Prologue

People say that in your life, you only have one true love. Well, I had three. And I’m not talking about the cheesy I-think-but-I’m-not-sure love, but the real heart-speeding-up-and-head-spinning kind of love. I didn’t love all three at the same time, but I guess you could say that I loved all of them at one time.

My second-best friend, Marissa Neft, was the first one who decided to give a creative name to this problem – or rather these problems. Being the wonderful artist she was, she named it my “Love Square”. Although it wasn’t in the technical way a love triangle (or square) should be, since they all loved me, and I loved all of them.

But, to fully understand the problems of my 20 years in existence, you have to go back to a day fifteen years ago.

I was a young, foolish five year old on the hot, stuffy August day I met Nate Davenport. Had I known that this would lead to every problem in the next decade and a half of my life, I never would have run out the door and up to the U-Haul truck parked right in front of the house next door. Unfortunately, there was no greater presence there to warn me, so I did just that.

As a child, I was always outgoing, and I remember clearly the amount of trouble that caused me. Well, though my sisters Julie and Jeannie had stayed inside the house, I decided to venture into the heat. When I first got to the truck, I was amazed at how big it was. But that wasn’t the only thing that swept my breath away. The next moment, a little five year old boy jumped out the front door. He had chocolate stains on his mouth, and ice cream dribbling down his shirt. His hair was blond and curly, and his eyes were a warm, friendly gray. I swear he knocked the breath out of me. I had never seen anyone in the state of Maine with that color of eyes. Needless to say, he was cute, and I knew he’d be the boy who was chased around by all the girls until the first grade (I only knew about this because my sisters had told me all about the “most cutest boy”, as they were called).

He was well dressed, and I noticed this because he stuck his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans. I reached my hand out, as I had seen my father do so many times, and quietly said “Hi, I’m Bridget Marks. I live next door to you.” I must have done something bad, because he turned three shades of red. But instead of running away from me, he took my hand, blushing even harder, and said “Hi, I’m Nate Davenport.” I was surprised, because any other boy I knew would have said I had cooties, and ran away. As I lay in bed later that night, I thought that maybe where he came from, there weren’t cooties, and decided to ask him the next day.

So I woke up, determined and feeling fearless. I tied my hair in two pigtails and put on a nice pair of jean shorts and my usual t-shirt, and went right next door and knocked on his door. A man answered, and he seemed to recognize me from the day before because he just called “Nate!” and left the front door open. Nate appeared a second later, his hair ruffled and messy, dark circles under his eyes. He saw me standing there, brown-haired pigtails, and immediately reddened. I decided this boy had something wrong with his circulation. There was no other explanation for my five-year-old brain that would explain why he always turned so red. Nobody I knew was that red. I decided to go along with my question, instead of embarrassing him any further.

“Where did you come from?” I asked in a flimsy voice, suddenly losing my courage. Lines of confusion were etched on his face.

“What?”

“Where did you come from? What place did you live before moving to Augusta?”

“Oh,” he said, looking relieved that my question was so simple. “I came from Dallas. It’s in this big place called Texas.”

“Oh.” I’d never heard of Dallas or Texas, but I didn’t share that. “Why did you move?”

“My mom died four months ago. My daddy wanted to leave the memories behind.” I felt remorse at asking the question. I knew how it felt to lose someone – my own mother had killed herself when I was just two, presumably because she was depressed, but no one really knew why. And out of nowhere, I took his hand in mine, and looked him straight in the face, my eyes showing the most sadness I could muster up.

From that day on, Nate Davenport and I were best friends.

We were the kind of best friends who did everything together, even though we were boy and girl. We spent the rest of that summer together, and the summer after, and every summer until we were fourteen and he left for overnight camp, which was one of the loneliest times of my life. We could talk about anything, and even the unspoken things between us were heard. I could call Nate in the middle of the night and he’d be at my house in two minutes. We were inseparable since that hot August day on his doorstep.

