No flowers were waiting for Emma when she returned to her office after lunch.

Her shoulders took a nosedive as she trudged back to her desk with a deflated look on her face. Dammit. She had allowed herself to expect a gorgeous arrangement of her favourite flowers in the pretty pink box with a white ribbon. She made allowances for Carl, giving him the benefit of the doubt that he hadn't forgotten, that he was planning a birthday surprise, something special, just for her. She permitted herself to create fantastical visions on repeat that would make turning 32 years old fun instead of just another birthday.

Shades of grey, dark and gloomy, shrouded her eyes. How did she allow herself to become so tangled in a web of disappointment?

She pulled her cell phone from her handbag, staring at the screen, praying for a text message, a missed call, any kind of notification to boost her flattened spirit.

"Ring. Ring. Why won't you ring?" She demanded from the inanimate object in her hand, pursing her lips together, willing for an answer before she threw it across the room.

It rang.

"Augh!" Emma yelped suddenly, tossing the phone into the air. She scrambled to pick it up from the floor and saw Carl's smiling face looking back at her.

"Carl! Hi!" She squeaked with excitement.

Carl heard her voice and began to sing:

The time has come and it's finally here

Have a candlelit dinner

Or just settle down my dear

Whatever you like girl

It's all up to you

We could celebrate Emma

Cause it's your birthday…

"Happy birthday, baby," Carl spoke resonantly on the other end of the line. "I love you."

Warmth glided through Emma's veins, her cheeks colouring a light crimson. Her face ached from smiling; unable to do anything but listen, thrilled from the impromptu birthday song. She wiped tears from her eyes, overcome with love and happiness. She loved his voice, the rich accents created delving deep into Emma's mind and soul, captivating her, mesmerising her, triggering emotions that were in need of liberation. His singing always brightened any shadows that followed her. She wished he would sing to her more often.

"Carl, I love you too, so much. Thank you for the song. I'm so happy you called. I – I thought you'd forgotten," Emma gushed, a single chuckle hitching through her sniffles. She took a tissue from the box behind her and dabbed under her eyes and cheeks.

"Me? Forget? Never baby," Carl insisted, looking at the magnificent skyline through the windows outside the conference centre. "How's your day so far?"

"Ah well, not too bad so far. A little quiet. It would be better if you were here with me. Are you coming home tonight?" Emma asked with anticipation, hoping he would blow off the conference early and be at her doorstep by six. She wanted to spend her birthday with Carl, not by herself.

He shoved one hand in his pocket, fiddling with loose change. "Here's the thing, Em. I'm stuck here until tomorrow, they've asked me to demonstrate dental techniques to some of the university students. It's a big opportunity for me. I wish I could drop everything and be with you, but work depends on it. It could lead to bigger things for me."

Emma bit her lip. That was not what she wanted to hear. "I see," she said shortly, keeping her voice intact, hiding her disappointment.

He detected and oddity in her tone. "I haven't forgotten you baby. Just you wait and see. And tomorrow I'll be home. I'll take you out to the fanciest restaurant in town. Better than Breadstix. Or it could just be you… me… a movie, two glasses of Riesling and the glow of the television to keep us company." Carl murmured slow and sexy into the phone, generating enough heat in the conversation to warm Minnesota in the winter. He pictured it now, dim lights and empty bottles of wine, end credits of the movie they almost finished watching rolling across the screen and pieces of clothing tossed aimlessly on the couch whilst he and Emma made love on the soft, white shaggy rug on his living room floor. He closed his eyes and smiled, swaying to the harmonious music in his head.

Emma sighed, fanning herself in jubilation. "Ooh. Sounds simply wonderful."

"You know it baby," Carl said, grinning, wild thoughts swimming in about his head. "But… no giggling when I touch you this time. It's giving me a complex."

"I can't help it, you know that," Emma replied, the curve of her waist bending from the touch of imaginary fingers. "It's how I am."

He jutted his bottom jaw forward, rolling his eyes. "Babe I know we're working through your… issues together. But how is our relationship to last if you won't let me touch you in a not-so-PG way?"

Emma's face soured. "I thought we had a lasting relationship that wasn't just about that Carl," she said stiffly, a bad feeling rising in the pit of her stomach, enough to make her want to puke in the waste paper basket under her desk. She wished he would stop pressuring her. She wasn't ready.

Carl backtracked immediately, stumbling over his words. "I – I meant grow, Emma – how is our relationship t-to grow."

Silence.

He dug his fingers into the nape of his neck, forcefully massaging the tightened muscles and scrunched his forehead. Biting his tongue was working wonders. "Baby, please don't be like this."

Painfully aware of Emma's evasion to anything physical, Carl hadn't given up hope that one day he and Emma would become intimate. He hoped that day would arrive very soon. Striking out at the plate every time he went for the home run frustrated him so.

