The fact that two other ladies from church and I ordered the exact same coffee is more awkward than endearing as we sit across from the one lone guy at the weekly singles game night.
This could be a low point.
The coffee shop around us brims with customers seated on plush benches, the hiss of frothing milk, and the amazing smell of fresh-ground beans. Here at Gunnison, Colorado’s coziest coffee shop, I’ve already run the stats. Jason—the male in the group—is twenty-nine. Over the last few encounters, it’s obvious he’s a great fit for Britt who’s closer in age. They have a ton in common. But he keeps making eyes at Katie. She’s fairly new, which is already complicating matters. I don’t have an interest in Jason, but I’ve committed to this singles group for a while, so here I sit . . . sipping a mocha latte in an unspoken competition that I really don’t want to be in.
“So, we decided on Monopoly?” Britt sets aside her cup and, if I’m not mistaken, is trying super hard not to look at Jason just like she did last Tuesday night and the Tuesday before. She’s either as uncomfortable as I am, or she actually likes him. It will take at least a few rounds on this board for me to figure it out. As a magazine columnist, I must admit, this unfolding story is the one point of interest keeping me from crawling out a back window and enjoying the sunset over the Rockies.
Looking back on life, I spent plenty of time imagining my future wedding and doodling potential name changes inside school notebooks. I never expected to be thirty-two and single, sitting here in overalls and a strappy tank, wondering if the Birkenstock that just fell off my foot is going to be findable.
Fate’s a stinker sometimes, but a girl’s got to make the most of it. Still, I can’t help but wonder lately . . . is this really the best I can do?
“It’s either Monopoly or Scrabble, and everyone knows Sadie’s going to cream us if we choose Scrabble.” Katie laughs.
I sit a little taller in my chair, which makes the gals giggle and Jason smirk. I try and ignore his smile. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong in this group—across the table from this guy’s dimples or feeling the strain of the chase. A chase that I’m so not in. Not that Jason isn’t a decent guy. It’s just super clear that we’re not a match.
I finally find my sandal and slide back into it without jostling the game board. Britt, who must have noticed the effort, is trying again not to laugh. Her strawberry-blonde hair that’s pulled up in a loose bun looks especially pretty. Does Jason notice? She’s definitely put extra effort into her appearance tonight. In this dry heat, my hair is pulled up as well, but it’s finer than hers—just enough brown locks to make a flouncy ponytail. And despite my attitude right now, I admittedly did hit my bangs with a curling iron and applied strawberry lip gloss before hopping into my Jeep this evening.
We’re all present for the same reasons. Either to meet someone and hightail it out of Singleville, or to make friendships and keep from having to spend one more night watching reruns and eating microwaved popcorn alone. Tonight, I opted for the game night. I mean, you never know who might show up. People rotate through this group often. The only regulars for the last few months have been me, Britt, and a few of the senior citizens who are deep into a game of Apples to Apples near the espresso machine.
Sometimes I hang out with them, just for the great laughs and stories, but tonight opted for the younger crowd. A way to give Britt some moral support as the stakes continue to rise. With that goal in mind, I might as well stop moping.
“Okay.” I sip from the minty mocha. “Who wants to be the banker?”
Britt volunteers so we slide her bundles of pretend money. Everyone else gets to work straightening the board, selecting pieces, and making small talk.
When Jason and Katie both request the thimble, his eyes lower to hers again just like in a romantic comedy. She blushes. Yes, there are definitely sparks here. It’s cute. Honestly.
Over the last few months, sparks have flown between a number of potential couples. I’ve watched men and women pair up, even go out on first dates. Twice now, engagements have sprouted from our church’s singles group. Those are good stats, aren’t they?
Amazing stats, Sadie. Totally worth coming back week after week. Hoping for . . . ?
I have no idea.
But I guess there’s still the possibility that Mr. Wonderful will walk through the coffee shop doors one of these Tuesdays, be within a few years of my own age, love Jesus, pretzels with cheese sauce, and books about Colorado sight-seeing.
If a guy wanted to know . . . I love books, writing, and going for walks. I love taking my hammock out beside the river and watching the sky. I love anything that gets me out into the beautiful scenery of the mountains and valleys all around, but admittedly, it’s kind of intimidating venturing off alone. My secret dream? To be married and not only have a best friend that I love and adore, but to also have an adventure partner for life. Someone to share this incredible world with. Someone who can challenge me and help me along the way, and who I can do the same for.
A girl needs hope, and this one just can’t let go of it yet.
I still long to dream, but it’s a dream that’s so sore within my heart that I try to keep it tucked away. Keep it from view. When I ponder all of those hopes—of what it would be like to walk hand in hand down a hiking trail, or to picnic beside the river with a kind, caring man, it only carves a deeper canyon of loneliness inside my chest.