We started kindergarten together, and paired up with each other all the time. We spent naptime talking instead of sleeping, but talking in those low, deep whispers, the kind that made sure no one could hear us. We told each other all our secrets, and eventually, when we were seven, I told Nate about my mother’s suicide. We went through elementary school together. Nobody bugged us about our friendship, not because they didn’t want to, but because nobody could actually see us dating – Bridget, the plain, stick-skinny, chestless girl, with Nate, the tall, blond, preteen-handsome hunk. We told each other all our problems, and even talked about who we liked. Nate was my only best friend, until Marissa came along in the sixth grade. Even then, there was always this unspoken feeling between us, and we all knew that Nate and I were much closer. But Marissa was the best female friend I had, and she was nice to be around when Nate had his male moments, or when he was dating another dumb girl. Then we got to middle school, and things started to change. Marissa started hanging out with the “popular” girls. They tolerated me because I was close to Nate, the love of their lives. I avoided them as much as possible, which wasn’t necessarily hard to do. Then, Marissa started changing. She started wearing a bra, putting on makeup, and talking about boys all the time. Whenever I got extremely bored of it, I would go to Nate, who was a bit easier to hang out with. I would complain all my problems about Marissa to him.

“And now she’s talking about how Lilly Warner is so cool. I mean it’s just because Lilly has a chest and puts on a pound of makeup every three minutes. And she has a boyfriend. What’s so good about having a boyfriend? All you do is kiss them all the time, how boring is that? And Marissa’s totally blowing me off tomorrow to go shopping with the prissy club; they’re all going to get their hair done at this place -”

“I think you’re jealous,” Nate cut in. He had been throwing his baseball up and down in the air, lying on my bed and looking at the ceiling. I thought he’d only been half listening, but he was looking at me with this curved smile playing at his lips, obviously amused.

“What? You think I’m jealous? Of Marissa?” I mean, sure, she had a chest, and she was fairly pretty, but I also got better grades than her, was better in sports than her, and was smarter than her – not that she cared about that kind of stuff.

“Yes, I think you’re jealous of Marissa. First off, you’re jealous about the fact that she can fit into a bra and you can’t” – he held his hands up to protect from the pillow being thrown at him – “second, she has a boyfriend, which you don’t, and thirdly, she has garnered the attention of the most popular girl in school, which you haven’t, and although you pretend you don’t care, it’s so obvious you do.” I looked at him angrily. He gave me an innocent smile, “Just telling the facts.”

“No, Nathaniel Edward Davenport,” I said, putting extra emphasis on the fact I was using his full name because of my anger at him, “I am not jealous of Marissa. I just don’t understand how she can hang out with them instead of me.”

“Please, Bridget Isabelle Marks,” he said, and I slightly cringed at the terrible middle name, “you are so jealous of Marissa. All of them, actually. You wish you were that popular. You may as well write it on your forehead.” I gave him a dark look.

“If I wanted to be that popular, I could. After all, I hang out with you.” His face reddened slightly and I knew I had won the argument. Nate was shy and blushed easily, something that made him cute. Of course, he learned to control it, but I always knew exactly what could make him turn that tomato shade I loved.

Still, even that was a major argument for us. We fit together like two peas in a pod, or however you want to call it. We had all our firsts together. He was the first boy I ever cried over. I was the first girl he ever liked (or so he told me years later). I was also the first person he met in Augusta, and he was the first friend I ever made. Then there was one thing we shared in common. We had our first kiss with each other.

