For as long as Adam could remember, his city had been divided between two territories that were run by two factions—the Kings and the Eastside Devils. These two groups were led by two men. Elijah King (or “Eli”), from whom the Kings took their name, led the Kings. Adam’s father led the Devils and went by the name “Snake” on account of his large tattoo—a python that started at his torso and coiled up and around his body and neck, finishing with an open snake mouth on his right cheek, venom dripping from its fangs below a pair of red eyes. The Kings’ territory covered the upper west side of town, where most of the nicer parks and shopping malls were and extended down along the river to the south. The Eastside Devils’ territory lay on the east side of the river, where there was less commercial development and consequently less economic development as well.

The Kings rarely crossed the river into Devil territory. There wasn’t really any need to. They had everything they needed on their side of the river. The Devils, on the other hand, frequently crossed into Kings’ territory to help themselves to some of the affluence of the West side and even the score a little. It was only fair, Adam thought. Why should the Kings get all the nicer cars and shops and restaurants just because they lived across a bridge? So, what if his friends stole a car here and there or robbed a store? It’s not like the people couldn’t afford it. Most of the time it was just blowing off steam, and half the time they got away with it. But, sometimes someone from the east side would get cocky and decide to take out a King or two, just so they knew that what they had wasn’t rightfully theirs and could be taken. When this happened, retribution was swift and accurate.

Adam grew up to hate the Kings, but especially Eli. He knew that his father had grown up on the west side, too, in the same neighborhood as Eli. He had idolized Eli and followed every move Eli made. Eli even began to rely on Snake and include him in all his business dealings. But, when Snake wanted to branch off and start an enterprise of his own so he could build something for himself, Eli cut him off—completely. He made sure the rest of the neighborhood did, too. Snake couldn’t find anyone to rent him a decent room or buy his product, much less work for him. That’s how he wound up on the east side of the river. When Snake moved to the east side, they had just closed the textile mill to make way for the riverfront development on the west side. A lot of people were suddenly out of work and scared. Snake started to apply what he knew, teach it to others, and eventually built up a network that provided some stability to people’s lives in exchange for loyalty. Eventually, he had the whole neighborhood under his influence. Not everyone was a Devil, of course, but everyone knew who was and they all knew better than to cross Snake. Adam had grown up more comfortable than many in his ‘hood, but certainly not as comfortable as some of the Kings. And Snake never got over the loss of what should have been rightfully his if Eli hadn’t felt so threatened by him.

What Adam didn’t know, what his father never told him, was that Snake had not asked Eli if he could start up his own enterprise. What he had done was to convince several other members of Eli’s organization that he knew all the ins and outs of the operation and would give them a bigger share of the profits if they helped him take it over. Eli had taken Snake under his wing, provided for him when he had nothing, given him open access to all his dealings, his home, his wealth. There was nothing that Snake lacked while serving in Eli’s employ. And how did Snake repay him? By betraying him and trying to overthrow him. Needless to say, Snake did not succeed. And that is how he wound up running for his life to the other side of the river with his fellow traitors to set up their current situation.

But, as I say, Adam knew nothing of this. All he knew of Eli was that he had cruelly rejected his father and resigned Adam to this second-class existence. Sometimes Adam would see Eli at the restaurant on the riverfront where he worked. It always made his blood boil as he bussed tables and watched Eli’s family enjoy a luxury meal from the plates he would later have to scrub. What made it even worse was how Eli’s son watched Adam whenever he wasn’t looking. It’s not bad enough that you’re living the life I should have had while I’m slaving away at this crap job, thought Adam, but now you want to watch?! Messiah was older than Adam, so they had never shared classes at school or played sports together. Actually, he couldn’t really be sure that Messiah even knew who he was. Still, Messiah’s life was impossible to escape—the banners in the gym for the records he’d set, the pictures with the trophy in the front hall from when the football team took the state championship (with Messiah front and center in the group pic, beaming from ear to ear as the star quarterback). Sometimes it seemed like Messiah was haunting him—always showing Adam up and making him realize how pathetic his own life was.

By his junior year, Adam had given up on school. He only really went so he could play sports anyway. So, when his English teacher failed him for plagiarizing a research paper and he was academically ineligible for basketball as a result, he decided to quit the charade altogether. He knew he could make way more on the streets than most college kids anyway. He told his dad he was dropping out, but his father wasn’t having it. “What does it matter if I graduate or not?!” Adam yelled. “I’m just going to go to work for you anyway. I don’t need school to be good on the streets!” Snake responded that in order to be successful on the streets, you need the respect of those under you. “What’s that got to do with high school?!” Adam demanded, exasperated.

 “Look, I’m raising you to take my place someday, but people got to know you have what it takes before they’ll follow you. You haven’t been out there in the trenches like them.”

          “I don’t need a diploma for guys to respect me,” Adam protested.

          “Well, I want you to have a diploma,” Snake retorted. “It’s a matter of pride. Besides, you’re not ready yet.”

          Adam was furious. He stormed out of the house, feeling absolutely fed up with his life and seething with anger that his dad didn’t think his own gang would respect him. He pulled his hoodie down low over his face, shoved his earphones in and headed to his friend Roman’s house. Roman’s mom had a car she only ever used to drive to the liquor store and back. The rest of the time, she was laid up on the couch in a drunken stupor. Roman told Adam where he hid an extra set of keys, in case he ever needed to use the car when she was wasted. Adam found the keys, peered through the living room window to make sure Roman’s mom was fast asleep, and drove off.

After weaving across town about a dozen times, Adam’s head finally started to clear. What am I gonna do? I can’t go back to school and wait as my life slips by without even b’ball to distract me! But, how am I going to convince Dad that I’m ready to join him full-time? That I already have what it takes? How am I supposed to earn the respect of all the guys in the trenches if he won’t let me get near the trenches? Adam fingered the gun barrel buried under his hoodie as he pondered these questions. It was true—he hadn’t been involved in any battles or shakedowns yet. His father had shielded him from all of that so far. He clearly intended to initiate him fully into the family business at some point, but he seemed to be waiting for something. For what? Why doesn’t he think I’m ready? Does he think I can’t handle it? How am I supposed to show him I’m ready or earn anyone’s respect if he won’t give me a chance to get my hands dirty?! Adam’s throat growled in disgust as he pulled into a parking lot of the city park.

