Abby had been trying to plan a huge celebration for Emma’s 30^th birthday for a year now. Ever since Emma had made a comment at her 29^th birthday about issuing in her “last year of youth,” Abby had been determined to make Emma’s 30^th so fun and exciting that she would have to give in to the spirit of celebration. Starting in January, Abby had been dropping hints and making suggestions, while being promptly rebuffed at every turn.  Emma was determined—she did NOT want to be the center of attention at some grande-fete, to feel on display, paraded about in front of everyone. Above all things in life, Emma hated to feel on display. However, she also hated to appear ungracious or seem ungrateful, and Abby clearly had her heart set on showing her affection through some lavish gesture. So, in March, they reached a compromise. Emma insisted that she wanted nothing more than to run away and hide when she turned 30, but she condescended to taking a few people with her. They had been planning a reunion of their closest college friends for some time, so they decided to combine the two events.

            Abby had found a family within her church who owned a mountain “cabin” with air conditioning, and a lake. They agreed to let Abby borrow it for a long weekend, free of charge. Abby was always coming up with great connections like this as a result of working as the activities organizer for her church. As soon as the dates were confirmed, she called the other girls, and the reunion plans began.  In addition to Lauryn and Caitlin, their close-knit group of college sisters included Mary Grace, Janna, and Stacey.  All the girls had been hallmates their freshman year of college, except Stacey who was a year younger.  Their senior year, the girls had all moved into neighboring apartments in off-campus housing, and Abby and Emma had managed to get Stacey permission to move in with them, even though she wasn’t a senior yet.  Although half the group landed in Atlanta and saw each other once a month at Abby’s family dinners, the whole gang had not been together in years. They had occasionally seen each other at the weddings, but there wasn’t much time to relax and catch up in the midst of a big event.  So, they were all looking forward to some real girl time that coming weekend—especially as most of them were leaving spouses and/or children behind.

            Lauryn and Caitlin drove up Thursday night, after getting the keys from Abby, in order to get all the beds made, towels laid out, and groceries bought. Mary Grace drove down from Lexington to Chattanooga Thursday night, where she stayed with Janna. They had picked Stacey up from the airport that morning and then driven straight to the cabin. Everyone else had arrived at the cabin before lunch, but Abby had to drive Jackson to a follow-up doctor’s appointment that morning. So, she and Emma weren’t scheduled to set off until noon, which would put them at the cabin around 2 p.m.  Abby pulled into Emma’s driveway around 12:15 with Jackson’s large suburban.  Emma rolled her suitcase out and locked the door behind her, anxious to not waste any time getting to their destination.  As Abby opened the back gate of the suburban, Emma saw that their 2 suitcases were only going to take up about ¼ of the space.  Emma rolled her eyes as she closed the back gate.

            “This is ridiculous. I still say we should take my car and drop the suburban off at your house,” she repeated for the 3^rd time in 2 days. “It would be much more fuel efficient.”

            Abby replied calmly, ignoring Emma’s somewhat superior tone. “I wouldn’t dream of letting you drive to your own birthday weekend.”

            “Fine, then you can drive my car and we’ll leave the suburban here. It’s gotta be a crime against creation or something to use the gas that this behemoth needs to transport two, small suitcases.”

            “No. Jackson insisted that I take the suburban. He feels safer knowing I’m in a large vehicle with four-wheel drive,” Abby explained as she turned too wide while backing out of the driveway and bumped the recycling bin across the street.

            “Has he seen you drive it?” Emma mumbled under her breath. “Look, feeling safe and being safe are two different things sometimes. We could just let him think we took the suburban and leave it in my garage. No one would be the wiser.”

            “Relax. I’m fine as long as I’m going forward, and I’ll remember the rest after like half an hour.”

            Emma said a silent prayer for safety and resolved not to be a “backseat driver” for the hour and a half trip. She would have to work consciously on controlling her facial expressions so as not to betray her uneasiness.  She and Abby shared memories of college during the drive and talked about how quickly time flies.  Since college, five of the seven girls had gotten married, and four of them had children—all boys.

Stacey was the only other single left. She had moved to St. Louis to start a successful career in corporate sales and client services, while Emma had been earning her master’s degree in school counseling. Once or twice a year, Stacey would fly into Atlanta on her way to annual business conferences. She would always try to layover for a day or two on the way back to St. Louis, so she could visit and stay with Emma, but these were the only times they got to see one another. Emma was looking forward to seeing Janna and Mary Grace, but she especially hoped to get some one-on-one time with

Stacey. This anticipation made her more annoyed at arriving so much later than everyone else. But, despite her anxious anticipation, they made good time and arrived at 1:40.

