“Me too,” I said, smiling, blushing. No one had ever called me special or said I was strong.

“I want you to have this,” she said, pressing her lighter into my palm, closing my fingers around it with both of her hands. The warmth of her touch lingered after she let go. “Look at the bottom.”

I angled it toward the scant moonlight. Elise x Remy, it said, inscribed in a simple script.

“Happy birthday.” She had the softest smile.

“When did you get this done?” I stared at her in surprise. I couldn’t believe she’d noticed me admiring it, or that she’d give me something that obviously meant a lot to her. Elise always had it on her, was always fiddling with it. My thumb traced over the silver filigree. It looked like an antique, like it held an important piece of her history, like it was a piece of her. I’d never gotten something so personal before. This was the kind of thing people only gave to family. And maybe that was what Elise was saying—that we could be family. I held it tightly in my hand like it was proof I was loved, and maybe that’s exactly what it was. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she said, still smiling. “Come on.” We went inside, up to her room. As we got ready for bed, I set the gift on my pillow and stared at it. Soft light from the street filtered through the blinds and hit the metal like a spark. Maybe it really was a piece of her, I thought as I drifted to sleep.

Elise was electricity. I was the night. She banished the darkness, she lit me up.

SATURDAY // NOVEMBER 26 // DAY 78

15.

Every relationship has a pivotal moment that defines it. Ours was the night of Northside Hospital’s annual Thanksgiving fundraiser, held at the Four Seasons downtown that year. We were friends before, maybe even best friends, but after that night, we were family.

Elise spent Thanksgiving break in Chattanooga with her father, packing up the rest of their things. She sent me pictures of weird stuff she found in her closet—a self-portrait done in macaroni from kindergarten, a half-used pack of hair extensions—and funny selfies of her sprawled on the floor exhausted. And then, late Saturday morning, she texted to say she was back and wanted to hang out.

Me: Can’t

Me: I have to go to this black tie dinner the hospital’s throwing to get money from rich old people and pretend I love my mom

Elise: Okay, I’m in

Elise: Just how black tie is this thing?

I stared at her message with surprise. Christian and I never, ever brought anyone to these things for the same reason we almost never invited people over to our house.

Before I could come up with an excuse, she sent a picture of a deep red cocktail dress. “This okay?” she asked.

Fuck it, I thought, and sent her a thumbs-up emoji. They always had a few no-shows every year, and in public my parents liked to pretend everything was perfect—their marriage, their kids. It was always unsettling when my mom squeezed my shoulders and kissed the top of my head, or when my dad laughed at all of her jokes and looked at her as if he still loved her. But all of that just meant they’d be too preoccupied trying to convince everyone they had it all to cause any kind of scene.