 It began to dawn on him that he was deep in Kings’ territory when he recognized Messiah shooting hoops on the far side of the park, like he didn’t have a care in the world. Suddenly, Adam had a brilliant idea that would set everything right in his life—it would prove to his father that he was ready, earn the respect of every Devil beyond all doubt, and finally give him relief for all of his frustrations in life. He would kill Eli. No Devil had ever dared to even try. No Devil had ever been able to get close enough anyway.  But Adam wasn’t widely known by the Kings because his gang involvement wasn’t all that visible, so they wouldn’t necessarily see him coming. If he could pull it off, it would unquestionably prove his merit and establish him as the next leader. Plus, it would avenge the wrong done to his father all those years ago and deal a major blow to the Kings organization.

As if fate was smiling upon him, one of the Kings’ cars drove past and pulled up to a house about three blocks up the street. Eli got out with one associate and made his way up to the porch before being admitted to the house. Adam couldn’t believe his luck. Only one associate? Adam took quick stock of the situation. Across from the house was a wooded section of the park which could provide protection both as he scouted out the house and as he made his retreat. On his side of the wooded section was a small, open building that served as a sort of amphitheater for community gatherings. It wasn’t large, but it did provide a wall between the street and the park with some shrubbery on the sides for cover. Then, there was a playground before the last 10-20 feet to his car. If he was able to run behind these various barriers, he had a good shot of making it back to the car without being hit. If he ran fast enough, he may make it before anyone had a chance to make him at all. So, he set out as if taking a leisurely walk down the street.

As he passed the house, Adam nonchalantly looked over his shoulder as if he was checking to see if a car was coming. Through the living room window, he could see Eli sitting with the other man and a woman. Eli started to gaze out the window just as Adam was turning his head to face forward again. When he got to the corner, he made his way into the woods and doubled back to find a vantage point where he could see the house. He waited for quite a while to make sure that no one else was around providing surveillance, but he never saw a soul. He finally decided that there would never be another chance of finding Eli so unprotected. So, he screwed up his courage and took aim between two trees. He took a deep breath; then, as he exhaled, Adam fired a single shot straight through the living room window. After that, everything seemed to happen at once. The woman screamed; Eli clutched his chest; the other man lunged after him; and Adam just stood there, frozen, his ears pounding with the reverberations of the gunfire and the pounding of his adrenaline. Then, he saw the other man’s head peer over the edge of the window with a cell phone up to his ear. It wouldn’t take them long to figure out a car hadn’t driven past and the shooter must be on foot. And then it wouldn’t take long to remember that kid in the hoodie that had walked past a few minutes ago. That broke the spell that had Adam frozen to the ground and he started running like hell for the car.

He could hear calls for someone to dial 911, shouts of orders and slamming car doors from behind him. He realized they must be rushing Eli to the hospital. If the other man was occupied with saving Eli’s life, that might buy Adam a little time before all the other Kings descended on the block. All of this rushed through Adam’s mind as he reached the edge of the woods and made a sprint around the hedges that flanked the amphitheater. It was hard to be certain with his adrenaline pumping so hard, but it felt like he was running at his top speed which meant he should reach the car in under another minute. As soon as he rounded the hedges, however, he went sprawling and landed flat on his stomach on the concrete slab. What in the world?!

Someone was on top of him, pinning him to the ground. “We don’t have much time,” a voice was saying, quietly but very forcefully. “Quickly, take off your shirt and put mine on!”

Adam was frantic. He had to get out of here! What in the world was happening? He twisted his head to see the insane person on top of him and made direct eye contact with Messiah. He blinked. He must have already been shot and was now hallucinating or something. Why would Messiah want to switch clothes with me? Does he know I just shot his father? Is this a trick? “Get off of me!” was all Adam managed to say. “Are you out of your mind?”

“They’re all coming. Even if you make it to your car, you won’t get a mile. They’ll spot that red hoodie in a second. If you’re wearing my clothes instead, it might buy you some time,” Messiah explained. When Adam just stared at him, he added, “Look! Do you want to live or not?!”

“Okay, okay. Just get off of me!” Adam agreed. Immediately, Messiah was off of him and holding out his sweatshirt, hat, and. “Why are you doing this?” Adam asked as he started pulled off his own hoodie and threw it into the bushes.

“There’s no time to explain. Just go!” Messiah replied.

Adam didn’t have to be told twice. As soon as he had the shirt over his head, he started running and put the hat on as he went. He cleared the amphitheater and circled behind the jungle gym. Just as he opened the car door, he heard squealing tires from a block or so away. He jumped onto the car floor, yanking the door behind him.  Then, he heard two gunshots and the car sped off again. That didn’t make any sense. They must have hit their target to speed off like that. But, I’m right here, so what were they shooting at? Adam peered over the edge of the window but couldn’t see any other cars or people. His heart pounding in his chest, he decided to take this chance to get away and pulled himself up into the driver’s seat. As he started to back out of the space, he saw it–a body slumped across the concrete slab of the amphitheater—wearing his hoodie. Oh sh**! Oh sh**! Messiah had just probably saved Adam’s life, and now he was lying there with the bullet meant for Adam. He wanted to get out of there before anyone else showed up, but how could he just leave Messiah lying there to die? After a moment of indecision, Adam pulled back into the space and slumped back down to the floor to dial 911.

It only took a minute and a half for the ambulance to arrive. They must have already been in route in response to the shot fired earlier. As soon as he heard the siren, Adam jumped from the car and ran to Messiah’s side. Messiah was struggling to breathe. “Messiah?! Oh my god! Why in the hell did you put my hoodie on? Why didn’t you just leave it?” Adam asked as he knelt by his side.

“They would have kept circling until they got you,” Messiah groaned, his face pinched in pain. “I had to make them think they had.”

