
The night she owned the party
Before you came along, Alex threw a housewarming the summer we started our first jobs, in an Oakland backyard with string lights and one picnic table. By ten she was up on that table in a red dress, dancing to a song only she could hear. Someone yelled, “Is there even music?” and she yelled back, “There is now.” I thought, I want to be that free.
— Nina, Alex’s friend from her first job

A gray day in Maine
Before you came along, five of us drove up to Maine the spring after college, and it rained every single day. On the third day we pulled over by a lake, cold and grumpy, nobody talking. Alex got out, said, “Well, we can’t get any wetter,” and jumped in the biggest puddle. Ten seconds later all five of us were jumping and laughing in the rain.
— Priya, Alex’s college roommate

The plant
Before you came along, before she could even walk, Alex had a walker, chubby cheeks, and a plan. I was fifteen, and I found her in my mother’s living room licking the rubber plant, one leaf at a time, very pleased with herself. My sister said, “Alex, no!” and then we both burst out laughing.
— Jo, Alex’s aunt