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Tom sent her a happy birthday letter.
It came in the mail two days before the actual day, and it had a cute, slightly terrifying pop-up monster that Tim probably picked out. He signed both their names, Tom & Tim, in the corner, because he cared , gross. It was thoughtful and it was well put together.
And Emma tossed it in the discard pile to be shredded.
Emma Perkins was her family's little reject, with too many emotions bottled up in her throat. She was way meaner than Jane had ever been, and when push comes to shove, she might just stab.
Why did anybody give a shit? She was turning 33 in two days, yet Tom, Tim and, rather unsurprisingly, Bill, had wished her a happy birthday.
She wasn't even friends with Bill.
At least Tom was bound to her through Jane and their son, Tim, was adorable, so why wouldn't he also be kind.
She was in her kitchen, and all the dishes were dirty, and instead of cleaning them, or going to bed or trying to find inner peace or some other Buddhist method that Melissa pledged to, she was up. And pacing.
And moving the card back out, letting it sit on the countertop.
No one knew her birthday, not really.
Paul knew because she was dating Paul, it'd be crazy to leave that out and Bill knew because he was Paul's best friend and Paul talked way too much. Her family knew because of course they did and Tom knew because, well, Jane picked them well. Hidgens only knew because he asked, and he'd been careful not to make it a big deal, because it wasn't, Emma didn't care.
Okay, so a lot of people knew.
She was drinking coffee at 2:00 in the morning and she had a shift to run to in about 4 hours. Oh god.
Alright, dump the mug in the sink and fall asleep to old infomercials, cause you can't afford cable, and yeah, who cares that it's been, what, 3 years since Jane died?
Emma didn't care. At all.
---
Emma Perkins no good, very bad day began the night before.
She had to work a double because Zoeeey had gone clubbing and was still hungover.
So at around 6:00pm, she was stuck in that deserted store with the smells of oversaturated coffee and days old pastries to keep her company. If she wasn't so exhausted, she would have been kind of thrilled. Having a whole Cafe to yourself can be fun.
But that morning, the stupid idiot in the trenchcoat decided to come back and when his extra hazelnut coffee had too many shots in it (how?) He decided to throw it at her face. Her skin was still shiny with that stupid glazed coffee creamer.
And then the ‘hot chocolate boy’ made a mess in the bathroom and she had to clean it up because Nora just got her nails done, I'm not going in there, she'd said. At least you're not in danger of that. Okay fucking Nora.
And then a group of teenage girls had called her breast size 'easy bake cupcakes' and complimented her company t-shirt in the same breath. Emma really spat in those cups.
Fuck, she hated customers.
Paul hadn't even come in today. He'd texted that morning to say he was roped up in a huge project and Emma knew her boyfriend would be busy for the rest of the week.
She probably wouldn't even see him tomorrow.
But that's fine, he's got work to do and so does she. For once she was actually cleaning, just cause she was bored. Full on sweeping the dining area like she cared about the tiles.
And after she had calmed from the day's work and was about to turn on Spotify, the door opened.
'Absolutely the fuck not' Emma muttered under her breath before walking to the counter.
"Ted?" She raised an eyebrow, "Getting your own chai iced tea for once?"
He growled under his breath that he should have just gone to Starbucks, and yeah, he should've.
"But your here," Emma raised her arms up, blinking away how fucking exhausted she was, "and now it's time to order so, chop chop, the world is waiting on you."
" You are not the world," Ted grimaced, rubbing his cufflinks, "I just need a cinnamon cocoa."
"Ooh," Emma walked over to the machines in the back, "Apology cocoa?"
"Sort of, uh, you could say that," Ted looked up mischievously, "apology discount?"
"No way in hell," she groaned at an empty can of whipped cream, "and what do I even have to apologize for? Spitting in your tea that one time cause you called my car a death-trap?"
Ted looked like he got whiplash from that. And who was the coward now?
"No, but now I want one. Emma, you made Melissa cry!"
" Everyone made Melissa cry, she's a crier. I said sorry." Emma set the cocoa down on the counter, "And what does you buying cocoa have to do with that?"
"Princess, who do you think the cocoa is for?"
Emma grimaced at the pet name and resisted the urge to throw the cash register on his head. He was probably into that.
"Your total today is $5.99, if you'd like to round up for-"
"You know I don't care about," Ted gestured angrily, "this! But go for it, I'm sure my penny will make a difference."
So Ted handed Emma six dollars and Emma pushed the cocoa at him. She'd added a hand protection thingy so Melissa wouldn't burn herself, but it acted as double, keeping its contents warm. And when Ted left, he told her to 'stay strong!' like he actually cared about her. Ted and Emma's friendship was weird.