“Why? Why did you do this? Do you even know who I am?” Adam’s voice sounded strange to him, garbled somehow. It was probably because of the liquid that kept running down his nose and falling into his mouth from somewhere. “If you knew what I did…” he stammered.

Messiah grabbed his hand firmly. “Come to the hospital with me,” he said. “Please.”

Adam pulled back and drew in his breath. This was crazy. He had to run and hide. What if Eli was dead? What if Messiah died? What if someone at the hospital recognized him? “I—I don’t know if they’ll let me,” he sputtered.

“Just tell them you’re my brother. Please,” Messiah insisted.

It seemed like a lifetime that Adam had been hiding around the waiting room while Messiah was in surgery. The hospital staff thought he was Messiah’s brother, but he didn’t want to bump into anyone he knew so he kept updating the nurse at the desk as to where to find him—the snack machine, the privacy phone room, the bathroom, etc. Finally, Messiah was out of surgery and awake. The doctor walked Adam back to his room. “I can’t believe he survived being shot in the chest like that,” Adam said.

“He didn’t,” the doctor replied. “He actually died on the table. But, he’s a fighter. He’ll have a bit of a recovery to get through, but he’s out of the woods now.”

Adam cautiously entered Messiah’s room, worried that there might be some Kings there already. But, how would there be? They thought they had shot Adam, not Messiah. They were probably trying to find Messiah right now, wondering why he wasn’t answering his phone. Mercifully, the room was empty except for a nurse. She left after checking a bunch of machines and gauges and writing some things in a chart. “Hi,” Adam said shyly.

“Hi, Adam,” Messiah said a little weakly and smiled. Suddenly, Adam couldn’t look him in the eye. He just stared at the floor at his feet, not knowing what in his life made sense anymore—what he owed this boy, what was coming to him for what he’d done, what he would tell his father. He felt ashamed standing there, in front of the boy who had nearly died to save his life, wearing that boy’s clothes while that boy lay in a hospital bed with tubes coming out of his body in strange places.

“Why’d you do it?” he asked.

“I told you,” Messiah began, “they would have kept looking—”

“No, I mean why did you help me at all? Why did you save me? Don’t you realize that I am the one who—”

“Shot my father?” Messiah finished for him. Adam raised his eyes to see Messiah’s face. “Yes, I do.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

“Because he asked me to,” Messiah replied.

“He? What?! I don’t understand.” Shock overcame shame as Adam tried to make sense of what Messiah had just said.

“Adam, there’s something you need to know. You’re not who you think you are. My father told me about you many years ago. He told me that you would come for him one day, but that you wouldn’t know what you were doing. But he also told me that when that happened, I must try to save you at all costs, even if that meant taking your place.”

Adam shook his head as if trying to shake everything into some sort of semblance of reality. “But, why? Why in the world would anyone do that? Why would he risk his own son’s life to save his killer? It doesn’t make any sense!”

“There’s only one way that it makes sense.” Messiah took a deep breath. “If he’s your father, too.”

“What?! No! That’s impossible. What are you talking about? I’m Snake’s son. I’m from east side. I’ve never even met your father!”

“Well, that much is true,” Messiah admitted, shifting himself in the bed and grimacing slightly. “Your mother was already with Snake when she had you.”

Adam gaped at Messiah incredulously. “What are you saying?”

“Your mother was in love with my father, and they were very happy together. But then Snake tried to overthrow my father and was cut off. It was very hard on everyone as he had been such a close part of the family. Your mother always hoped that Snake had not really changed deep down. I think she thought maybe she could save him. Eventually, Snake worked on her sympathy to the point where she caught feelings for him and left my father. But not before she was carrying you.”

          Adam was staring at Messiah with a look of horror on his face. This was completely ridiculous. It couldn’t possibly be true. And yet, nothing else but being Eli’s son would explain what Messiah had done for him today. “How do you know any of this is true?” he asked.

          “I know this must sound crazy, but I swear it’s true. I actually remember your mother. Just bits and pieces. I was really little. But I remember her being there. And then, she wasn’t. And dad was really sad. And very worried. Especially after she died giving birth to you.”

          Adam winced. He had always regretted not knowing his mother. And his father never spoke about her much. This was not quite the image of her, or of his family history, that he had imagined. “Did Snake know? That I wasn’t his?” he finally managed.

          “Yes,” Messiah sighed. “I’m sure you will have a million questions which my father can answer better than I can. You need to go and see him.”  

Adam was confused. Did that mean? “You mean, Eli’s alive? I didn’t kill him?”

          “Yes,” smiled Messiah. “The bullet only hit him in the arm.”

          “Oh! That’s…great.” Was it? So, he had failed his mission.

          “He’s here, in the hospital. He wants to see you.” Adam gave Messiah an incredulous look. “He’s been texting me, but I just got his messages because I was in surgery. I told him that we’re both alive and okay. He wanted me to explain to you before everyone else barged in and you ran off. It’s not safe for you to go back home now. You have to go see my dad—um, our dad.”

          “Yeah, sure. His men will kill me before I even get into the room!” Adam exclaimed.

          “No, no, they won’t” Messiah assured him. “They may know who you are, but they will also know that there is no way you could be wearing my clothes without me giving them to you. It’s as good as my going with you. They will let you pass. I promise.”

          “How can I go talk to the man I just tried to kill?!” Adam wondered aloud.

          “You tried to kill the man you thought was your enemy. You’re going to meet the man you now know is your father. Remember, he already knew this would happen, and he sent me to save you from the consequences. That means he’s already forgiven you.”

          “I don’t even know what to think. No matter what happens now, I can never go back to being who I was before, can I?” Adam asked. Messiah held his gaze for a moment and then shook his head sympathetically.

          Adam tried to convince his stomach to stay put as he felt his throat constricting and head spinning in the elevator. It felt as if his entire identity, his universe, all reality as he knew it was about to be obliterated as soon as he walked into the next hospital room. What happens after your whole world explodes? When you’re suddenly not yourself anymore? Adam had no idea, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. Could he ever go home again now? Face his father? That is, if Snake ever was his father? Was everything he knew about himself really a lie? How did he know Messiah wasn’t lying? Of course, he’s not lying, Adam thought. Why on earth would he have taken a bullet for me if he was lying?