When the espresso machine whirs to life, frothing up milk for someone’s latte, I try and shove the thoughts aside. Now maybe isn’t the time to daydream. Not when I’m out here in the social wilds, trying to do something about it.
Once Britt has everything counted out, we all accept our stacks of pastel-colored cash. When it’s my turn to roll the dice, I get to move four spaces then pass the dice over. Monopoly is legendary for taking a while. It’s made worse over the fact that poor Britt seems to be picking up on the chemistry between Katie and Jason. Britt’s looking pale, and we’ve only just begun. Katie keeps giggling at everything Jason says, and each time he smiles, it’s aimed at her. He’s beaming, really. These two are totally into each other. If only there was a way to drum up an excuse for Britt and me to go sit somewhere else—give these two a chance to really connect. But would that make Britt feel even worse?
However, by the time Katie has purchased half of the hotels and Jason has offered her yet another lingering high-five, Britt looks like she’s going to cry. Time to fake an excuse.
“I think I’m gonna hop in line and grab a scone. Britt, which ones did you say were so great last week?”
She can’t stand quickly enough but her voice is lackluster. “Oh, I’ll show you.” She nearly trips over the chair legs in her haste. As we make our departure, Katie and Jason have the dignity to at least look like they’re going to miss our company. They’ll be over it in three seconds flat.
The two of us approach the counter, and when she just stares blankly at all the baked goods behind the glass case, I reach over and give her a side hug. “You okay?”
She’s been coming to this singles group for three months. Jason showed up a month ago and demonstrated an interest in her until Katie appeared last week. Now, all bets are off.
Tears well in Britt’s eyes. “I’m okay,” she stammers.
“I’m going to grab us something to eat and we’ll take it out to the balcony. How does that sound? The sunset is gorgeous out there and we can take a few minutes away from the game.”
She nods quickly, swiping at one of her plump cheeks.
This poor girl.
I order two blueberry crumble scones and urgently pay for both while she stands in a heartbroken stupor. When the barista passes the warm pastry bag across the counter, I snatch it up, clutch Britt by the arm, and lead her onto the balcony. We find two chairs that overlook the Gunnison River. It’s summer but the mountains in the distance are speckled with white where icy glaciers linger year-round. Chirping crickets fill the night air, and along the banks below, fly fisherman are just about to call it a night. The pink-and-blue skyline—pierced with distant mountain peaks—is dimming to black.
We both sit, and even though I pass her a scone and a napkin, she leaves it untouched on the wrought-iron table between us. Heartache never plays fair.
“I’m sorry that tonight is weird,” I say.
The tears brim again and she swipes at them. “I just thought . . . I just thought . . .” She tugs off her ballet flats and slides them under the chair. Creases on her skin say the shoes have been too snug all evening, but she never complained. I can just imagine the effort she put into tonight’s gathering. Of choosing just the right outfit, all with a heart full of possibility.
Her lip quivers and I know exactly what she thought. I’ve been through it a dozen times myself. The wondering that maybe for just once, gals like us could be the one that got chosen. That just once, we wouldn’t bump into a nice, good-looking guy, only to see him walk away on the arm of another girl. For just once, that life would feel fair.
“I’m really sorry, Britt.” It’s crucial not to give her the crummy “someone will come along” speech that I’m so tired of hearing myself. “I don’t blame you for feeling sad tonight.”
Sliding off my own sandals makes it easy to pull both feet up in the chair. “You’ve been on a journey with all of this, and I hope that even though it feels rotten right now, you’ll also see there is always possibility ahead. There’s hope for today and tomorrow.” I have no idea where these words come from. It just seems right to say what would be comforting to hear from my own friends. Most are married and don’t fully understand what it’s like to feel discouraged in singleness. They’re the same friends who remind me time and time again of how they simply waited on the Lord and He provided. But what about when God doesn’t provide a man? What about in the waiting? What if the answer will always be a no?
A friend told me once that my hoping for marriage as much as I did meant the Lord had more refining work to do on me before bringing the right guy along. She said it with a wedding ring on her finger. I guess she had finished her refining.
So, I can’t do the same to Britt. She needs to know that these longings are natural and part of what we were designed for.
“You’re a super special girl. So smart and a ton of fun and really kind.” I reach over and give her a side hug when more tears spill from her brown eyes. “I know it doesn’t make it hurt any less right now.”
“He was so sweet,” she stammers. A lock of her hair slips from her bun and she pushes it behind her ear.
I nod. Jason’s a really neat guy. “I agree. And you two have a lot in common. It’s hard when so much of this is out of our hands.” She’s smack dab in the middle of experiencing what we both have in the past: being unable to make someone feel something for you. No matter how much one might wish or even pray for. “How can I help you right now?”