And yes, somehow they were friends….why wasn't she friends with Bill?
By the time 8:00pm rolled around, no one else had come in, thank God, so she closed up shop as quickly as possible.
The weird singing thing that Zoey came up with was finally done, but unfortunately, that meant most customers weren't inclined to tip. Today was no different than yesterday; the jar was mostly empty.
"Gross, used toothpicks. A dollar. Three nickels, wow, a whole 15 cents!" Emma frowned at the last thing inside.
"A note?"
And yeah, there it was, fucking Ted with his stupid doctor level handwriting, wishing her a happy birthday. She was not going to cry.
"$1.15" Emma muttered, "and a birthday wish."
She had to walk home, because her car was still getting fixed. At least it was early September and due to global warming, she didn't even shiver. This wasn't her first late walk around town.
Tomorrow, she had off. And tomorrow, she was going to pretend that it wasn't her birthday, that she didn't exist and that Jane was turning 35 with Tim and Tom right beside her. Cause how the fuck did mom and dad have there kids on the same day, that's fucked.
A storm started the second she locked her apartment. "Supid omens. That's definitely an omen."
Tomorrow, she would bake a cake. For Jane.
---
When Emma turned 9, she was already sick of birthdays because Jane stole all the attention.
She was just so pretty and so smart and so much better than Emma. So one day, she stopped celebrating hers.
And she slipped away. Her parents had taken Jane out for breakfast, leaving Emma alone, so she took over their kitchen. She'd baked and baked and baked. And failed and failed and failed. Mom had killed her over ruining her favorite baking pan and using up all the flour. She was forced to sit in her room and think about what she'd done.
"This is stupid." Emma muttered.
She'd found that lying face down on the bed felt the most comfortable when she was upset, and her stuffed elephant was defending her. It was the biggest and most powerful, afterall.
So she laid there all day while listening to people laugh and giggle. Her family. Did she really not matter?
She knew now that it was easier to embrace a child that let you. That Jane was amazing. And Emma…was normal. Not good. Not bad. She was just nothing in comparison.
Now, Emma was aware that her parents picked favorites because they were bad fucking parents. They were rude and overcompensating and they loved them, sure. They just loved Jane more. And now, Jane was gone and technically, her older sister wasn't turning 35 tomorrow. She was a gravestone. She was the whole goddamn graveyard in Emma's mind.
Jane would have loved to meet Paul.
The second the thought passed through her mind, she groaned, because yeah, she would have. She probably would have said something like, "Emma, don't you know you deserve better." But it wasn't about deserving better, Paul loved her. And Jane would love Paul because she did.
Emma was getting way too existential for a Wednesday night.
So she reeled in her thoughts, or at least, she tried to. But Jane wouldn't leave her mind.
Tomorrow, she would turn 33. And she'd be older than Jane when she died.
---
The actual start of Emma Perkins' no good, very bad day was a call.
"Shut…" Emma rolled over to try and cancel out the noise. "Up!"
It didn't shut up.
When she lifted the face of her phone to her eyes, she panicked. Mom alert, mom alert! Oh god, look presentable, like you have a life. Or at least like you had one at some point.
"Hey mom," First voice crack of the day, "nice of you to call."
"Oh honey, isn't it? And it's so nice to hear from you." She wallowed, "Happy birthday. I sure hope you remembered how important today is!"
Emma internally wished her apartment was on fire, "Yeah, of course. 33 is a big number mom."
She just hummed, "Oh, honey, do you want to go to Jane's memorial coastal birthday party? I mean everyone will be there and it would be a real shame if you weren't there."
Emma gritted her teeth and tried to imagine herself there. Yeah sorry but no.
"I like, really wish I could go, but my boyfriend has plans for me and I'm really excited." Lies are necessary. Very, very necessary.
"Oh god, oh, who are we gonna have to do the speech?" Mom mumbled.
"I mean…" Emma tapped her thigh, " you could do it, mom. Jane loved you just as much as me." And sometimes lies weren't necessary.
"Okay, good idea!" Mom practically shouted…ow, "i doubt you would even know what to say!"
She laughed at nothing for a solid five seconds and Emma debated breaking her phone. "Well, go have fun with 'that boy' honey, alright?"
Emma sighed, "Thanks mom…"
"Bye!"
The line went dead. Emma took a minute to regroup her thoughts and contemplate reality. A big party for Jane. No no, a big party for mom, that's what this was, Jane hated parties. And she was dead, so it's not like she could forget that by getting wasted. Because she was dead.