          Adam jolted when the elevator bell signaled that he had reached the correct floor. He eyed the emergency stop button for a moment and even started to lift his hand before the doors could open. Then he shook his head and took a big swallow. There was no way around this. He had to know who he really was and he wasn’t sure he would know it was true until he heard it straight from Eli’s lips. The doors slid open, and Adam took a deep breath before stepping off. He saw three men wearing King apparel huddled close near the waiting room and nurse’s station. Internally, his adrenaline started pumping and telling him to find the nearest stairwell, but his feet kept walking forward instead. They were too engrossed in whatever they were discussing to notice him anyway. As he got closer, he caught a few muffled phrases.

          “Is it true what they’re saying? That it was Snake’s kid? What’s his name?”

          “Aaron, I think. Or Alan. Something like that.”

          “I didn’t think he was even initiated yet. And since when does Snake have the balls to authorize an assassination attempt on our own turf?”

          “I don’t think it was authorized. Seems like the kid just went rogue. Thank God he wasn’t a more experienced shot!”

          “Thank God you were! Guess we don’t have to worry about him taking over for Snake anymore. And where in hell is Messiah?! His father was shot two hours ago! And he hasn’t replied once? Something’s wrong. Has anyone spotted him yet?”

          Adam’s blood went cold and his stomach turned to lead when he realized they were talking about him. He tried to turn his head down and to the side, but Messiah’s King jacket didn’t have a hood to hide behind. He had to pass the men in order to get to the hospital rooms. He had just about cleared the nurse’s station when someone shouted at him from behind.

          “Messiah! Where on earth have you been, boy? Thank God you’re alive!” Adam froze as he heard footsteps approaching. “Wait a minute, you’re not Messiah!” the voice said before an arm grabbed him by the elbow and whipped him around. Then it was the speaker’s turn to go white as a sheet. A look of horror came across his face. “Why in the hell are you wearing Messiah’s clothes?!” he demanded as his hands dug into Adam’s shoulders like talons. The other two men were close behind him.

          “He—he gave them to me,” Adam stuttered. “He sent me to see Eli.”

          “When?! When did you see him?”

          Adam’s eyes darted fearfully between the three men, panic rising in his throat. “At the park. He switched with me. He, he saved me.” The man still gripping Adam’s shoulders started to sway slightly. One of the other men caught him as he started to collapse.

          “What? What is it?” the second man asked.

          “It’s him,” the man explained as he steadied himself.  “He’s the assassin. Which means I shot—” he broke off and looked like he was about to vomit.

          The other two men slowly absorbed his meaning and turned horrified, vengeful faces toward Adam. “Is that true? We shot Messiah?!”

          “Yes, but Messiah’s okay!” Adam explained quickly. “He just got out of surgery. I was just with him two minutes ago. He sent me to talk to Eli.” The men stared at him in disbelief, at a loss as to whether or not believe him. “I swear, to you, it’s true. He’s in room 316. Check if you don’t believe me!”

          The men exchanged looks with each other. One of them walked over to the nurse’s station and had a short conversation with the woman behind the desk. He came back and nodded. The man who had shot Messiah inhaled deeply and Adam realized he had been holding his breath. “We have to tell Eli,” he said.

“Okay, follow us,” the second man said. Adam walked down the hall, very uncomfortably escorted on both sides by Kings, with the one who had meant to kill him bringing up the rear.

          As they approached Eli’s recovery room, Adam’s head was spinning. Here was a man who had dominated most of Adam’s existence, permeated all his fears and resentments, and yet—a man whom Adam had never actually met. Adam didn’t know what he expected to see when he entered the room, but it certainly wasn’t a half-dressed man being helped into a sling. Yet, even shirtless and injured, Eli had the posture and presence of a great leader. He met Adam’s gaze as they entered and didn’t break eye contact while the sling was being adjusted over his unbuttoned shirt. Then, he said, “Leave us.” Everyone else shuffled out of the room, but not without staring at Adam’s jacket as they left. When the door had closed behind the last person, Adam suddenly felt exposed and guilty. That’s weird, he thought to himself, two hours ago I was ready to kill this man. But, now that I’m standing here face to face with him, I can’t even look him in the eye. Adam cleared his throat awkwardly. Eli motioned to two chairs in the corner before taking one chair himself. Adam somehow made is way over to the other chair even though he couldn’t feel his body anymore.

          “Hello, Adam,” Eli said, staring at him intently. “I’ve waited a very long time to meet you. I’m sure you have many questions for me.”

          Adam stared at the floor and heard himself saying, “Is it true, what Messiah told me?”

          Eli nodded. “Yes.”

          “Are you really my father?”

          “I understand this must be quite a shock for you,” Eli began but Adam couldn’t stop the questions from pouring out of his mouth now.

          “If you’re really my father, then why did you let Snake have me? Why haven’t you come for me all these years? How could you just watch me grow up in a lie and not do anything about it?”

          “Your mother concealed your true identity from me at first. I believe she hoped that your true identity and Snake’s attachment to you would eventually force a reconciliation between us. She always believed there was something redeemable in everyone—some good that could be nurtured back to life. It was one of the things I loved about her, but also what led her to betray me. Snake has sought nothing else than to destroy me for the past 18 years. It has been his singular focus, his obsession. At first, he attempted to break me by stealing my wife—thus breaking my heart. Then, he discovered she was pregnant—with my child. And he thought, what could be a sweeter revenge than keeping my own son from me, raising him to be my enemy?

“As your mother went into labor, Snake’s greed and thirst for revenge became obvious, and your mother repented of her deception. She called me from the delivery room to tell me that I was your father. Unfortunately, she died shortly after. Since Snake was the father on record, you were released to him to take home. Of course, I wanted to go and claim you immediately. But I feared for your safety and did not want to tempt Snake to seek immediate revenge by killing you.”

