He didn't tell people everything happened for a reason.
He didn't promise to fix anything.
He simply stayed.
When my first serious boyfriend dumped me before junior homecoming, Ethan sat beside me on the front porch while I cried so hard my mascara ended up halfway down my cheeks.
After ten minutes, he said:
“I never liked him.”
I wiped my nose.
“You told me he was nice.”
“I was being polite.”
“You invited him to your birthday.”
“There was pizza.”
“That has nothing to do with him.”
“It had everything to do with pizza.”
I laughed despite myself.
Ethan smiled.
Mission accomplished.
By senior year, prom was everywhere.
Posters.
Group chats.
Dress shopping.
Elaborate proposals involving balloons and signs.
I had almost forgotten our first-grade promise.
Ethan had not.
One afternoon in February, he walked up to my locker with both hands behind his back.
“Maddie.”
“What did you break?”
“Nothing.”
“That sounded suspicious.”
“Do you remember first grade?”
I pretended to think.
“Not really.”
His eyes widened.
“You don't?”
I let him panic for exactly two seconds.
“I'm kidding.”
He frowned.
“That isn't funny.”
“It was a little funny.”
“No.”
Then he held out his pinkie.
And just like that, I remembered.
The cafeteria.
The chocolate pudding.
Tyler laughing.
Ethan asking if somebody could love him.
Prom first.
I hooked my pinkie around his.
“You've seriously remembered this for twelve years?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because promises matter.”
Then he grinned.
“And because I already bought my tie.”
I blinked.
“When?”
“November.”
“Ethan, prom is in May.”
“I know.”
“You bought a tie six months early?”
“Good ties sell out.”
“No, they don't.”
“You don't know.”
“What kind of tie?”
He looked proud of himself.
“Navy bow tie.”
“Why navy?”
“It matches your dress.”
I froze.
“How did you know what color my dress was?”
He suddenly looked guilty.
“My mom talks to your mom.”
“You cheated.”
“I planned.”
“There is a difference.”
“Exactly.”
And that was how Ethan officially became my prom date.
Not because I felt sorry for him.
Not because he had Down syndrome.
Not because of a childish promise.
I wanted to go with him.
He was the person who had been there for every terrible haircut, every failed exam, every family argument, every heartbreak, and every ridiculous art project.
There wasn't anyone else I would rather spend that night with.
I thought Mom understood that.
Until prom night.
The doorbell rang while my aunt was helping me fix one stubborn earring.
“Maddie!” she yelled from downstairs. “Your date is here!”
“Two minutes!”
From the hallway below, Ethan shouted:
“She said that twenty minutes ago!”
I leaned over the railing.
“Traitor!”
“I am just reporting facts!”
I laughed and went back to the mirror.
My dress was deep blue.
My hair had taken nearly an hour.
For the first time all evening, I actually felt nervous.
Not about Ethan.
About prom itself.
It felt strange reaching an event we had joked about since childhood.
I grabbed my purse and headed downstairs.
Halfway down the staircase, I stopped.
Mom had opened the front door.
Ethan stood there in a dark suit with his navy bow tie perfectly straight.
His mother had clearly forced him to comb his hair.
In one hand, he held a corsage.
He was smiling.
Mom wasn't.
She was staring at him.
Not angrily.
Not suspiciously.