            Lauryn and Caitlin came out the front door in summer dresses to greet Abby and Emma as they pulled up to the cabin.  They each grabbed a suitcase and whisked Abby and Emma upstairs into the master bedroom before Emma had been able to take in even the front foyer.

            “Hey, where’s everyone else?” she protested. “We can get settled later. I want to see everyone!”

            “They’re all downstairs waiting,” Caitlin replied without making eye contact. “Y’all go ahead and change, and we’ll meet you in the living room.” At this, she and Lauryn withdrew, pulling the door closed behind them.  Emma’s suspicion was more than aroused by this strange welcome.

            “Change? What are they talking about? Who’s the ‘all’ that are downstairs waiting? So help me, if you put together a huge surprise party after I expressly told you not to, I am going to steal Jackson’s stupid suburban and drive home right now.”  Abby didn’t look at Emma as she unzipped her suitcase. She knew that Emma would be giving her the dark stare—eyes narrowed to piercing slits, mouth eerily tight and still.  After 12 years, it still ran right through her on the rare occasion that it was directed at her personally. So, rather than turn to face Emma, she simply replied with her back turned.

            “Relax, would you? Give me a little credit! It’s just the 7 of us, I promise. Now, put on your turquoise sundress and take your hair down.”

            Emma’s eyes remained narrow for a few moments while she assessed Abby’s tone. After deciding it was sincere, she focused on the directions she’d just been given. “I didn’t

bring my turquoise sundress. Nobody told me to.”

            “I know. That’s why I brought it. I knew you’d get all paranoid if I asked you to bring it.” Abby pulled out the dress and laid it on the bed.

            “How in the world?” Emma marveled.

            “I drove by yesterday while you were at work and got it out of your closet. Put it on. I’m going to plug in the curling iron so I can make your hair pretty.”

            Emma was staring at Abby with an amused look of awe on her face now. “You little thief!” she said admiringly. “Breaking into my house without my permission. Frankly, I’m inclined to not change my clothes. I have no interest in being dragged to some local watering hole to be serenaded by the wait staff or whatever other devious plot you have in mind. I hardly know what to expect from you now. I never knew you were capable of such treachery.”

            “I didn’t break in. You gave me a key, remember? Anyway, we’re not going anywhere, Stubborn. I do actually listen to your defiant tirades sometimes, you know. We’re just going to have a group picture taken in honor of your birthday is all.”  Abby had arranged the curling iron and was quickly changing into one of her own dresses. “Hurry up!”

            “Okay, okay,” Emma conceded. “But I don’t see why this couldn’t wait until after we’ve all seen each other and had a chance to catch up. I haven’t seen Mary Grace or Janna in over two years!” Emma finished putting on her dress and followed Abby’s command to sit on the fluffy, red toilet seat cover while Abby did her hair.

            “I know, which is why we knew we had to do this first thing. There’s no coaxing you into a dress once you’re in vacation mode.” Abby was very skilled in the girly art of primping, and she had Emma’s hair done and pinned back from her face in under 5 minutes. At this point, she insisted on “enhancing” Emma’s eye make-up and adding some tinted lip gloss. As usual, Emma felt that this was all a bit much, but even she had to admit when Abby was finished that she looked camera ready.

            Less than 10 minutes after they arrived, Abby and Emma exited the master bedroom and headed back downstairs. The front hall passed led back to a large kitchen/dining room. To the left, just before the kitchen, a large door frame opened into a wide living room with a wall of tall windows facing the lake. In front of this wall was a large sectional sofa, behind a rather large coffee table made of oak.  Between the sofa and the coffee table stood Lauryn, Janna, Stacey and Mary Grace, all wearing beaming smiles. On the coffee table, were several wrapped boxes of various sizes. Caitlin was standing, camera in hand, just inside the door frame to the right. As soon as Emma rounded the corner of the door frame to see all this, the girls yelled, “Surprise!” and Caitlin temporarily blinded Emma with a camera flash.

            Emma smiled and laughed somewhat awkwardly as she tried to figure out what exactly the surprise was. Then her eyes focused in on the presents covering the coffee table. “You guys! You already spent money and time away from your families to be here. You weren’t supposed to get me gifts! You’re my gifts.”

            Everyone politely brushed off Emma’s protests as Caitlin grabbed a tripod and carried it toward the coffee table, opposite the sofa. After everyone had exchanged hugs, Caitlin instructed them to sit on the sofa close together. She then adjusted the camera’s focus and joined them, tiny remote in hand. She counted to three several times to make sure she had multiple shots to choose from. When she was sure they had enough serious shots, they did their traditional college shot—each of them assuming a pose representative of her personality. Caitlin reviewed all the pictures and pronounced them satisfactory before she removed the tripod and gave them permission to rearrange themselves.