Adam shook his head. “I still don’t understand. Snake is your archenemy. How in the world could you think I was safe with him?”

“Snake’s sole desire is to steal everything that is dear to me. It’s true. However, in your case, that was my insurance policy. He certainly could have killed you (as I feared he might if I had tried to take you by force), and that revenge would have been devastating, to be sure. But I know how Snake thinks. How much sweeter would his revenge be if I had to watch our child being raised by my enemy, taught to hate me, perhaps even to kill me? I was sure he could not resist the temptation to see me destroyed by my own flesh and blood. Do you see?

“Besides, if I had moved to take you by force, other lives would have been lost in the process—both Kings and Devils. I knew if I was patient until you were older and more independent, the time would come.”

“And Messiah has known about me all this time?”

“Yes. There was no way for me to rescue you without his help.”

“He said you told him that I would come for you one day, and that he would have to take my place. How did you know that? I didn’t even know myself until a few hours ago.”

“It was the only logical outcome of the hate you inherited, and it has always been Snake’s driving obsession since he failed to kill me the first time. I knew he would put you up to it one day, probably as a means of initiation.”

“But he didn’t put me up to it!” Adam protested. “He doesn’t even know I’m here! In fact, he told me this morning that I wasn’t ready to join the gang and that he wanted me to finish high school. Why would he do any of that if what you say is true?”

“Adam, I realize that East Side can be a dangerous place to live. And, certainly, the types of business Snake has taken on since leaving the Kings are very dangerous. Snake is certainly not blind to this. Why would he risk losing his best weapon against me, before you could have the opportunity to strike? Of course, he has kept you out of the streets. Although, it seems he may have underestimated your willpower.”

Adam was silent while he thought this through. It did add up, what Eli was saying. All the same, it’s not easy to accept in one hour that everything one knows about his life is actually a lie. As the two versions of his life story played over and over in his mind’s eye, his thoughts focused on the one point he was absolutely sure about. “I shot you. I shot to kill,” he said aloud. He wasn’t sure what to say next, but he knew this fact was irreversible and represented some sort of point of no return.

“That is true,” Eli said. “But you are still my son. Nothing you have done can change that. I forgive you.”

Adam met Eli’s eyes for the first time since sitting down and could see the passion in his eyes. He meant it. “So, what happens now?” Adam asked.

“Well, you have a choice to make,” Eli said as he straightened himself in his chair. “You are my son, and as such, entitled to my household and all the privileges associated with that. I would like you to finally come home. So would Messiah. However, that will mean accepting your new identity and being seen as a traitor by the Devils, especially Snake. You need to realize that.

“Or, you can choose to continue to be my enemy despite what you now know and return to your life with Snake. I’m afraid there is no middle ground. You cannot come home with me and still be loyal to my enemy. Neither can you return to Snake and avoid becoming part of his revenge campaign against me. You are no longer an ignorant bystander, either way. You must choose today whom you will trust, whom you will follow.”

Adam felt a lump sticking in his throat and attempted to swallow it. He hadn’t even said goodbye to Snake. He had just taken off in an outburst of anger. There had never been a great affection between them, but, still, he was the only family Adam had ever known. And what of the rest of his life? What if none of his friends would even talk to him anymore? What if they thought he was cocky and superior now?

On the other hand, Eli and Messiah had put their own lives on the line to protect him from the consequences of his actions against them. To forgive someone for trying to kill you and then invite them into your home? To take a bullet for someone who had just shot your own father? He couldn’t imagine anyone doing that from the East Side. In fact, he couldn’t be sure that Snake wouldn’t put a hit on his own “son” if Adam went home with Eli now. Loyalty was all that mattered to Snake. Loyalty and power. Adam had always assumed the Kings worked the same way, but clearly there was another bond at work that he had never experienced before.

Sacrificing for a brother who would do the same for you was one thing. He saw that kind of loyalty on the streets all the time. But, sacrificing for a brother who was your enemy? Forgiving someone for shooting you? This kind of code was so bizarre it was almost scary. Adam couldn’t predict where it would lead or how it would end. One thing he did know—how life on the streets ended, and the obligations you had to keep for that kind of loyalty. He wasn’t sure where this alternate reality of Eli’s would lead, but it couldn’t be worse than the ride or die life he was headed for otherwise.

Adam looked at Eli a little nervously. “I can’t imagine anyone showing more loyalty and love than you have for me today. It trumps any loyalty I had at home. But, I’m not sure I understand it. I mean, I’m not sure I fit in your world.”

A smile slowly spread across Eli’s face. “You’re right, it will be weird at first. It is going to take quite some time for you to comprehend your new identity, to trust it, to act on it. You will make lots of choices out of habit that are not compatible with your new identity. Your instincts will still be based on self-protection and mistrust for some time. But, don’t worry. Messiah and I will be with you every step of the way. And no one can take you away from us again.”

By Wednesday, Emma had written three journal entries. She had broken her silence and was inviting God into her suffering, even if she wasn’t willing to let Him do anything with it just yet. He could listen, but she couldn’t let Him hold her yet. So, she focused on just being honest about her ambivalence.

            I’m sorry I haven’t been really speaking to You lately, her first entry began, but honestly, I don’t know what to say. My whole confidence in Your love for me has been shaken. I feel abandoned. I know that’s a terrible thing to say, but that’s how I feel. I was content as a single person for so many years, God. I was confident that You had the right relationship waiting for me, and that all I had to do was focus on You and be patient. I wanted a relationship that honored You and blessed others, and I wasn’t willing to settle for anything less. The vision of a relationship that would be Your best for me sustained me and diminished the temptation of anything less. So, it wasn’t hard to wait because I knew what I was waiting for and that it was worth it.

But now—I feel like I’ve been misled. It looks as though You have no intentions of my falling in love or getting married at all. Maybe You never did have any such intentions. I don’t understand why You gave me that dream or allowed it to motivate me all those years if it was a false hope. I don’t just feel lonely anymore; I feel disillusioned, which makes it more devastating. I can’t stand being alone anymore, but I feel unfit to be around other people. I used to love alone time, but now alone time just feels like a gaping, empty space that threatens to consume me slowly. I don’t know who I am anymore when I’m alone, which is normally when I know best who I am.

