Emma changed into her sweats and grabbed her copy of Pride and Prejudice and drove to the park. She always took a book with her when meeting up with people, in case she got there early—which she almost always did. Elizabeth Bennett was about to berate Mr. Darcy for his arrogance when Abby pulled into the parking spot next to Emma for their semi-regular Saturday morning walk.

            “How many times are you going to read that? What is this, like the 5^th time since I’ve known you?” Abby asked when Emma got out of the car.

            “Well, it’s a really good book.  And, besides, Lizzie is an inspiration,” Emma said defensively. “I find her company uplifting.”  They approached the edge of Emma’s favorite trail which wound through the woods along the lake’s edge, emerged into the park, and then circled around to a small marina and beach area. “She’s confident and sure of who she is without being cocky.  I suppose it gives me hope that love finds her unexpectedly, without her having to parade herself about like the other women in her community.”

            “I see,” said Abby. “I’ve never seen you throwing yourself at anyone either. Sounds like she’s a kindred spirit.”

“Hmm, on second thought, maybe I need a different inspiration,” Emma quipped. “This whole cool and confident thing doesn’t seem to be working out so well or me.”

Abby laughed. “I don’t know, it sounds like it served you well at Deb’s wedding. Andrew said you handled it quite nicely.”

            ” It wasn’t as bad as I expected. She didn’t even have a bouquet toss.”

            “God bless her,” Abby remarked with exaggerated sincerity.

            “I know. There’s nothing worse than being rounded up like a collection of unclaimed baggage for auction.  And then, you have to watch some perfectly toned 16-year-old catch the bouquet.  If she’s the next one to get married, I’m really in trouble!” Emma laughed, but not very convincingly.

            “It’s just a silly tradition. It doesn’t actually predict anything, you know,” Abby chuckled.

            “Just the same, I think brides over a certain age shouldn’t submit their peers to the spectacle.”

            “Or, they could just put in an age limit. Only single girls over 25,” Abby suggested.

            “Right,” Emma scornfully snorted. “With my luck, I’d be the only one out there and I still wouldn’t catch it.”

            “So, was there any awkwardness with the reception?”

            “Yeah, but it was just the usual—stupefied shock that an eligible girl in the big city should still be single.  Andrew helped to deflect some of the attention.” Emma wondered if Andrew had told Abby about the car ride home. She had decided that she wouldn’t say anything if he hadn’t. She wasn’t sure how much of his dating life he’d shared with Abby.

            “Oh, did he? He can be pretty good at rescuing people in hot water.” Abby smiled reminiscently. “He’s come to my aid many times over the years with mom and dad. So, it wasn’t lonely? That was my goal. I was a little afraid that appearing to be on a date might be worse than being alone.”  Abby knew that Emma got a little depressed driving home from weddings.

            “Yeah. I was afraid of that, too. But someone appears to have tipped everyone off to the fact that he was your stand-in before we got there. Thanks for that,” Emma nudged Abby gratefully. “I forgot how easy Andrew is to be around. He’s quite the conversationalist. It was almost as good as having you there.”

            “Well, I’m glad. But tell me the truth, did you cry when you got home?”

            Emma groaned in disgust at herself. “Yes, but not until later that night. I thought I had successfully avoided crying altogether, but when I pulled out my journal before bed, it just came out of nowhere. Then I felt stupid for crying, which only made it worse, of course. I wound up crying about the fact that I was crying.”

            Abby put her arm around Emma’s waist as they walked and cupped her chin around Emma’s shoulder. “It’s not stupid,” she said quietly but firmly. “It’s totally normal. All girls cry over weddings.”

            “Sure, tears of joy. I never feel like crying at the wedding because I’m so happy for my friends and proud to share the moment with them. The joy is sort of contagious. It’s only afterwards, when I leave that moment behind, that I feel empty—almost like I’m more aware of being alone than I was before. But it’s so pointless and full of self-pity that I feel ridiculous for it. I should just be happy for them and let it be enough.”

            “I think it is enough for you, Em. You’re able to rejoice with your friends when they’re rejoicing—so much so that you don’t even notice your own pain until later.. Of course, you will have your own feelings, too, and that’s normal.”

            “I think I would be perfectly content if I knew that someday I would know what it feels like to love someone that much. It’s having no concrete hope that hurts. I can live patiently and contentedly on hope. I have for a decade or more, but I’m beginning to run out of hope.”