I remember it clearly. We were sitting on the roof of my dad’s condo, on a blanket. It was the summer of our last year of middle school, the summer we were both fourteen. It was the day before he was supposed to leave for sleepover camp. I was sad, of course, and I felt like crying. We had spent the days leading up to that just lazing around. Then we decided we needed a proper ritual before he left. Marissa had left for Florida (as she did every year) two weeks earlier, so it was just the two of us. We took an old beach towel and climbed to the top of the penthouse condo. My dad owned the condo for two reasons. The first was that it was close to his business. He worked in the urban area of Augusta, and he often had to stay late. So instead of driving home every night, in the late hours, he would just drive a few blocks to his condo and sleep there. The second reason was that it was close to all the nightclubs. My father began alcohol when I was ten. By that time, Julie was sixteen, and only had a year until she left for university, and Jeannie was fifteen and anticipating as well as planning for the day she’d run off with her garage band. So I was always stuck with carrying the burden of my father’s drunkenness. On the particular night, my father was away on a business trip, so we took the key to his condo and climbed up to the roof through the penthouse, which was the room he rented. We set up the blanket and pulled out the food we brought. I can still remember the view. It was a spectacle, all the purple and pink lights dancing on the land in pitch blackness.

We started eating a bit, and eventually got to talking. We talked about a lot of things, but the main interest was high school. Our conversation was side-tracked when a shooting star passed through the sky, like a lit up turbo jet.

“Quick, make a wish,” Nate whispered. I didn’t know what to wish for. All I needed was beside me. So I made a stupid wish on the spot. I wish me and Nate are together…forever. I shut my eyes as tight as I could and made the wish. When I opened them, Nate was staring at me in a very funny way, a way that scared me. He suddenly leaned in and our lips met.

It wasn’t a rough kiss. There wasn’t really passion, there was no tongue action, but it wasn’t a peck either. It seemed as though it was a promise kiss at the time, and that’s what I took it to be. A kiss of our friendship, a kiss to promise we’d be together forever.

The next day Nate left. I didn’t cry when I saw him off, but as soon as I got home, I bawled into my pillow and didn’t stop until the tears would no longer flow. I spent the whole summer crying, looking at old pictures, and writing letters to Nate. I never sent the letters. I never showed them to him either. Eventually, I decided I needed to get away from the house. I started going to the community pool. I went to the convenience store. I visited Julie at college. I decided against calling Marissa, because I’d just be reminded of how much fun she was having, and how I was stuck here all alone, without Nate.

When he came back, it was awkward. We’d never been away from each other more than a night, never mind a whole month and a half. There was something different between us, those secrets of what he had done at summer camp, secrets I would never know, let alone ask about. Still, we continued our friendship, and acted as though there was nothing between us, and eventually it did go away. It seemed at times like we had a cabinet where we locked all our stuff that was meant to be kept away from each other.

We started high school, and suddenly there was more space between us. We didn’t have all our classes together, didn’t have our clubs together – and there was the constant problem of dating. Of course, we still saw each other at lunchtime, and walked home together, but we were no longer inseparable. There were other people in our lives now, and that was something neither of us could control – we had to accept, whether we liked it or not, that it was no longer just the two of us.

I think the first time I felt any kind of love, beyond friendship love, for Nate was in April of our freshman year. He started dating a girl, and needless to say, I was extremely jealous. I spent most of the time with Marissa, complaining about Julia Jones. Julia was blond, had piercing green eyes, and could almost definitely fit into a C cup (although in fairness, I had grown quite a bit that summer and could almost fill out a B, and I could tell many guys noticed this detail when their eyes swept over me, annoying Nate thoroughly.) Of course, Julie was, just like every other girl, totally in love with Nate. Well, it bugged me beyond despair, and I was extremely glad when they broke up. It was in the cafeteria when I felt the love; I’d heard about the break-up that morning, and was going to tell Nate how sorry I was at lunchtime. But when I met his eyes, all I saw was sadness, and even a bit of guilt. I felt him staring at me even when I looked away, and could tell that somewhere in the deepest pits of my stomach, there were butterflies flying around as though they’d just learned about their abilities, crashing and smashing into the walls of my body.

Even after that, we still remained friends. We went to dances together (as friends, of course), studied together, and still spent all those unbearably hot nearly-summer days at each others houses. Eventually we went back to being best friends, and it was almost like none of the stuff in between had ever happened. Then, in our junior year, I met Kyle Jackson.