I feel betrayed by You, God. I feel overlooked, neglected, and forgotten. I know that these feelings aren’t truth, and they’re not objective. They feel so true, though. I thought I knew the truth about how You felt about me, and now it seems like maybe I was just kidding myself. I’m sorry for neglecting our relationship and listening to my feelings instead of You. Or at least, I know I should be sorry for it, and I’m sorry that I’m not more sorry for it. I can’t promise I’ll be ready to listen anytime soon.

I know I don’t want to stay like this forever. However, being hopeful and contented doesn’t really seem like an option anymore. It hurts too much when I’m only ever left all alone. For now, I’m just going to commit to telling You how I feel and what I’m thinking. You’re going to have to work on me if You want me to move past that.

Amen.

            Emma’s sentiments had not altered much since this entry. However, the process of having to articulate her emotions was helping her to feel a bit more stable. Writing caused her to really face what she had been feeling and unwilling to admit to herself for a long time. It also externalized the emotions enough to allow some perspective. Slowly, the formless enemy that had her in a chokehold began to take clearer shape. The voice coming through Emma’s pen did not sound like her own, nor did it sound like something that needed to be indulged, which she had been doing for a month now, possibly longer. While perhaps this voice represented a previously ignored piece of the self that Emma currently was, she could clearly see it was not part of the true, authentic self she was meant to be. This realization caused her to feel less protective of it, but she still felt helplessly trapped by it. She knew this voice did not speak from a place of truth or faith. She did not understand how it had come out of herself, or how to get rid of it.

            By Wednesday, Abby felt well enough to go out and was suffering cabin fever from so many sick days spent at home. So, the gang decided to meet at Chick-fil-A rather than bringing take-out to her. Consequently, Emma did not arrive early as usual. She was hoping this alteration would allow Abby less time to dig for details about her current status and make her own return to the social circle less awkward. Maybe she could lay low in conversation in a public place.

            Emma was surprised to see that Abby was visibly pregnant now—partly from another few weeks’ gestation and partly because her frame had grown a bit wiry due to her inability to keep much food down of late. To a casual observer, Abby was the picture of health for a small-framed, pregnant woman. But to Emma and the rest of the gang, she seemed slightly gaunt. Upon seeing her, Emma instantly felt guilty for not helping out at all during Abby’s battle with severe morning sickness. She could easily have used a couple of her leftover personal days to keep Abby company while Jackson had been at work. Poor Abby had spent most of the past several weeks alone, sick as a dog. She hadn’t asked for help or company, but Emma shouldn’t have to be asked.

            I should have been there, Emma reflected as she gave Abby a hug and felt her ribcage more prominently than usual. I am such a terrible friend! I can’t believe it never occurred to me that Abby might need my help. I’ve been so self-absorbed that I’ve been oblivious to what Abby was going through. I’ve hardly even called her other than on Saturdays. She was relieved to watch Abby polish off an entire combo meal, complete with milkshake, without missing a beat. Abby seemed to be her normal, lively self again. To Emma’s surprise, she found she truly enjoyed seeing everyone herself. She even forgot about her angst as she listened to everyone else’s updates and felt the warmth of familiar, affectionate conversation. She didn’t feel as dead and cold or lifeless here.

            By the time dinner was over, Emma felt more in touch with external reality than she had in some time. Abby hugged her again in the parking lot and assured Emma that she would meet her at the park Saturday morning. “I’m sorry I’ve abandoned you this last month,” Abby squeezed her apologetically. “I was so determined to maintain my social routine until the final stages of pregnancy, and then I go and drop out of your life before I’m even out of the first trimester.” Emma’s conscience lurched, and she rolled her eyes. It was just like Abby to feel guilty for being violently ill and inconveniencing Emma. Emma was the one who had abandoned Abby in her hour of need. She had been so dreading Abby becoming more external to her own life and yet here she had removed herself from Abby’s struggle.

            “Abs, you didn’t abandon me! You called faithfully every week. I’m just sorry I wasn’t there for you. I don’t think I realized how miserable you must have been. I should have been there for you to lean on. I’m sorry.”
            “Oh, don’t be silly. There was nothing you could have done besides watch me throw up, and that’s not a great bonding experience. I’ve so missed seeing you, though. I can’t wait to really catch up on Saturday. I promise I will be there if it kills me.”

            Emma raised an eyebrow. “Please don’t come if it kills you. I’d rather have a live phone friend than a dead walking partner.”

            “You know what I mean,” Abby laughed. “Don’t worry. Jackson’s been so protective. I had to prove I could go 72 hours without vomiting before he’d even let me come out tonight. I’ll probably have to do several trial walks around the block before he‘ll let me take on the park anyway, but I’ll convince him. I’m determined. See you then.”

            Good old Jackson, Emma thought affectionately. He was such a good husband to Abby, and she was so thankful he was there to watch over her. Okay, God, Emma prayed as she merged with traffic on her way home, I’m ready for You to start working on me. I’m not sure how You’re going to do it or how long it will take. I am pretty sure it will be painful, but I don’t care. I do not want to be so wrapped up in my own self-pity that I neglect the people who love me and deserve me to love them back. Help me somehow pull out of myself, Lord.”

            When Emma pulled into the parking lot at the park on Saturday morning, Abby was already stretching on the sidewalk. Well, that’s a first, Emma smiled to herself. Abby’s cheeks seemed a little less sunken and had their natural color back, Emma noticed.

            “You look great,” Emma complimented her as they hugged.

            “Oh my word, I feel SO much better. It’s unbelievable. Thank God for prescription medicine, right? I’ve been so sick of the house, I can’t wait to see the lake.”
            “Well, maybe we should take it easy since this is your first time in a while,” Emma cautioned.

            “I feel totally fine, honest.” Abby assured her. “Jackson and I went for a stroll yesterday, and it was great. I’ll let you know if I need to slow down. You look like you’ve lost some weight. You been picking up the pace since I disappeared?”

