Okay, this was requested quite some time ago, and I know I suck for taking so long, but here we go:

For the purpose of this story, I’m going to change names a little bit. And settle in. It’s a long one.

When my brother was 8, I think, he began to play Rec Club football, and it wasn’t long until my parents became really good friends with my brother's head coach and his wife. It just so happened that they had two boys, one my age (12) and one who was 3 years younger than me. We’ll call them John and Mark.

For years, we spent every Saturday evening together. We would all go out to dinner, then head on back to either our house or their house. It became tradition.

I think through the years, everyone thought that John and I would end up together, which cracks me up because he’s never been anything but like a brother to me. And well for a long time, Mark was just a little kid.

Then I started college, and while I lived at home throughout college, I stopped going to dinners, and so did they (they were high schoolers now afterall and too cool to be seen with their parents.)

When I was 19, my mom, brother and I had planned to go to the beach with John, Mark and their mom. It had been months since I had seen Mark, and when we got to their house the morning of vacation, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

He was taller and older and my heart jumped. This was totally and completely wrong. He was THREE YEARS YOUNGER THAN ME. So, I tried to ignore my heart and we had a good vacation. Okay, so maybe I almost had a few heart attacks while we were there. Especially when we did the skycoaster together, and he told me that I might want to hold his hand.

After that life went on, but I made more excuses to go to his house after that and for the rest of my college years. Every one of his high school girlfriends HATED ME. I wouldn't say we flirted on purpose. It was just how we were. If we were near each other, we were touching in some way. Either a hand on the shoulder or our arms would touch while we were sitting at the dinner table.

At some point during that time, I really fell in love with him. I knew in my heart we would end up together. I was so positively sure of it.

One day, I decided to test the waters with his mom and asked her how she felt about the girl being older. Her answer was that she didn’t have a problem with it if the girl was, say 23 and the guy, say 20. (Was she telling me something?)

So, I waited. I played the patient friend. And then one day, I was 23, and he was 20. And I choked.

I couldn’t tell him how I felt. I just couldn’t. Even though I was pretty sure that he felt the same way. I mean I valued his friendship, and what if I lost that? What would our parents think? If we got together and broke up, would that affect our parents’ friendship?

Things stayed as they were. When I would walk into his house, his face would light up and my heart would jump. Sometimes it was like no one else existed but us. One day I caught his dad watching us very closely, and thought, OMG does he know?

Then, I moved out on my own. Didn’t hang around the family much. Made new friends (bad friends, but that’s another story.) One Saturday night. I went to dinner with our parents (they still kept the tradition.), and his mother told me that she was worried about Mark. He just broke up with a girl, wasn’t getting out much, and she gave me his number. (Was this a blessing?!)

With my heart pounding I called. I went over to the house he just bought. We had some drinks and played with his new German Shepherd puppy, and it just felt right. We hung out a few times more after that, and each time was a blast. I felt like even though we weren’t really dating, we were seriously getting to that point. I knew he felt the same way as I did.

Then SHE entered. He was introduced to her by a friend, and I had to find out from his mom that he went out on a date. I left his parent’s house that day in tears. The story I had been told was completely different. He had seen my brother out that night. My brother said he had talked to Mark, and he insisted that it wasn’t a date. That they were just hanging out. Whew, right?

The calls to me stopped, and she started coming with him when our families would get together. She would put on a fake face with others around then talk to me as if I were complete dirt if we were alone. I was dying inside, but I was trying to be happy for him.

Four months after meeting her, he proposed. I was crushed. To make matters worse, I was expected to attend the wedding. I'm quite certain that a part of me died on his wedding day.

Now, Mark is not happily ever after. He’s in a marriage in which every day is a struggle for him. Or so I’m told. And while it’s hard for me to feel sorry for him, I can’t help but to still hate her guts.