Eventually, she had to get up. And she looked over at the clock…
"Five-thirty in the fucking morning?" Ugh. Emma fell back on her bedsheets.
The day had gone from bad to worse. And it had only been ten minutes.
She was being dramatic, she was, she knew that. But Emma thought she had the right idea to stay in bed until the sun was up. If the sun was asleep, so was she.
---
Update: Emma did not go back to sleep.
Instead, she sat doom scrolling on Tumblr, rolling her eyes at certain 'jokes' and nearly tearing her hair out at the current legislature.
At some point, she'd gotten up, done all her morning routine bullshit and sat crooked on her couch. The weird puke colored couch that Charlotte lent her after Paul puked on her old one. She didn't think that Cinderella was that bad, but she'd been too distracted to judge.
She had two texts from Melissa, three from Professor Hidgens and five from Paul.
Melissa's were nice enough. The first just said 'happy birthday, Emma !' With five clown emojis.
The second was an apology for the clown emojis.
Hidgens had nothing to do with her birthday. Instead, his text read, " I'm trying to fix up my study and I keep finding all this cool shit that you'd hang up at your apartment."
The second, " the type of posters college students hang up to distract from their AP courses that inspire them to hunt down god."
And finally, " Would you like to accompany me, dear?"
Maybe she would. Paul, however, seemed to have texted her random bird facts.
"The first bird domesticated by humans was the goose."
"Chickens have over 200 distinct noises they make for communicating."
"Owls' heads can turn 360° but they Can't move their eyes."
That was her Paul. Weird that animal facts are what he reaches for to cheer her up. But it was working. He also didn't mention that it was technically her birthday.
' If I rush through these papers and pretend to do the graph work, I could stop by late tonight???"
"Crazy hours, right??? Ily."
Emma smiled faintly. At least some of the people in her life weren't so terrible. She texted Paul 'ILYT' and to not fuck up his work, what if he got fired. He texted Henry that she'd be down for another time. He responded immediately with "Np dear." Paul was at work by now and off his phone.
Finally, she texted Melissa a simple 'thank you. <3'
There. No more social interaction for the day. All she had planned was to bake Jane a cake, eat said entire cake in one sitting, pass out, and maybe hug her boyfriend for an uncomfortably long time.
---
At around noon, after she'd finally washed the dishes, (under duress) her phone rang.
"Who's the lucky…shit!"
Dad. Actual birth father dad with that ugly photo of him with a Danny Deveto wig on. She answered it, trying to swallow the fear and anticipation stuck in her throat.
"You're going."
Emma tried not to cower when hearing that, "Going…?"
"Your not fucking stupid, Emma, I'm talking about the party. Your mother would be devastated that you didn't go. So you're going . And you're gonna go up there and say a speech to your sister. Because we are your family and she deserves it."
Emma felt how tight her shoulders were and willed herself to relax. Dad wasn't scary.
Okay, he wasn't that scary.
"Ok." Emma relented. And Dad said he'd text her the details.
"And bring…something, it's a potluck."
And just like how he began the call, he abruptly ended it. It helped that he wasn't wrong. Jane deserved better and Jane would want her there.
She texted Paul that she might not be home tonight because of 'Janes' party. She sent the address too, knowing how much Paul worried about how she was doing and would prefer to know.
Ok OK ok OK ok.
She was fine.
Emma made the cake early, chocolate this year, and doubled all the measurements. She grabbed a cardigan because her parents were fucking vampires and left the air on too high in their picket fence house on the edge of Hatchetfeild. This might as well happen.
---
The party started at her parents house.
When she got there, after walking for 45 minutes, she found it was easier than ever to blend in with all the people. A good half of whom she recognized. Most of the attendees were physically on the Perkins Family Beach, so Emma opened the screen door.
At least Tim looked bored too.
So she found herself blending into the background, watching as dad played cards (blackjack, really?) with his friends, and listening to fucking Becky Barnes in the kitchen. Who knew you could hum so off key it could make grown birds die.
It was the quietest she'd ever been at a party, but eventually, dad caught her eye.
They hadn't talked much. Not when Emma was little, not before she moved to Guatemala and not after Jane died.
If dads friends knew that, they didn't show it. Fuck, he didn't show it. He set his cards down and his Hard Mike's Lemonade and gave her a bear hug. Like he hadn't just threatened her.
"There's my little girl," He said, alcohol smelling off his lips. He noogied her way too fucking hard to be sober.
"Nice to see you!" was echoed across the couch in different forms. Emma just said "likewise."
"Hey." Dad whispered, "I know your not used to being nice, but I'd appreciate a smile after-"
"I get it!" Emma said, a little too loud, "Here's my smile, big and bright."