            “I don’t know. Maybe. I just haven’t been eating as much lately, I guess.”

            “How come? Sympathy pains?” Abby nudged Emma jokingly.

            “I wish it were that noble. No. I’ve just been lost in my own thoughts too much to be hungry.”

            “I knew something was going on with you. I could just tell, but you’re so good at dodging. I figured you weren’t ready to talk about what was on your mind.”

            “I wasn’t. I’m still not really. It’s embarrassing. Let’s talk about you and the baby instead.”

            “Oh no! I don’t think so,” Abby cut her off. “That’s practically all we’ve talked about for over a month. None of this ‘I’m too ashamed to let you know that SuperEmma doesn’t have it all together’ crap. I’m not going to respect you any less for having issues. Besides, I live for these moments when you seem as vulnerable and human as I am.”

            “Oh, Abs,” Emma rolled her eyes. “I’m not any stronger or more stable than you are. In fact, probably less so.”

            “Prove it,” Abby retorted, raising her eyebrows almost as in a dare. She stared at Emma pointedly.

            “Alright, alright, I surrender,” Emma held up her hands in resignation. “I’m warning you, though; it’s going to seem very anticlimactic after this dramatic lead-in.”

            “I’ll be the judge of that,” Abby replied as she began walking toward the start of the path through the woods. “Now, spill.” Emma followed her, hoping that there wouldn’t be many people at the park today so that she could limit her confession to just one audience.

            “Well, the short version is I’ve been having a pity party—a pretty elaborate one,” Emma began.

            “Because your best friend became unavailable sooner than expected?” Abby’s voice carried a twinge of guilt that made Emma feel even more pathetic about her recent indulgence of self-pity.

            “No. It has nothing to do with you, I promise. Besides, even a best friend can’t be responsible for someone’s happiness. No, it’s just the sulky single thing—only it’s reached some sort of spiritual proportion now.”

            “Spiritual?” Abby raised one eyebrow and watched Emma more intently as they rounded the first bend in the path.

            Emma nodded and took a deep breath. For some reason, even though she’d already prayed about this, it was hard to confess out loud to another person. “I’m mad at God, Abby. I know I shouldn’t be, but I am—like, really mad. It’s ridiculous and childish. I’m basically having a spiritual temper tantrum about my circumstances. But even when I get tired of fighting, and I want to surrender, the hurt is still there. I just can’t seem to get past it. It’s not just an objective discontentment with being single anymore. It feels personal now.” Once Emma began venting her emotions, she was usually able to do so with a fair amount of detachment and transparency, almost like a therapist describing a patient. Although the tone of analysis was in Emma’s voice, Abby suspected there was something different this time.

            “Sorry, I don’t think I’m following you. You feel personally single?”

            “No, I’m taking my singleness personally. Everyone else seems to fall in love and get married, and have families—or at least they get pursued. Me? It’s like I don’t even exist. How is it possible that in all of His vast creation, God can’t find just one man for me? I’m not asking for men to line up for me or to be the most sought-after woman in history. I just want one person, just one!, to be my person. I know this is going to sound irreverent, but I feel neglected—like God doesn’t really love me, or at least not as much as He loves other people.” Abby didn’t respond right away because she was waiting for Emma to elaborate, but Emma was feeling sheepish enough for admitting that much. She looked away into the sunlight glinting off the green leaves across the path. “I told you it was going to sound stupid.”

            “No, it’s not stupid at all.”

            Emma couldn’t help smirking. “So, you do think He loves me less than other people, then?” she asked with a sarcastic laugh.

            “Emma, cut it out.” Abby swatted her on the arm, undeterred. “You know that’s not what I meant. And it’s not true. God loves you just as much as all His other children.”

            “Yeah, I know—technically anyway. I mean, my head knows that’s supposed to be true, but my heart doesn’t seem to believe it anymore. I don’t understand why He would leave me alone if He loves me and is pleased with me, especially after I’ve been so patient. I mean, look at some of the girls in my life who have been blessed with godly husbands—” Emma was about to say “who didn’t deserve them” but stopped herself because she realized she would sound proud and judgmental.

            “—who weren’t guarding their hearts and pursuing the right kind of guys?” Abby finished for her. She could think of several mutual acquaintances who had been careless and even reckless in their dating lives before stumbling upon the right guy.

            “Yes!” Emma agreed enthusiastically, grateful to Abby for putting it in a gentler way. “Of course, I’m happy for them, and thankful for God’s grace in sparing them from some of their destructive relationship patterns. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t begrudge them their marriages or husbands. It’s just, I don’t understand why He can’t love me that way, too. I have trusted His boundaries and tried to make wise choices about guys, but I have nothing to show for it. Nothing I can point to and say, ‘See. God is pleased with my obedience. See. God loves me and His way is worth it.’ It seems almost like I’m being punished for being faithful. Maybe I don’t have a husband because I haven’t made it a necessary divine intervention.”

            “Oh come on. That’s not true. We know plenty of girls who’ve married good husbands because they did wait for them and had their priorities straight,” Abby interjected.

            “That’s true,” Emma conceded. “I’m certainly not saying I’ve been perfect, or that God owes me a husband. But, I am at least as deserving as the reckless girls, aren’t I? If they can have happy, healthy marriages by God’s grace, why can’t I? Why don’t I get to love and be loved, too? Why do I have to be alone? It doesn’t seem fair.”

            “No, it’s not fair,” Abby agreed. This was one of Abby’s best traits as a friend. She had a great ability to listen and validate one’s feelings without judgment. She didn’t try to convince you that you shouldn’t be feeling something. She simply accepted the emotion and helped you process it. “I don’t think it means God isn’t pleased with your choices or that He loves you any less, though. Maybe He’s saving you for someone even better. I’m sure He’s got the perfect guy for you waiting somewhere who’s just going to exceed all your expectations.”