She draws in a slow breath. Her gaze rests across the glittering water, which is nearly blackened from sight now. “Just helping me right now is so nice. Thank you for getting us out of there. I felt so panicked and had no idea what to do.”
“I’ve been in your shoes before, so you’re not alone.” I debate for a second then go ahead and tell her the story. “You know Dolores?”
“Is that the lady who always rides her bike here?”
“That’s the one.” Sixty-year-old Dolores is currently inside the coffee shop, probably creaming the rest of the older group in their own game.
“Well, a few months ago, she found me sitting on the floor sobbing in the bathroom. I kept hitting the air dryer to try and drown out the noise, but I guess she figured I wasn’t drying my hands for eight minutes straight and came looking for me.”
Britt’s smile comes into view for a small, bittersweet moment.
“She sat with me on the floor and listened while I cried. There was this guy who had been coming to our group for a few weeks. Finally it was someone my age. Someone who was really fun and easy to talk to. I had started to like him and felt like we’d hit it off pretty well. He even came and sat with me at a church BBQ and we talked for hours about life and how after college, we both returned back home to this town.” I pluck at a piece of scone but can’t eat anything all of a sudden. “I thought that maybe . . . just maybe, it was a sign or fate or some cute beginning to a story. But then one day he stopped coming and one of the other people in the group announced that he’d met someone online.”
Britt winces. “That had to hurt.”
“Like crazy. I kept bursting into tears for days.” Looking back, I didn’t even know him all that well. Barely a month. But sometimes when you sense a few sparks fly, and you’re so hungry for the possibility of connection—of that spark that could lead to your chance at a true relationship— disappointment hits harder than might make sense. At least to the portion of people that don’t wake up every day alone. Or have full-on conversations with their cat just to have a living creature to talk to.
Britt’s face angles back to the glass windows where just beyond, Jason and Katie are having the time of their lives over the Monopoly game. Maybe we’ll have engagement number three on our hands soon.
She glances away and pushes her bare feet together. She’s still clutching her purse on her lap like a safety blanket. “I think I’ll go home now. Do you think anyone would mind?”
I shake my head. “Do what feels right.”
She slides the scone from the table as if the paper bag weighs ten pounds. After putting on her shoes, she rises with the same heaviness, and gives a sad wave. She starts around the side of the building, clearly meaning to approach the parking lot without having to be seen again. I make a mental note to text her in a day or two, just to check in and encourage her.
Completely over the Monopoly game myself, I give Britt a few minutes to make her escape, then duck inside and retrieve my purse. I bid goodbye to the rest of the singles group. No one notices but the senior table and they wave me off with smiles. Outside, the night is dark but warm. I toss my fringed boho bag into my Jeep and drive the short trip across this quaint town to my studio apartment.
It’s routine—parking, closing my single-car garage, and trekking up the two flights of exterior steps to door number 256. My parents helped me pick out this apartment. It’s the perfect rent price for me to maintain, and it’s close enough that we’re able to see each other often. My leather sandals make hardly any sound on the stone steps, and with the warm porch light on, it’s easy to turn the key in the lock and greet my cat inside. Calypso runs her black body against my leg. I take a few moments to scratch her head before plopping my purse on the counter.
I don’t have the heart for anything else tonight except kicking off my shoes, padding across the small living room, and heading for bed. So goes the rhythm. Wash face. Brush teeth. Jammies. In my closet, I pull a thick sweater over my head that clashes horribly with my choice of sweatpants, but it’s not like Calypso’s going to complain. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, I push back my bangs and examine the fine lines around my eyes. Nobody probably notices them but me. From over my shoulder, I catch sight of the bridesmaid’s dresses hanging in the corner of my closet. One is lavender with dainty ruffles, another is an ankle-length sage green, and the third is a sleek black number. It’s easy to remember each wedding. Each dear friend from college or high school. Each bride.
Why do I keep these dresses? Why do women like Britt and me keep going to a singles group even when it hurts? I guess we do it because we don’t know what else to do. As a writer, why do I have ideas inside me for articles or even stories that have nowhere to go? Words that could encourage women just like Britt. Just like me. Is it because I’m afraid? Or because I don’t know how to begin?
After crawling into bed and hitting off the light, I lay there thinking that come morning, it will be time to find what that else just might look like. For years I’ve prayed for a man’s hand to hold, but so far, it just hasn’t happened. I want to trust in God’s plans for my life, but I could use a little help right now. Some clear guidance, even if not a relationship. So tonight, I say a different prayer than the one I have uttered for the last decade. One for courage and direction when I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know what tomorrow will hold, but I pray—with more clarity than I have in a long, long time—that it will hold not all of my hopes and desires, but instead something unexpected. That it will hold something new. After saying amen, I roll onto my side and hug the blankets tight.
There has to be more than year after year of heartache and longing. There has got to be more than this.