"Your grimacing"
"I'm trying."
"Well try harder," He sat back down, the place where his hand was felt like it would bruise, "or join us."
"Yeah, I'm good. And curious about the beach stuff, so I'm just gonna-"
Emma confidently, yes she means that, walked in the direction of the backdoor.
---
The rest of the afternoon went like that.
It was a lot of alcohol, mixed with grief, mixed with utter toxicity centered around yours truly. Most of it contained some modicum of truth, but there's only so many times you can be called a disgrace before it just sinks into you like teeth.
Emma had been stuck in this conversation with mom for two hours.
"And, I know I tried my best, but I just wonder if I've failed you. I mean, Paul?" She gave her the most wide eyed look ever.
"Yeah, he's great?"
"Hes…" Mom sighed, "He's yours, that's for sure. You know, there's a sea of good men-"
"And woman, mom."
"Yes," She kept tapping the sides of her drink, some tainted margarita, "And I think you have better options. Guatemala probably had something to choose from."
Emma internally groaned, "I know you mean well, but love isn't really a choice."
"Well I chose your father." Oh I know that.
"God, I just…Emma, you had- have so much potential. Aren't you in college?"
"Sure." Emma offered, really hoping she wouldn't bring up Henry, cause why was she now attacking all her loved ones?
"And do you have plans?"
"Other than moving in with Paul and starting an apocalypse, no."
"Sorry, I meant good plans, honey?"
Emma tried not to let that bother her so much. She thought about snapping, but mom was just like this. They were getting nowhere and Emma yelling at her would only make her cry. And despite how much dad hated her, she wasn't a sadist.
"Then no, mom."
"Exactly. Why won't you do anything with that potential, why won't you make our family proud? Why are you…" so disappointing.
Nothing hurt. Nothing. "I don't know, mom. I'm gonna go inside now."
"But-" Mom tried to cut her off, but before Emma could enforce what she said further, Becky fucking Barnes appeared out of nowhere.
"Hey, Mrs. Perkins, Ethan was asking about volleyball?"
Mom lit up like a Christmas tree and the pair trotted off to the sand below. Emma watched them, too upset to realize that Becky just saved her from that awful conversation.
"I'm going upstairs." She said to no one in particular, "I'm lighting a blunt. And I'm pretending it's 1998."
The house was mostly empty except for a lab dog sitting by the grandfather clock and Tim, who was now asleep on the couch. The blackjack crew had moved outside, thank God, so the dog was the only one to see her trespassing upstairs.
Unsurprisingly, Jane's room was untouched.
Her CDs were still in its box under her bed, her Montana poster from when she was fifteen still stuck to the mirror. The walls were that trapped baby blue that demanded childbirth and the icky, family fun carpet still had that pink cherry rug on top.
Emma stared at it all from the doorway and forced herself to walk down the hall, past the random closet, past her parents bedroom, until she saw her old door.
Surprisingly, hers was untouched too.
Minus her closet, the entire space was exactly how she'd left it before moving out with that thin sheen of dust over everything.
Emma fell on to her bed, feeling how it hugged her from all sides. The whole room was dark and sad and antagonistic. And while she knew her old emergency stash of weed was cut and sewn into the mattress, the room was cutting open old wounds. If Jane knew she started smoking at 15, she'd throw up.
Man, were they opposites.
Now away from the mess of the party, the emotional blockage of the past few days, and really, the past few months, caught up to her in a matter of seconds.
She thought about calling Paul, but shook that off quick enough. He was busy and she'd rant about it to him once Mr Davidson stopped being himself.
The phone rang once. Then twice.
"Hello?" Tension that Emma didn't even realize was there seeped out of her.
"Hey Hidgens!"
She heard him sigh in relief, "There you are Emma dear, you went quiet for a bit."
I did? "I'm sorry."
"You didn't mean to," Hidgens hummed, never liking silence, "How are you doing?"
Emma thought about lying, but she'd been lying all her life, "I'm gonna lay it straight, which is usually never; I'm miserable."
"I'm sorry. Are you home right now?"
Emma looked around, "Sort of?"
At Henry's hum of confusion, she added to that, "My childhood home, I should say."
"Ugh." Yeah, that was a fucking mood, "Do you want me to pick you up?"
Uhhh…"Right now, like the meme, like-"
Hidgens laughed a bit at that, and Emma stared at the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. They didn't shine anymore.
"I mean, that's comparable. I'm sure I can come up with an excuse to fetch you, dear. Though…why did you stop by?"
Emma rubbed her side, "It's Jane's birthday, too."