            Lauryn brought a casually elegant, white dining chair in from the other room and placed it on the opposite side of the coffee table. Emma was then directed to this seat of honor. As Emma seated herself, Janna reached behind the sofa and pulled out a picture frame which she propped up in front of the gifts facing Emma. It was a distressed wooden frame, painted off-white. On the bottom corner of the photo mat was a colored pencil drawing of what appeared to be a stone statue, sitting in some grass next to a bluebird. The statue was a little boy in a raincoat and boots, holding an old-fashioned garden hose up to the sky. From the spigot of this hose, dainty blue droplets ascended in an arc to the top of the frame, spanning the picture hole, and then descended and reappeared in the bottom left-hand corner, where a hearty patch of daffodils was blooming.  It was all done very delicately, almost like an illustration from a classic children’s book.  Around the perimeter of the mat, in the spaces not occupied by the drawing, all the girls had written little notes to Emma and signed them. However, there was no picture in the frame.

            “Janna,” Emma exclaimed, “this is adorable! I’m not sure I get the illustration, though. You know I’m not pregnant, right?”

            Abby actually clapped in anticipation, unable to contain her brilliant idea any longer. Emma looked at her inquisitively. She was sitting on the very edge of the sofa cushion, leaning forward in excitement.  “We’re throwing you a birthday shower! I wanted to do something special for you and spoil you a little. And every time I suggest you buy some new house wares, you come up with some better use of your money and say—” here Abby paused dramatically and gestured for Emma to fill in the blank with her usual response.

            “Um, who has enough money to furnish their home with new things?” Abby nodded and gestured for her to keep going. Emma didn’t want to sound bitter, so she just smiled.

Abby finished the thought for her, “And people don’t throw you a shower as a single girl, do they? Well,” Abby continued almost before Emma had drawn her next breath. “I decided you shouldn’t have to wait for a wedding shower to have nice things. So, we’re giving you a sprinkler instead! A smaller version of a shower, just to hold you over until the real thing comes. I even made up a registry. What do you think?!”

            Emma slowly broke into her widest smile which emerged only when she was amused by something truly clever or deeply touched by an unexpected expression of love. On this occasion, she was both. However, she suddenly became concerned as to what Abby had “registered” her for.

            “But, I haven’t registered for anything,” she ventured, still smiling.

            “Oh, but you have picked things out! Come on, start opening your presents,” Abby urged. The other girls all seconded this motion, and Mary Grace lifted a box to Emma’s lap while Janna moved the picture frame to the side and Caitlin got her camera in position. Emma’s brow was contracted in confusion. She was trying hard to remember what she might have picked and when. As she began tearing the paper off the first box, however, she made up her mind to act very grateful and excited no matter what awaited her inside.

The box was heavier than Emma would have expected. After peeling off the colorful, pin dot wrapping paper, she had to get through some packing tape which was on pretty tight. During these few seconds, Emma tried to guess what it was that she could feel shifting its weight every time she moved the box. Pulling back the box lid and lifting a few sheets of blue tissue paper, she was stunned at what she saw: a very cheerful, hand-painted dinner plate that was not at all unfamiliar to her. Pottery glazed in a mustard yellow, with bright floral petals in green and blue and red—the design somehow seemed simultaneously playful and homey.

Emma instantly remembered being captivated by this French provincial line of dishes when she spotted them in the department store. She had paused to inspect them when she and Abby were shopping for Abby’s mother’s birthday several months ago. Abby had tried to encourage her to think about buying them, but Emma had brushed her off. Plus, the dishes were much more colorful than her normal taste, and she didn’t trust her initial reaction. However, she had found herself ogling them again when Abby was getting her purchase gift wrapped, and Emma was sure she wasn’t looking. Or at least, she had thought Abby wasn’t looking.

            “I picked the kitchen because you’re still using your parents’ dishes from when they got married 32 years ago!” Abby gushed as Emma picked up the plate on top of what was obviously a stack of the same, separated by more tissue paper. She ran a finger over the slightly raised design, smiling.

            “Abby, how did you know I wanted these? I told you I wasn’t sure they were my style.”

            “Oh, please.” Abby rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “You couldn’t take your eyes off them in the store. And the next week, when I said you should go back and get them, you said they were too expensive.”

            “I always say things are too expensive. That’s not much to go on.”
            “Yes, but then I said, ‘How expensive can they be for a small set?’ and you knew the ballpark amount without hesitating—which means you had already done the math.”

            Emma laughed heartily at herself. She was usually able to conceal her secret thoughts, but every once in a while, Abby managed to be too clever for her. She had to laugh, too, at the look of absolute pride on Abby’s face, as if she had just checkmated a great chess champion.

            “So, you do like them then?” asked Caitlin, relieved.

            “I absolutely love them!” Emma assured her. “I can’t believe y’all. This was so sweet of you.”

