol.

Nobody treated me like I had done something heroic by showing up with my best friend.

We were simply two eighteen-year-olds going to prom.

When the first slow song began, Noah turned toward me.

“Chrissy.”

“Yes?”

He held out his hand.

“You owe me.”

“Twelve years?”

“Twelve years.”

I took his hand.

Within approximately five seconds, he stepped directly on my shoe.

“Ow!”

“That was your fault.”