I don’t need to get married. All I want is single friends

"You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.”

My phone rings, pings, sings. I reject, reject, reject again, then toss it onto my bed, hard.

I don’t care if I’m being rude. They won’t even let me wallow, for goodness’ sake. And yes, I know Shaina got engaged. So now I should squeal, shriek, and perhaps even twirl each time I hear it again? Gimme a break.

I stare up at the ceiling for a while, brooding. Then I get bored, and reach for my phone.

A text from my oldest sister, Gali. Nu, heard the mega engagement news! Details, please…

I scrunch my forehead, wondering how my decades-older-than-me sister got pulled into this twirly, shrieky whirlwind, too. What does she have to do with Shaina? Oh. Right. She teaches the class parallel to her. Exciting.

Details are that I’m 24 and have no single friends left. And no, don’t go on a pity party! Just get me some singles and I’ll be good to go. I send the text before I reread it.

She calls a moment later. Good old Gali.

“Listen. There are people out there. You just gotta find them. It’s time to look beyond those tight circles you’ve had all these years. Go out, have some fun. Believe me, there are singles in your life. You just have to look for them.”

I’m quiet when she finishes her monologue, because I’m debating whether or not to tell her my principle of never believing someone who says ‘believe me.’ She senses I’m not convinced, so she repeats emphatically, “Believe me, you just have to look for them.”

I mumble something, then hang up. I’m going to wallow.

I call Dassy a while later. Good, stable, single Dassy.

“Listen here, if you get engaged before I go to Eretz Yisrael in two weeks, I’m canceling my return ticket, do you understand me?”

“Hmmm.”

I reiterate, enunciating each syllable clearly: “I will not return. For real.”

She sounds distracted. One second.

One second. One seeeeeeeeco-

“Are you getting engaged? Are you—”

A small giggle down her end. I never knew my heart could do this funny thing of melting to my toes while feeling rough and jagged.

“ARE YOU—” I'm bellowing. I consciously lower my tone “—getting engaged?” It finishes sounding tentative and vulnerable and I hate myself for it.

“Come over in 20.”

The world stops. I think I may have poofed into nothingness.

Then I hear howling laughter. One second… How did I fall for this again?

“I don’t know how I’ll believe you when it actually happens,” I tell Dassy. “I mean, the boy who cried wolf and all.”

“You were nearly vicious there, you know. Maybe just get yourself engaged already.”

“I DON’T NEED TO GET ENGAGED YET. Get me singles and I’ll be fine. Just fine. I have a life.”

“Okay. Okay. I didn’t say anything. Just do me a favor and come back from Israel, okay?”

“You can get all hung up, in a prickly perch.

And your gang will fly on. You’ll be left in the lurch.”

Okay. I won’t pretend that sometimes, under the cover of dark, the fears don’t loom large and ugly. Lace and frills and white veils take on a shadowy, phantom-like appearance, dancing a macabre dance.

There are voices, too, echoing in the gloom.

What’s taking you so long? Will you ever get married? All your friends are gone. Soon they’ll forget you, those caring friends and busy shadchanim… Twenty-four… What’s wrong with you, anyway?

I cry out in my sleep, thrashing to try to avoid being whipped by one extra-long, spinning veil.

I sit up in the dark, breathing heavily. Twenty-four. I’m 24, oh, for goodness’ sake! Young and healthy and well, youthful. It will be good.

In my mind though, those ghostly veiled figures twirl slowly, menacingly, as I huddle under the covers, feeling old and weary and very lonely.