            A quick succession of 5 more boxes contained matching salad bowls, salad plates, and dessert plates—a full, 8-piece set. Stacey had bought coordinating yellow, cloth placemats and red, cloth dinner napkins. Emma felt totally spoiled and overwhelmed by her friends’ generosity and love. She was not accustomed to being the recipient of so much attention, and felt a bit unable to do it justice in her thanks.  But she tried nonetheless, and they were all very gratified in her happiness.

            After the official party, or Sprinkler, was over, everyone gathered in the kitchen while Lauryn served sweet tea and put mint leaves in each glass, crushing them slightly to flavor the tea. The most recent baby pictures were passed around, as well as stories of adventures in childrearing. Before they had time to notice the time, it was nearing dusk. Mary Grace and Janna began to grill some chicken on the back deck, while Lauryn combined the ingredients for a broccoli salad—Emma’s favorite. Emma helped Abby transfer the store-bought potato salad and rolls onto serving platters. Stacey set the table and refreshed everyone’s glasses with sweet tea. Caitlin cleaned up the wrapping paper from the party and organized the boxes into a neat pile near the front door. Everyone talked and laughed through dinner, clean-up, and a glass of wine.

            Finally, several hours after the sun set, the ladies headed to their rooms for bed. While flossing her teeth, Emma watched Abby wash her face. She smiled softly, in

admiration and wonder of her best friend who had surprised her so perfectly and extravagantly.

            “What?” Abby asked when she looked up from drying her face on a towel and caught Emma’s gaze.

            “Nothing,” Emma shook her head. “I just don’t deserve you.”

            “Finally,” Abby sighed sarcastically. “It’s about time you realized that.”

            Emma giggled and punched her in the arm as they turned out the light and climbed into bed. Emma slept perfectly soundly that night and had no difficulty falling asleep in an unfamiliar room. It was so peaceful in the mountains, and she felt entirely homey having her college hallmates nearby again. “Thank you, Lord,” she prayed silently as she drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, Emma awoke to the smell of something delicious. Grabbing her robe, she made her way downstairs to find Mary Grace baking cinnamon rolls while Abby fried bacon in a little brown sugar. Of all the things Emma had come to love about the South, the food was definitely near the top of the list.

            “Good mornin’,” Mary Grace greeted her. “How’d you sleep?”

            “Wonderfully,” Emma sighed as she stretched her arms. “It smells divine! I can already feel myself gaining weight.”

            “Birthday calories don’t count,” Abby reminded her.

            “Even when the birthday becomes a 3-day extravaganza with a Southern cook like Mary Grace?” Emma asked playfully.

            “Don’t worry. We’ll burn it off on our hike around the lake today,” Mary Grace

assured her.

            “Do you bake like this every morning, MG? Luke must be huge!”

            “No,” laughed Mary Grace, “only on Sundays, and then we have a light lunch.”
            “Must not be much of a day of rest if you get up early enough to do all this,” Emma observed as she surveyed the pans of hash browns already on the table.

            “Oh, no. I prepare everythin’ on Saturday. Sunday, I just get up and pop it all in the oven. Luke does the bacon. Plus, remember, I’m only doin’ it for three people at home. Do you wanna go wake the others? We’re fixin’ to be done here in a minute.”

            “Sure thing.” Emma stood in awe of what a natural homemaker Mary Grace had always been. Emma felt very culinary if she made a bowl of oatmeal from scratch and scrambled an egg or two on Sunday morning, instead of just grabbing a cereal bar. Good heavens, what would I do with a husband and children? she suddenly reflected while climbing the stairs. I can barely cook and fend for myself as it is.

            The morning passed in a succession of sensory delights. Breakfast was delectable, in all its Southern luxuriance. The morning hike around the lake was beautiful. They even saw a few deer. For lunch, they had salad and rolls on the porch, overlooking the lake as the sun reflected off the water in a dancing pattern. After lunch, Emma and Stacey headed down to the dock to lie in the sun while Abby talked baby advice with the others.

            Lying on the padded, wooden lounge chairs on the dock, Stacey and Emma chatted a little about work and family. They had hit it off instantly when they met, which is how Stacey came to be a member of their circle despite being a year younger. Stacey had a knack for connecting with people and making everyone feel at home around her. This was a large part of what made her so good at her job. But she also had a more reflective, private side that she didn’t show most people. Emma was one of those few people that Stacey could be vulnerable with, which caused them to be somewhat closer than the others.

“So, tell me the truth,” Stacey said after the small talk had run out. “How bad is it? I want to know how to prepare myself for next year.” Emma smiled at Stacey’s characteristic bluntness. Since they frequently commiserated about their rising ages and dwindling prospects, Emma knew exactly what Stacey was referring to.