            “Oh don’t say that!” Abby hated hearing Emma talk like this. Emma had always been strong, independent, and confident girl with her eyes fixed on personal growth and serving others. She’d never seemed to struggle much with being single until about a year ago. Abby suspected that Emma’s upcoming 30^th birthday had a lot to do with it. They emerged from the trees to the park. The picnic tables were still empty, but a few young children were being pushed on the swing set by their mothers, and a couple of joggers were running towards them from the other side of the park. “He’s out there somewhere; I know he is. You’ll fall in love someday, and it will be a meaningful, deep relationship. I know it.”

            “You mean you hope for it,” Emma replied without much emotion. “You can’t really know it, though, can you?”

            “Well, alright then,” Abby conceded. “I fully expect that it will happen. I can feel it in my bones.”

            “Maybe you’re right. I’m just afraid that, even if it does happen, I’ll be too old to enjoy it.” The two joggers passed them on the sidewalk—a young man and woman who appeared to be a couple, both wearing earphones and perfectly matching each other’s pace and breathing. Emma watched them as they passed and wondered what it would be like to be so close to someone that you could be in sync like that even without talking—like one unit.

            “Emma!” Abby protested and brought her back to the conversation. “You’re not old! You’re the same age as me!”

            “I know, but it’s different when you’re single. I realized something at Debbie’s wedding. I’m never going to know what it’s like to be married in my 20’s—a young, married couple. I may not be old, but I’ve already missed out on sharing my youth with someone.”  This was more than Emma had admitted out loud before, and her voice grew quiet at the end of the sentence.

            “Hey, you’re young at heart. And you still have some youth left to share with someone. He just has to find you first is all.” Abby patted Emma’s arm.

            Emma looked out over the lake at the sunlight glinting off the water. “Yeah, you’re right,” she said to appease Abby. “Isn’t the lake beautiful? It’s so calming. I love the water.” They had reached the point in the conversation where she always had to stop. She could only share her struggle with singleness up to a certain point with people because anyone who had married before 30 just couldn’t relate.

            Emma had never let herself dwell on her singleness before. It had seemed so wasteful to focus on what she didn’t have. But seemingly out of nowhere, it had just snuck up on her: THIRTY. Now that it was only a few months away, all the thoughts she hadn’t let herself dwell on for the past decade were making up for lost time. Her 20’s were over. She couldn’t get them back. It was almost like a death of sorts. Whenever she had imagined her wedding day (on the rare occasion that she let herself) or her first few years of marriage, she had always seen herself in her mid to late 20’s. And now they were over, and she wasn’t even dating. Suddenly, the last 10 years looked bleak, pathetic, and wasted. They hadn’t felt that way at the time, but she had suddenly awakened to find a stark, harsh truth—She was alone. She had spent her 20’s alone, and it seemed she would spend her 30’s the same way. Nothing she had invested her life in for the past decase was going to stay with her, and no one would remember it know how it shaped her. Abby couldn’t understand that. It was better to just keep some things to herself. She had let a select few people know she was struggling, but they didn’t have to know how much.

            “Anyway, how is Jackson doing? I forgot to ask.” Emma asked after a few seconds of silence, to change the subject.

            “Oh, much better! The doctor said he just needs to avoid heavy lifting and strenuous activity for a few weeks until the bone heals. It was only a minor fracture. So, he’s sticking to the treadmill for a while.”

            “I guess we won’t be playing volleyball on Friday, then.” Abby had scheduled her monthly “family dinner” for the following week, which normally included Emma and a few other friends from their college gang, who were all married to each other now. Andrew was a recent addition since he had moved to Atlanta for work last fall.

            “Nope. I figured we’d just play board games instead.”

            “Sounds good to me. Just as long as we don’t play Monopoly again. I don’t’ have the stamina to wait for Jackson to buy me out.”

            Abby giggled. Once in college they had played Monopoly, and the game had lasted three hours! Jackson was far too competitive to call a game before it was actually over.  Emma had even tried donating her properties to Jackson’s conquest. He had, of course, insisted on “legally” buying everyone out of their holdings.

            Soon, they were back at the parking lot. Emma felt invigorated and much more awake. “See you Friday, then,” she said. “Tell Jackson I’m glad he’s not seriously hurt.”

            “Okay. Have a good weekend,” Abby called back.

Emma tried hard not to think about turning 30 the whole drive home, and by the time she pulled into her driveway, she had successfully convinced herself that she was only 29 still. Maybe the exercise endorphins were helping.