Kyle was probably the best boyfriend material (other than Nate, of course). He was an honor student, on the football team, and tutored kids after school. He was also handsome (brown hair and hazelnut colored eyes) beyond belief, and I knew I had a crush on him the day he walked through the classroom door.

From what I learned of him at first (gossip, mainly from Marissa) his parents had taught in England, so I expected him to have an accent. I also expected him to be a giant snob. Turns out I was wrong.

When he walked into the classroom for the first time, all my thoughts stopped, my breath got caught in my throat, and I froze. He grinned as Mr. Bates introduced him, and shot a gaze across the classroom. Hot much?

But not only that, his eyes connected with mine, and I felt a deep giggle rising in my throat (I’m not the type to giggle). His smile consisted of perfect white shiny teeth and full lips, the kind any girl would dream of kissing.

On that day, Marissa invited him to sit with us. I could feel the whole female student body in the cafeteria shooting daggers at me, dreaming of stabbing me.

Nate was sourly sitting at our regular spot, and his expression turned even more foul as he noticed how giggly I was getting with Kyle. Eventually, we got to talking. Kyle explained England and what it was like there, his parents, and his favorite things. We had a lot in common; we both loved cats over dogs, we hated Coke, and we lived off of Mars bars. To me, it seemed like I had met the guy I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

Kyle liked me back, as well. I didn’t know why or how, but he did. And at the winter formal, he asked me out. We dated for two years straight, and he was a wonderful boyfriend. I managed to maintain my friendship with Nate to some degree, even though it was awkward with Kyle around. However, the bliss didn’t last long.

I broke up with Kyle two months before graduation. I tried lying to myself on why I’d broken up with him; we’d be going to different universities, he was moving away soon, there was no point getting attached. However, I knew the real reason was because I never felt like I could measure up to Kyle.

With his perfect grades, athletic skills, handsomeness, and popularity, I always felt second-best to my boyfriend, of all people. I constantly felt like I had to prove myself to him, yet I constantly failed. I thought ending it would solve the problem, and it did – to some degree.

Nate brightened up those few weeks after I broke up with Kyle, and our friendship went back to normal. Yet, I always felt like something was missing. Sure, I had an awesome best guy friend, but I needed a real boyfriend to fill the void.

Well, eventually we graduated, and I said goodbye to Kyle for what I thought would be the last time ever. Nate and I were both going to universities not so far away from each other, so we didn’t worry much. We promised to drive down to Augusta on the weekends as often as we could.

And then, life decided to play another trick on me. My freshman year at college, I met Michael Richards.

Mike was studying to become a doctor at the same university I was majoring in Economics. He always said this would only be a part of his education, and more was to come.

Within the first three months I became friends with him. In two more, we fell in love. We dated for three years, and my sisters were happy I’d found someone to spend my life with. Mike was there when I needed him most. When I learned my father had died from alcoholism, at the meager age of eighteen, he was never reluctant to give me a shoulder to cry on, to hold me and hug me and make me feel safe.

Nate even seemed happy with Mike. After spending two hours together, the two had managed to find common ground in cars, and constantly had lively discussions about them. I finally felt happy my life was falling into place.

Eventually, Mike asked me to marry him. We had two months to go with university, and he figured the sooner the better. I had to agree with him; we were so in love, there really was no point waiting.

The event was romantic and beautiful, and I could never have said no (not that it had even crossed my mind). When I told everyone, they were happy for me. Even Nate seemed okay with it, no painful conversations or guilty stares. We had a long discussion and I promised I’d always be his best friend and he’d always be mine, no matter what. Marissa called from Florida to congratulate me (because she had decided to spend every summer there with her lover, a French man in his mid-thirties). Everyone seemed happy, mainly because everyone loved Mike.

It was the best time of my life. I couldn’t imagine being any happier. Little did I know, life as I knew it would soon come crashing down and land at my feet, just a simple pile of dust.

AN: Just a somewhat short prologue to what I hope will be a much much longer story... Please review and tell me if you like it so far.