            “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be, actually. At least, dreading it was much worse than the actual day itself. Just now, I don’t feel 30 at all. I feel like a college girl again. Hopefully, that youthful feeling will outlive the weekend.”

            “Good. I’m already having nightmares of waking up with wrinkles and sagging cleavage the day I turn 30.”

            “I don’t think that happens overnight,” Emma chuckled.

            There was a lull in conversation for a minute while they listened to the small lake waves lapping against each other. Then Stacey resumed the discussion, “What’s to become of us, dear Emma?”
            “Oh, eventually I suppose we’ll pool our resources and move into some swanky retirement community together. Of course, you’ll have to fund most of it since my career

isn’t very lucrative. And we’ll grow old and locally famous as the quickest-witted old biddies around. All the neighbors and care staff will admire us greatly.”

            “And we’ll flirt shamelessly with all the male nurses, of course,” Stacey added in perfect deadpan.

            “Speak for yourself!” Emma responded with mock indignation. “I’m only going to flirt with the cute ones.”

            Stacey accidentally snorted in trying to stifle a giggle, which caused them both to break out laughing.  A few minutes later, when their laughter had faded into giggles and finally a pleasant silence, Stacey pursued the topic of their singleness from a more analytical standpoint.

            “Seriously, though, what is up with our situation? I mean, I think we’re both pretty eligible.”

            “Agreed,” Emma nodded. “Or at least, you’re pretty and I’m eligible.”

            Stacey ignored Emma’s self-critique. “I think we’re both attractive women.”

            “Quite attractive.”

            “We’re both sociable, intelligent—”

            “Highly intelligent.”

            “—entertaining to be around. I love going out about town.”

            “And I love making clever, witty conversation.”

            “No one is cleverer,” Stacey offered gallantly.

            “Why thank you,” Emma turned to Stacey and made half a bow in her direction as if they were very elegant people from another era. Stacey nodded back in kind.

            “So, this is my point,” Stacey continued. “We are both highly eligible women.”

            “How are we still single?” Emma asked pointedly, shaking her head in disbelief.

            “This is what I’m saying to you.” Stacey rested her case and reclined back into her lounge chair again. Emma followed suit.

            “I don’t know, Stace, maybe we’re too eligible.”

            “You know what I hate?” Stacey asked as she flipped onto her stomach. “Having to act all confident and excited about my life all the time. It’s like, you’re not supposed to be too self-sufficient and confident or you’re considered unapproachable. But, if you  actually walk around the way you feel—”

            “Exhausted, insecure, and lonely,” Emma filled in.

            “—exactly. If you show that, then no one will be interested because you’re not bubbly and confident. We’re supposed to somehow be these in-between people—content, confident, and bubbly while somehow miraculously giving off this message that we’re vulnerable and need someone to take care of us. How the heck are you supposed to do that?”

            “Darned if I know. Trying to find something interesting to say about my life all the time is the worst for me. I have to be ready to swoop in with a conversation-saver if someone asks if I’ve met anyone or if I’m dating anyone. I can’t just say ‘no’ or it’s

followed by that awkward silence, and I feel guilty. Or worse, I might actually betray the fact that I’m not the champion single girl anymore if the silence lasts too long. Most people don’t seem to have the forethought to be ready with a follow-up question like, ‘How’s work going?’ or ‘How’s your family?’ So, I feel like it’s up to me to come up with something more interesting than the fact that I’m not dating. Only, the truth is, that’s getting really hard to do. There’s nothing new in my life, and no one in it to

discuss really except my students. Even I’m bored with my life, so I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before everyone else will lose interest in hearing about it. I don’t have anything interesting to offer to change the subject anymore. I’m just a sad, boring single person.”

            “My friend Jamie is always saying things like that about motherhood. She feels like she never has anything to report about herself anymore, just the kids. She says she doesn’t remember what it’s like to have her own, individual identity.”

            “Yeah, I’ve heard that a lot, too. I used to find it a reminder to enjoy being single.  But now, I feel like I’m in the exact same situation as them, with one key difference—I don’t even have kids to talk about. I feel just as boring and lost, and I have no noble role to justify it.”

            “We need to find some new hobbies or something,” Stacey suggested.

            “Yeah.” Emma loved talking to Stacey about the woes of singledom because Stacey never felt the need to contradict or comfort, like married people always seemed to.  She just listened and accepted the feelings. She didn’t try to change them or overcome them. Emma never felt like she was causing Stacey distress by sharing her true feelings.

            “How about clubbing or weekly singles nights at a local pub?” Stacey suggested somewhat jokingly, but only somewhat.

            Emma laughed and shook her head. “I’ll leave that up to your bravery. Maybe I could take up art or something. At least it would give me something to discuss about myself, even if I didn’t meet anybody.” At this point, the other girls had changed into their suits and were headed down the lawn to join them, so they left their resolutions at that.

