At 6, I Promised My Best Friend with Down Syndrome We’d Go to Prom Together – 12 Years Later, Mom Said I Could Go with Him Only on One Condition
Mom’s voice cracked.
“I asked Noah to promise he’d look after you.”
I stared at her.
“You… what?”
“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 froze.
“I asked Noah to promise he’d look after you.”
Mom wiped her cheek.
“He said, ‘Okay.’ Just like that.”
Downstairs, Noah laughed again.
Mom looked toward the door.
“And then I did something I’m ashamed of.”
“What?”
“For six years, I worried you were sacrificing too much for him,” she admitted.
I went still.
“I did something I’m ashamed of.”
“Every time you waited for Noah, defended him, changed plans because he wasn’t invited, I wondered whether you felt responsible for him.”
“Mom…”
“I kept measuring your friendship by what Noah might need from you.” Her mouth trembled. “I never bothered measuring it by what he gives.”
Suddenly I saw six years differently.
“I kept measuring your friendship by what Noah might need from you.”
Ice cream after my driving test.
That stupid dinosaur in his locker.
Lunches when I couldn’t talk.
A porch when my heart was broken.
Noah hadn’t needed me to carry him.
We had simply kept showing up for each other.
“So what’s your condition?” I whispered.
Noah hadn’t needed me to carry him.
Mom smiled through tears.
“Don’t go tonight because six-year-old Chrissy promised him.” She squeezed my hand. “Promise me you’ll go because 18-year-old Christina chooses him.”
I laughed.
“Mom, I wasn’t going because of the promise.”
“I know that now.”
“The promise is just why Noah bought a bow tie four months early,” I said.
“Promise me you’ll go because 18-year-old Christina chooses him.”