He heard her breathing on the other end of the phone and tried again. "Baby, I'm sorry, I know intimacy is a –"

"Yes it is a sensitive subject. Please, can we just drop this?" Emma blurted out, feeling very uncomfortable in her virginal skin. She sat down at her desk and rested her head against the palm of her left hand, unnerved at how such a pleasant conversation deteriorated so quickly.

"Look, I have to go back to the presentation now anyway. I'll call you tomorrow when I'm about to leave. I want to see my beautiful princess when I get home. I love you, Emma," he concluded amiably, making kissing noises into the receiver. "Happy birthday."

"I love you too Carl," she artlessly replied, returning the kisses and terminating the call. She had to hold it together. Logging into her computer, Emma answered a few emails and went about her tasks. She didn't want to think about Carl or birthdays or sex. All three were a tearful combination.

Whatever happiness Emma had left drained from her body. Strapped into a rollercoaster of joy and misery, the ups and downs and loops were playing havoc with Emma's feelings and emotions, blackening them into darkness. An impossible situation, traversed for too long. She loved Carl so much, more than she thought she could, or ever would love another person. And he loved her back. If he didn't, he had a funny way of showing it. When together, they always had so much fun, laughing and talking and doing all the wonderful things two people in love do.

So, why did he cast doubt between them?

Why did his words feel so deliberate?

Why did he forget her birthday?

Maybe the only growth in their relationship was apart?

This couldn't be happening. No. Countless questions buzzed around with no answers to satisfy Emma's uneasiness. Only more questions presented themselves. Maybes, what ifs, question after question, harboring uncertainty and confusion. With two fierce pumps, cooling gel from the hand sanitiser filled her cupped palm and she rubbed vigorously, cleaning abrasions that were more mental than physical.

Somehow, Emma's virginity always came up in the mix, a subtle hint that her apprehension towards sex was the underlying cause to simple disagreements. It wasn't fair. She retreated into herself, stewing her thoughts in a pot of mushy dreams and harsh reality, wishing she never had a birthday, that birthdays never existed, that she never existed.

"Delivery for Emma Pillsbury!" A deep bellow came from across the room.

Startled, Emma flinched at her desk, the back of her hand knocking over the pump bottle of hand sanitiser. Shakily, she stood up, returning the bottle to its correct place on her desk. An older gentleman, with tufts of wispy grey hair sticking out from under his faded cap entered the office, carrying a long, pink box with thick, white ribbon.

"Wh-wh-what's this?" Emma asked, her lips frozen in the shape of an O.

The deliveryman, who, according to the embroidered patch on his overalls, was named Graham, grinned and placed the box in her bewildered, outstretched arms.

"A special delivery for Emma Pillsbury. That you?" Graham enquired, fiddling with his visitor's pass. "Damn cheap clasp," he muttered under his breath.

Her eyes widened at the shock of holding a box addressed to her. "Y-Yes…"

Pulling a clipboard out from under his arm, he thrust it in her face. "I need you to sign here."

Eyeing the pen dotted with teeth marks attached to the clipboard by a browning string, Emma took a tissue from her desk and wrapped it around the pen, signing the sheet of grubby paper, ensuring no part of her skin touched it.

Satisfied, Graham shoved the clipboard back under his arm. "Thank you. Special day?" he asked inquisitively.

"My birthday," Emma answered, smiled cheerily, as her face glowed a dusty crimson. She laid the box on her desk and removed the lid, revealing a square, white envelope atop a dozen long-stemmed red roses. A whirl of excitement caught in her throat as she picked up a single red rose and smelled it. Fresh and fragrant like a bright spring day, Emma was entranced with her stunning gift.

"Oh wow," she exclaimed, admiring their beauty.

Graham nodded his head in approval. "You are blessed, you truly are. Those roses ain't cheap, to receive this many, boy, someone thinks the world of you."

Eager to know who sent the gift, Emma opened the card and read aloud:

Her gesture, motion, and her smiles,

Her wit, her voice my heart beguiles,

Beguiles my heart, I know not why,

And yet, I'll love her till I die.

A dozen roses for my love,

Happy Birthday Emma,

With all my heart…

Carl xxx

"Ohh…" Emma brought the lush, velvety rose bud to her nose again and inhaled before the dam broke, tears rolling over the crest of her cheeks. Emma's confusion reigned high, her two states of mind battling and crashing into the other, both seeking supremacy to foster a clearer perspective, the right perspective, yet neither accepted defeat. She didn't know what to think, what to believe.

She just didn't know.

Her head spun. She felt the start of a headache grip at her temple as her shoulders shook from the melancholy feeling which refused to disappear.

"Don't cry, you should be happy," Graham observed, offering his support.

Staring at the roses through watery eyes, she wondered if Carl really did love her. "It's my birthday, and I'll cry if I want to," sobbed Emma, dashing to the bathroom.