            Sunday passed equally tranquilly. The girls had a time of fellowship in the morning, since there was no church really nearby. They each took a turn sharing prayer requests, and being prayed over by the other girls. It had been a long time since they had been able to really pray for each other, and the girls felt encouraged and strengthened both in their faith and their friendships. After the last girl had been prayed over, they sang a few of their favorite praise songs from college while Lauryn played her acoustic guitar. Then, they headed off to various thoughtful places about the property to read their Bibles individually for about half an hour before reuniting for lunch—just sandwiches and fruit.  It was a much-needed time of undistracted fellowship with the Lord for all of them.

            Before they knew it, Monday morning arrived and it was time to pack up. Abby’s true reason for bringing the suburban revealed itself as they loaded in the boxes of dishes,  along with the used towels and linens. After locking up the house, they all turned with full and somewhat heavy hearts back to the business of normal life. They shared a late breakfast at a Cracker Barrel just outside Atlanta before parting ways with promises to call more often, multiple hugs, and one more group photo. Caitlin promised to e-mail the photos to everyone and to get an 8×10 print for Emma’s frame.

            After helping Emma unpack the new dishes and make room for them in the kitchen cabinets, Abby headed back to the suburban to go home. Emma followed her and

gave her a big hug through the rolled down window. “I think that was quite possibly the best weekend of my life. Seriously. You’re an angel,” she said she.

            Abby tried, not very successfully, to conceal some of the glory of her triumph in her broad smile. Her perfect success was written all over her face, especially in the dimples and sparkling eyes. “It was pretty great, wasn’t it?” she remarked.

            “It was perfect! Thank you so much. Try to make it home safely, alright?”

            “Alright,” Abby said. “Love you. See you on Saturday for our walk.”             “Okay. Bye.” Emma nonchalantly walked to the street to check her mail as Abby backed out of the driveway—just in case she needed to yell a warning before Abby hit something more substantial than a recycling bin this time. Abby made it safely out of the driveway this time and waved as she drove away. Emma smiled and waved back before collecting her mail and heading back inside to reflect on a great birthday weekend.

Emma sat frozen to her desk chair, a faint crease in her forehead, her neck craning toward the wall, not moving. She stared at the calendar, and the calendar stared back.  She held her breath, willing the dates to change. Instead, there it remained: June 8^th, three short days away. How in the world had it gotten here so quickly?  She must have been diverting her attention for weeks, not letting herself do the math.  And here she was, with only three more days in her 20’s. Come Thursday, she would officially be a full-fledged adult instead of a young adult. Thirty. 30. She could no longer portray herself as a hot commodity—the girl who was highly eligible but single by choice because she was holding out for the best offer. That was back home. But, here? In the South? A 30-year-old single woman was more than an anomaly here. It was something more akin to a tragedy—the grotesque kind that you can’t turn away from, like a train wreck.

She had finally reached her expiration date as a single woman. Emma realized she would no longer be seen as a desirable property, having been on the market too long. She would have to take any offer at this point.  Staring at the calendar, she could picture a perky agent introducing her to a prospective buyer as a “house with lots of charm and character. Foundation intact and solid. Lovely outlook, quiet neighborhood.”  She wondered how much longer before things started creaking.

The phone in the next room rang, and Emma jumped, catching her breath. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding it. Shaking her head a bit, she turned her attention to her e-mail.  She tried to ignore the charity hostess in her head, auctioning her off as a date… “She’s smart, funny, and practical. You don’t have to worry about this one spending you into the poor house.  Her figure’s still good, too! Just don’t put her in a bikini. (audience chuckles) Her sense of humor more than makes up for what’s lacking in…”

After responding to an e-mail, Emma refocused herself on updating the school profile and alumni contacts for the upcoming school year.  She avoided turning toward the wall beside her where the calendar hung. The work day went by in a haze. When she got home, she changed quickly and grabbed her MP3 player to walk around her neighborhood.  Then, she cleaned her kitchen and bathroom with uncharacteristic vigor. But, try as she might, she could not shake her awareness of the shift in her social universe.  People would no longer be wondering when she would get married, but if.  They had already stopped asking questions; she wondered if now they would begin whispering behind her back. Then again, maybe they already had been.

Finally, she took a hot bath and relaxed into her recliner with a cup of tea. It was there, on the coffee table, that Emma spotted her prayer journal. She sighed and reached to open it instead of grabbing the tv remote.  Every year, the week or so before her birthday, Emma would flip back to the previous birthday and read her entries from the past year.  She had been doing this since high school. Back then, she had needed to start a full week in advance to get through all of the entries. Often, a year would fill more than one journal. But the last few years, she had been journaling less and less. Emma flipped through her current journal to find the June 8^th entry from the previous year.  The pages between June 8^th and her latest entry were only about two inches thick when pressed together. 

