I was meant for the tall daughter. Like a bottle of wine brought to a dinner party, I was here as a token. A favour to help my elder brother get into her brother's pants.
I didn't even flinch at this judgement. I was pale.
Eli, my brother, was already trying to drop me like a hot potato. And who exactly catches hot potatoes, by the way? Even my brother isn't stupid enough to handle a hot vegetable with his bare hands.
"Well your sister's no prize either."
This was the dance. The two of them were circling already. The outcome being that eventually one of them would make the first move. Dignity or bragging rights were at stake, I wasn't sure which.
The tall sister was eating a Popsicle. Her lips ran up and down it's length, her tongue flicking the tip. But she aroused no feeling within me, even with her borderline pornographic eating habits. And Eli was gone, prancing after his prey (or predator, the dance had not yet yielded a victor).
And I was alone at the barbecue with no connection to this place other than the fact my brother had given her brother a blow job last week.
The music was terrible. One of those bands that always turn up on the Father's Day compilation CDs they push at ASDA. The tall sister was flirting with a thick set guy in a rugby shirt. He had moobs, for fucks sake, but she was already all over him, like ice cream dripping down a cone.
I could have walked home. I would have walked home. I even turned to go. But it's the old cliche; the second I turned around I saw her.
The little sister. The younger daughter. The jam on what would otherwise be a dry, stodgy peanut butter sandwich.
You get the picture.
Her feet were bare. I've always had a real thing for the sorts of girls in fantasy novels; necromancers and fae, vampires and witches. The younger daughter was a pixie. Her sundress could have been made of spun silk, her dark hair swallowing the moon whole.
She looked up at me and smiled. At least in my head she did. In reality she was curled up on a garden bench looking fierce and unapproachable. And, heavens be, the girl was listening to an iPod!
It was in that moment I hit a crossroads. Either there was a God and he was rewarding my abstinence (though to be fair it wasn't exactly voluntary) with a soul mate. Or there was a devil and he was dangling what I could never have in front of my very eyes (well, my eyes behind my glasses. If he were dangling it before my eyes it would have just been a colourful blur).
Glass half empty, or half full? Did I approach the girl and risk humiliation, or did I walk away and suffer not knowing?
I didn't make the decision in the end. She did.