Awkward teenage years.
My parents’ divorce.
His endless attempts to make me understand baseball.
My complete failure to make him appreciate art.
And eventually, my first heartbreak.
The night my first boyfriend dumped me, Noah arrived at my house carrying two containers of ice cream.
He handed one to me and smiled.
“I told you that guy was an idiot.”
I laughed even though I had been crying five minutes earlier.
That was what Noah did.
He never had the perfect speech.
He never tried to solve my problems.
He simply stayed until things hurt less.
So when senior prom finally came around, going with Noah didn’t feel like honoring some childish promise out of sympathy.
He was my best friend.
There was genuinely nobody else I wanted beside me.
That evening, Noah arrived wearing a dark suit and a bow tie he had apparently chosen months earlier.
He stood on our front porch holding my corsage and smiling like he had just won the World Series.
Mom answered the door.
The moment she saw him, her expression changed.
Her smile disappeared.
For several seconds, she simply stared at Noah.
Then she forced herself to smile again.
“Christina’s almost ready.”
She turned and hurried upstairs.
I was standing in front of my mirror putting on my earrings when Mom entered my bedroom.
Before I could ask what was wrong, she shut the door.
Then she locked it.
I stared at her reflection in the mirror.
“Mom?”
She turned toward me.
“You can still go to prom with Noah tonight.”
I laughed nervously.