Why have I not written as much as I’ve grown older? Emma wondered to herself. I suppose life has become more busier in adulthood. Or maybe, I don’t have as much to say now. My life has settled into a pretty predictable routine, so there isn’t much to report. And as for my hopes and fears for the future—well, I try to ignore those feelings as much as possible. What’s the use in recounting how off-track my life feels from where I thought I’d be by now?  In fact, there were very few entries that dealt with the topics of singleness or marriage. The first entry was one of those few.

6/8 Well, God, another year has passed. I’ve seen another group of students graduate and be accepted into college. Several friends have had babies; some have gotten married, including several former students. But my life has remained essentially the same. I must confess, I did expect to be at least engaged by now. Heck, I thought I’d be married with kids by now. Although, the thought of labor still scares me to death. I assume You have someone particular in mind for me, which is why I’m still single? Totally single. If he’s of Your choosing, then I’m sure he’s worth waiting for. But it’s getting hard to be patient. Maybe 29 will be my year. You’ll have to develop a relationship quickly if we’re to get married before I turn 30. I’d really rather not be a bride in my 30’s.  I don’t suppose You want to give me a hint about that? No, I didn’t think so. Well, Lord, You know I’m more in love with You than I am with marriage. I don’t want a boy who doesn’t bring me closer to You. I will wait until You bring him and give me permission to yield my heart. Only, don’t make me wait too long, God, okay? J I love You.

            Amen.

            Emma lingered over the last paragraph of this entry for a few moments before sighing and turning the page. The remaining entries focused mainly on sermon notes or verses from her Bible readings and insights she had observed. There were also prayers about apathetic or stubborn students, students with struggles at home, and her own confidence and effectiveness in these situations. When she had finished reading, Emma picked up a pen to make a new entry. She wrote the date, June 5^th, and then paused. After about 5 seconds, she replaced the pen cap and closed the journal. She wasn’t ready to verbalize her emotions right now. Once they started flowing out on paper, she wouldn’t be able to ignore them anymore. She turned off the light in the living room, walked to her bedroom, and picked up Pride and Prejudice instead. Ten minutes later, she wasn’t following the text and her eyelids were heavy, so she turned off the light and went to sleep.

            Wednesday evening, Emma came home from work, stopping to get her favorite shake at Steak n’ Shake. Sipping her double chocolate chip, she blasted summer, beachy music on the car radio and sang along. At home, she sat on the deck and enjoyed the sunshine while finishing her milkshake and Pride and Prejudice. Sighing contentedly at Lizzie’s happiness and chewing the cherry from the bottom of her cup, Emma went back inside to get her MP3 player. She went for a brief walk around the neighborhood, not checking her pace or heart rate but just enjoying the scenery. Afterwards, she made a salad and popped her favorite movie into the DVD player—”Much Ado About Nothing.” She did not check her mailbox, go online, or answer the telephone. There would be enough well-wishers inundating her with their birthday salutations tomorrow. Tonight, she wanted to savor her last evening in her 20’s without people with multiple children and anniversaries under their belts telling her how young she looked for her age or patronizing her with how she was still “just a baby.”

            Having spent the evening with two kindred spirits—Lizzy Bennet and Beatrice, Emma switched to late night television to await the official arrival of her birthday at midnight. She was bored, however, with the opening, comedic monologue which was lackluster at best when compared to the brilliant wit of Benedick and Beatrice. So, she took a quick shower and climbed into bed to read a chapter of the Bible. At 11:55, she put the Bible on her night table and looked out her window at the stars. “Hey, God,” she prayed aloud, “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding You lately. I’m just not sure what to say that hasn’t already been said. I am thankful for all my blessings—my friends, family, co-workers, job. But, honestly, I feel like I’m stuck in a rut, totally stagnant. My whole life is stretching out before my eyes, and it all looks exactly the same. I’m guessing it’s probably not in Your plan for me to marry at 30 either, huh? I’ll probably have two or three weddings to attend, some of former students, while ‘I may sit in a corner and cry heigh-ho for a husband!’ No matter, I am resolved. I will continue to wait on You. But, please, make him worth the wait, God!”

            When the clock finally said twelve, she sang quietly to herself. “Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday, poor, pathetic, 30-year-old, single Emma who nobody want-ed. Happy birthday to me.” She surprised herself by chuckling rather than crying and laid down to sleep.

