Emma was miserable.
For what should be a happy, special day, Emma wasn't feeling anywhere near happy. Nor special.
Maybe because, for the third time today, she cleaned the glass panels of her office due to the little self-control of unruly McKinley High students constantly leaving sticky fingerprints or throwing food with no consideration.
Maybe because yet another dental convention stole her boyfriend, Carl Howell, away for a second time this week, not to mention the occasional late night dental emergencies interfering with their dinner dates.
Or maybe because today was Emma's birthday and not one person remembered. Or cared.
What was a birthday, anyhow? Emma mused in her pink rubber gloves, spraying the outside of her office with Windex, making the glass shiny and sparkly again. A day to celebrate becoming a year older – Emma couldn't see the fun there. Each year became less significant that the year before. An important birthday is turning 18, 21, or 30. Not 32.
It was just a normal school day according to Emma. And no, she wasn't going to get upset about it.
But deep down, she was.
She caught her reflection in the glass. Scattered blue, pink and yellow roses patterned her pencil skirt, its stretch sateen fabric falling just above her knees. The moss green belt matched her cap sleeved blouse with ruffled V-neck perfectly. Locks of her shoulder-length ginger hair curled under at the bottom, bangs sweeping away from her fair-skinned face, barely revealing her favourite gold bow earrings with the diamantes. Her expressive, chestnut eyes, normally warm and bright, had a soulful appearance, mimicking the ache she felt in her heart.
Emma dressed up extra special today, for nothing. Half the day was over, and no one had said a word. Not even Will Schuester, the Glee Club director and her best friend. Well, friend. Well, work acquaintance sounded more accurate. Truthfully, they hadn't been on such great terms since she began dating Carl. Emma missed their daily lunch catch-ups terribly. In fact, Emma hadn't seen Will in the teacher's lounge for a while. Preparing the New Directions for their next competition probably consumed most of his time nowadays, amongst other things. Emma wondered how the Glee Club was going. And she wondered about Will, too.
He was avoiding her. Even his usual wave by her office of a morning was non-existent. Emma wasn't going out of her way to track him down just to say hello, or make a special detour past the choir room in the off-chance he might be there like she used to. If he wanted to be stubborn and sulky about her new relationship, then fine. He's a grown man. Argh! Will made Emma so mad. And for no other reason but the angry thoughts swirling around her head, making her temper sizzle like hot oil popping in a frying pan. Why did it bother her so?
She rubbed harder on the glass, working herself into an unnecessary tizzy. Just thinking of the last couple of months between her and Carl and Will, and now combining her forgotten birthday into the mix upset Emma greater than before. She wanted to cry, but fought back the flood of tears as the last time she cried at school Sue Sylvester saw her, pointedly stating her eyelids would rust shut if she didn't stop.
Emma's toes wriggled and flexed in her navy, yellow and silver Mary Janes, restless and agitated from feeling as transparent as the glass she cleaned. Was she really that unimportant to those around her which caused her birthday to be overlooked? She glanced at her gold wristwatch, its uneven hands, along with her rumbling stomach advised her of lunchtime. In vain, Emma polished off the final glass panel, knowing that by this afternoon it would require another clean. Although Carl helped her manage her OCD, some urges such as cleaning germs and messes were going to take time to settle. Sighing, Emma tilted her head back, scrutinised her work and returned the cleaning items to the cupboard behind her desk.
With a few pumps of the hand sanitiser, Emma reflected back to only a week ago to a small surprise party at lunch for Mrs Doosenbury, the Geography teacher. A double layered sponge cake covered in piped cream awaited Eleanor with crepe paper gold and silver streamers decorating the ceiling and a large boxed gift personally presented by Principal Figgins. Every person on the teaching staff clapped and smiled, singing 'Happy Birthday' and 'For She's A Jolly Good Fellow' and laughing, having a marvellous time.
Where was everyone now? Rubbing the cool, gelatinous liquid into her palms and between her fingers, Emma knew she had to stop this niggling parasite eating her up. She wasn't one of the 'popular' teachers at the school, far from it. So, why would they throw her a party? Besides, balloons freaked Emma out.
Had Carl at least acknowledged today with a birthday card or hinted at something, anything to suggest plans for a celebration tonight when he called her for their daily morning chat, Emma's insecurities would have remained in their eggshell cocoon for another day. It also annoyed her that upon he barely even said 'goodbye' or 'love you' or any type of affectionate remark, instead rattling off a mumble of words as he drove in his car, terminating the call early. His dental career took precedence over his girlfriend it seemed and Emma didn't like coming second to a bunch of drills and fluoride. They had only been dating for a few months, but their relationship was growing and blooming into something wonderful. Now Emma wasn't so sure.
Suddenly, her eyes danced and she gasped with excitement.
Perhaps, Carl was going to surprise her! He said he was rushing off to a dental convention in Daytona this morning. It must be all part of his plan to lead Emma down the garden path, thinking he forgot when in fact, he has remembered and was putting together something so sweet and delightful it would erase all of the bad thoughts conjured up in her head.
Emma's heart fluttered. That had to be it. Of course, that's why Carl was acting so bizarre!
He was probably planning a romantic, candlelit dinner at Breadstix right now, followed by slow dancing and slow kissing, then cuddling on the couch at his condo after dinner while watching An Affair to Remember. And flowers. Emma loved flowers. A great big bunch, arranged in a pretty pink box tied by white ribbon delivered to her office, with a note in Carl's handwriting, saying Dear Emma, I love you more each day, happy birthday to my sweetheart. Yours always, Carl xxx'. Maybe after lunch the flowers would be there at the foot of her desk, waiting patiently for the birthday girl to arrive. And Carl would be there too, with open arms, embracing her as they kissed and he spun her in the air, full of love, laughter and happiness.
She hoped there would be roses. When she was a little girl, she fell in love with The Secret Garden novel and movie, starring Margaret O'Brien. Watching the garden between those walls change to glorious colour entranced Emma, whose imaginings took flight at the wonder and spectre of creating and nurturing new life. She made her own miniature garden with a cardboard box and cut-out paper flowers that she sprayed with her mother's rose-scented perfume. An actual garden was too dirty and full of creepy-crawlies for her to consider, but occasionally, Emma and her mum would go flower picking and, with her apron and gardening gloves, snip off pink and white and red rosebuds to add to her creation.
Oh… the possibilities. Emma twirled around in her office, grinning as she bit her lip, thinking about how amazing the rest of her birthday would pan out. Her mind raced, bubbling with anticipation for what was to come.
"Happy birthday, Emma," she said to herself, picking up her yellow handbag and lunch box, heading towards the teacher's lounge with a new-found bounce in her steps.
Her expectations were so high, it would be catastrophic if they came crashing down.