            Emma shook her head slightly and chuckled somewhat cynically as she looked up at the clouds. Abby’s articulation of exactly what she felt disillusioned about caused her to lose her purely analytical tone without realizing it. “That’s what I used to think, too, but it doesn’t help anymore. I mean, doesn’t that boil down to earning a husband through suffering versus through patience? I’m exhausted, bored with myself, and desperate to share my life with someone, but God doesn’t seem to care. I don’t think I have the strength to keep waiting hopefully anymore. Especially now that it’s wearing out my faith as well. What’s going to be left of me to love by the time God does get around to me? What’s going to be left to expect from a marriage? I don’t have that many years left to start a family. And if He doesn’t intend to provide me with a husband, then why is He letting it hurt this badly? Why doesn’t He just take the desire away? It’s cruel. I feel like I’ve finally had my heartbroken for the first time—only by God instead of a guy.”

            “Have you talked to Him about this?” Abby asked gently.

            “Yes. I’ve been journaling about it. It feels good to get the feelings out in the open, I guess. I read my bible to be reminded of who God really is. I start to be comforted by what He’s done for me already. But the reality is still there—the fact that I’m painfully alone and desperately want to know what it’s like to be loved and committed to. My relationship with God used to be my anchor because I felt secure in His love. Now, He seems to have taken even that away. If He’s all I get, then I’m in big trouble.”

            Abby was amazed at the depth of struggle Emma was expressing. Emma was usually the level-headed one, counseling others to focus on truth instead of feeling. Abby reached out and gently grabbed Emma’s forearm. Emma stopped walking and turned to look her in the eyes. Abby’s eyebrows were contracted in a passionate concern that disarmed Emma instantly.

            “Emma, I had no idea—” was all that Abby was able to get out before Emma began unexpectedly tearing up. “—that you were hurting this much,” she finished. Tears began to roll down Emma’s cheeks. She quickly glanced over her shoulder to make sure that no one was coming down the path from the park. She hated crying in public.            Understanding Emma’s self-consciousness, Abby clutched her wrist and pulled her through the trees to a fallen trunk near the lake’s edge where the summer foliage would afford them some privacy. She sat down on the trunk and pulled Emma down beside her, not releasing her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me you were so depressed?” she demanded, but only with the firmness of love.

            “I don’t know,” Emma sniffed, wiping her cheeks with her free hand. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone. I didn’t even tell myself for a long time, I suppose. I know what I’m saying isn’t biblical, so I shouldn’t be struggling with it so much. I guess I was hoping it would just go away if I ignored it long enough. But it isn’t going away, and I can’t ignore it anymore. It seemed to get better for a while, after my birthday, but now it’s worse than ever and I can’t seem to shake it.” She couldn’t stop tears from punctuating her speech, which was very disconcerting as she was usually able to bridle her emotions quickly whenever they ran amuck.

            Abby scooted closer and put her arms around Emma. “You’re not all alone, Emma.” Emma hugged Abby back and allowed herself to cry freely for a minute. She felt embarrassed for being so emotional, but her relief and the comfort of being held outweighed her pride. “I know you’re more alone than I am, and I guess I don’t really know what it’s like for you. But you don’t have to be alone or go through it alone. Maybe it’s been so difficult because you’ve been trying to carry it all by yourself.”

            Emma sat up straight and wiped her cheeks free of tears, regaining some of her composure. “It doesn’t seem like I have much choice. I can’t very well be a puddle of tears all the time with people. There aren’t really any people I’m close enough with to share this. Normally, I would lean on my parents for support, but I can’t even do that because it would kill them if they knew how lonely I was. I don’t really want to share it with people at church or work because I don’t want to be known as the pathetic, single girl. I already feel like people look at me pityingly at church and I’ve only just managed to escape them setting me up with some truly awful bachelors just because they’re available.”

            Abby laughed, remembering the stories of two horribly awkward blind dates Emma had been unwittingly tricked into. Emma snickered a little herself.  “Okay, so maybe you should be very discerning about who you open up to, but there must be somebody you trust to not go all yenta on you.”

            “I guess there are a couple. I just don’t want our whole relationship to turn into a discussion about my singleness. And, honestly, it’s an awkward burden to share with anyone. They can’t fix it, but they’ll definitely try! And there’s not really anything they can do to make me feel better about it. So, it seems unfair to burden them with the knowledge that I’m struggling with something they can’t really offer assistance with. Or they’ll just start talking about how much they miss being single (in college) and how hard marriage is—which is not helpful at all. That’s what makes this loneliness so horrible—it isolates me even further than I already feel isolated.”

            Abby could tell Emma wasn’t ready to bend on this point yet, so she wisely decided to stop pushing it. “Well, you’ve told me. And you can talk to me whenever you need to about it. I promise I won’t set you up with anyone or put you up on e-harmony without your knowledge or anything. I’ll just pray for you and that God would provide a husband for you in His time. And I’ll listen when you need someone to vent to. Okay?”

            “Thanks,” Emma replied somewhat flatly. In her head, she was thinking whenever I need to talk and Jackson’s not around, or the baby isn’t crying, or there’s no event going on at church….What about the nights when I can’t face coming home to an empty house? She made eye contact with Abby and smiled, though. She did have to admit that she felt much better than she did this morning. “Do I look absolutely ghastly or am I presentable enough to continue our walk?”
            “You look fine, just a little pinkish, but no one will notice.”

            “Thanks for letting me dump on you.”
            “Anytime. It’s so nice to focus on something other than nausea or prenatal vitamins for a change.”

            “So, let’s talk about you now. I’m all talked out.”

            Abby laughed as they walked back towards the trail. “Well, let’s see. Andrew’s working on the art for that restaurant downtown. He wants to have a family dinner there to celebrate once it gets displayed.”

            “Oh, yeah. You’re going to have to fill me in on that again. He told me about it that night you announced your pregnancy, but I was too busy trying to figure out what you were hiding from me, and I missed the whole thing.”

            “I’m not surprised,” Abby rolled her eyes and smiled. “You should have gone for a career as a detective.” She proceeded to explain Andrew’s connection to the owners and the general design he had planned as they continued their walk.

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.