June 8, 2009: B-Day

            Thursday morning, there were flowers waiting for Emma on her desk from the principal and office staff—a bright yellow bucket overflowing with daisies.  Emma’s favorite flowers were poppies, but daisies were a close second. It was impossible not to feel young and cheerful with them smiling at her all day. It took her a full five minutes to attend to all the happy birthday e-mails and voicemails.  After work, she headed to her favorite Caribbean restaurant for dinner with her two best friends from work, Shelley and Sharona.  Shelley was an English teacher who had worked closely with Emma in her teaching days. Sharona worked as the administrative assistant to the principal.  They were both in their early 40’s and had grown up together. Consequently, there was a speed and liveliness to their conversation that only came from years of shared stories and jokes.  Emma always had a blast with them.

            Sharona and Emma both enjoyed pina coladas, Emma’s favorite drink. Shelley, as usual, had diet sweet tea with 3 Splendas and 2 slices of lemon.  She did, however, take a rather large sip of Sharona’s pina colada. Emma smiled as she reflected on the corruptive influence she had been to Shelley. When she had first begun working at West Atlanta Christian School several years ago, Shelley had never even tasted alcohol despite Sharona’s occasional indulgence. Now, she would actually peruse the drink menu before ordering her sweet tea. Sharona and Emma had a running bet on when Shelley would finally cross over to the dark side and order something herself.

            Emma still found this cultural taboo amusing. Being a Yankee Presbyterian, she had grown up with friends who chose not to drink but no one who viewed it with the almost superstitious sentiment of her Southern Baptist friends. It was a generally accepted though unspoken opinion among tee totaling Southern Baptists that exercising Christian liberty was only a few steps above being heathen—said person might be saved, but clearly not sanctified. It was evident from the adrenaline rush and giddy humor Shelley exhibited after “just tasting” Sharona’s drink that she still considered alcohol a forbidden fruit. Sharona was also a Baptist, but the faces of her ancestors and childhood pastor did not glare at her from behind bars and wine glasses the way that Shelley’s did. Sharona had always had a mind of her own, or what her church brethren would call “a bit of a wild streak.” Shelley enjoyed living vicariously through others but couldn’t bring herself to walk on the wild side yet. She preferred to just peek over the fence and nibble at samples.

            “I can’t believe our little Emma is all grown!” cooed Sharona in an exaggerated drawl. “Full grown! What am I talkin’ about? You’re a baby! My stars, what I wouldn’t give to have a figure like yours again!”

            “Gurl, if I had a figure like that, I wouldn’t be sippin’ alcyhol with two old birds like us. I’d be tearin’ up the dance floor somewhere!” Shelley chimed in. Emma laughed.

            “Child, the only thing you’d be tearin’ up would be your panty hose. You can’t make it out of the house without puttin’ a run in your stockin’s, much less around the dance floor. Anyway, as I recall, you turned down more partners than you danced with, missy.”  They were on a run now, and the stories were about to start pouring out. Emma laughed in anticipation. Whenever these two got together, anyone in earshot was bound to burn calories laughing. Emma often pictured them 40 years from now: neighbors in a nursing home, keeping the nurses in stitches and giving the men grief.

            “Well, at least I played hard to get. You were quite the little dance floor hussy! Dancin’ with every boy that asked and even some that didn’t,” Shelley retorted.

            “But, I was always a lady, just like momma told me. I knew how to pinch a quarter between my knees. Anyway, Emma, we’re so proud of our little Yankee girl. You made it all the way to 30, and with your virtue intact to boot.” Sharona raised her half-full glass to toast Emma.

            Shelley raised her sweet tea, adding, “And all that under the influence, too! Quite impressive, darlin’.” She grinned the toothy grin she always did when she made a slightly saucy comment. At these moments, she reminded Emma of a dutiful school girl “skipping class” by meeting a girlfriend in the bathroom for 3 minutes. Shelley got a rush out of the mere idea of being mischievous.

            “Well, it’s a good thing we have you for a designated driver,” Emma smiled back at her.

            “Shoot, girl, I’m a better driver drunk than Shelley is sober any day of the week,” Sharona declared while cocking her head sideways and snapping her fingers.

            “Not true!” Shelley protested.

            “Need I remind you, sugar, of a certain passenger door on your daddy’s sedan?”

            “Oh, for cryin’ out loud! That was over 20 years ago and it was an accident.”

            “Yeah, I’m sure the city planners accidentally put that gas pump there. No wonder your daddy never bought you a car.” And they were off on another series of hilarious Shelley and Sharona stories from their youth.

            Emma drove home, smiling the whole way. Before going to bed, she packed a suitcase for her official birthday celebration—a weekend in the mountains with 7 of her college friends. The pina coladas got her through the packing. But, while she lay in bed waiting for sleep, she couldn’t help shedding some tears over there being no one to come home to and no one lying next to her. She reflected that she would have to stuff all these emotions and put on a brave face of happiness for everyone else’s sake over the weekend. The very thought of it was exhausting.