Maid of Honor speech.

When I thought about what I’d say to toast Jess tonight, I realized that it was not going to be easy, because Jess is a creature who defies simple definition.

I first fell under her spell when I was three, and my first impression was that she was the most unique, mysterious person I’d ever met. She was only a year older than I was, but even then was larger-than-life, and possessed of an almost preternatural wisdom.

Being Jess’ sidekick has always been an adventure, because she is a born rebel. She had no time for conventional thinking, and no apparent fear of authority—something for which I always viewed her with grudging admiration.

Her bedroom was less a hangout than a dumping ground for the retro glam outfits she found at Goodwill, and then stylishly orchestrated. It always amazed me that nobody ever made her clean up her room—but Jess had her ways, and you learned early on that trying to change them was an exercise in futility.

Nowhere was her idiosyncratic behavior more pronounced than around her opinions about food. From early childhood, Jess had a Do Not Eat list. She didn’t reject items because she disliked their taste, but because she’d decided they’d offended her, and once you’d offended Jess, even if you were a rutabaga, you were off her list. She refused to eat hot dogs, for instance. If you asked her why, she’d say simply, “Hot dogs are for phonies.” And that was that.

Jess was the most confident person I’d ever met. At our teenage sleepovers, we’d talk about the exotic places we’d travel, the dangerous men we’d meet, the fascinating careers we’d have, and while I was still tentative about my future, for Jess, it was never a matter of whether her life would be fabulous—only when.

Most of the time, I loved Jess’ independent streak, but sometimes it made life with her a wild ride—literally. I am thinking of the time she felt like taking a swim and leapt fully clothed out of our canoe, then capsized it trying to climb back in. Or the time she called up a boy on whom I had a crush, and to my horror, told him that he’d regret it for the rest of his life if he didn’t ask me out. (He came through.)

Still, I could never stay mad at her long. She was too way too much fun.

I can still remember her the summer she channeled Madonna during her “Like A Virgin” phase. The camp was Preppie Central, and Jess was going out of her mind, so she decided to walk around wearing a lacy bustier, leggings, black ankle boots, fingerless gloves, dangling jewelry, heavy eye makeup, and tie her scraggly hair up in a bow.

The truth was that I admired that side of Jess—the side that defied convention, that was stubborn and sometimes frustrating, yes, but also sweet and funny and kind and entertaining, and most of all, thoroughly real.

And Jess is nothing if not real.

While you sit here tonight, the picture of beauty and poise, on the surface you couldn’t be more different from that kid with attitude to burn who showed up for our play date that afternoon. But I’ve been around long enough to know that you’re still very much that girl—and that she never went away.

Jess, I don’t know what your magic is, but I hope that you never lose it, and Peter, I hope you always treasure and honor it. Please join me in raising a glass to celebrate my friend—Jess.