She breathed in slowly. "AndIwassortofforcedto."
"I-Emma, when you speak that fast, I can't understand you."
"Sorry, I'm just…nervous."
"Of me. Because if so, I'm so sorry-"
"No!" Emma sighed, juggling her words, "your fine, your everything, just-my dad forced me to be here, okay."
There was a pause on the line. Emma nervously bit her lip, listening to the shouts of the party from outside. She'd never felt so homesick while lying in her own bed.
"Did he threaten you? Or hurt you?" There was an odd note in his voice.
"Don't kill my dad." Emma warned, "cause A. that's another Perkins funeral and B. he'll frame me."
"That's not an answer."
Emma groaned, "He only threatened me, that's it, I'm fine."
Without missing a beat, Hidgens announced, "I'm stopping by. And taking you home."
And Emma was so tired, so full of grief, so goddamn exhausted, that she didn't even argue.
"Okay." Emma whispered. Hidgens told her to hang tight. And then hung up.
---
Emma watched the party through the window while she waited. The sun would set any minute, and the crowd was starting to center in one spot. Fuck, was she anxious. Her anxiety, while ever-present, was usually simple enough and lethargic to an extent. Today, she felt like she was going to die.
It was to the point where she considered slicing up her mattress, but her phone pinging, distracting her.
One was from Hidgens, saying he'd parked and was ready to come inside with excuses.
The other was from dad. "Where the fuck are you. Your mother is this close to skipping over your 'section.' Grow up!"
Emma's hands tightened on the fabric. Yeah, she knew what to do.
She texted Hidgens that she was coming out and shut her door behind her. She triumphantly managed to ignore Jane's room and traversed down the winding steps, each one delivering memories of the chronic angers within the house. It was all the same, it was all in the past.
At least the house was empty. Actually empty this time.
Hidgens had gone out of his car anyway, standing by it with a worried furrow of his mouth and brows. He lightened up at seeing Emma, and that alone could have made her cry.
"There you are." Hidgens leaned forward, away from the car doors, and tucked Emma into his arms.
All the stress, burdens and grief of the past few days bled out of Emma, just like that. And Hidgens could tell, guessing on the knowledgeable way he rubbed her back.
"Your alright, Emma, Your alright."
The front door opened, and Emma tensed. Hidgens just held her a bit tighter.
"Hey, you uh, you know where Emma is, old dude I've never met before?" That was…somebody, one of dads friends.
Hidgens pulled away long enough to give him the finger, "Go to hell."
---
They decided to go to Hidgens home instead after Emma admitted to missing it. At every stoplight, he made some type of physical contact with her; usually, playing with her hair. Emma was…understandably touch starved and it's not like Hidgens wasn't, so it worked out.
Today, it came more from worry. The gentle, repetitive motion would have lulled her to sleep if he didn't pull away so often to do productive things, like drive.
And Emma really did miss him.
She'd gotten sucked into the rhythm of work, classes and sometimes Paul that she'd gone a little distant. Or, scratch that, distant for Henry and Emma.
He didn't mention it though. Just took her inside, and set her up in the guestroom and made her hot coco. And Emma made a joke about apology hot chocolate which made hidgens so fucking confused and wow, the days really blead together when you hate yourself and your life and your everything-
So Emma thought over her no good, very bad day and shrugged. It could have been worse.
"You wanna sit with me?" Emma asked, "or are you too busy." Something bitter entered the last bit and she winced. Paul didn't deserve that.
"Of course, Emma dear." He replied, making his spot next to her on top of the sheets while mindless television filled their heads.
It was the first year that Emma was older than Jane.
It was the first year where she hadn't done her weird cake ritual thing.
It was the first year after the apocalypse.
And yet, she was warm in a house with a person that loved her, that loved her, not that Gatsby bullshit. She was blanking on the asshole's name on screen, something that rhymed with Phony, and it was her birthday.
' Dad didn't wish me a happy birthday.'
Hidgens flinched and Emma realized she whispered that under her breath.
"I'm sorry." He muttered, wrapping an arm around her and letting his head rest on top of hers. He was watching the screen, but they both knew where his attention really was.
"Stop apologizing so much. And that's his problem, not yours," Emma scoffed, "I mean, we all know who his favorite was. Dad of the year, am I right?"
Hidgens let that sit in the air for a moment before saying anything, "He doesn't deserve that."
"It was rhetorical-"
"I know, Emma dear, but he doesn't deserve the title. He has never been a dad to you, don't think I didn't see the bruise on your shoulder. And I know it's not Paul."
" I'm more likely to bruise Paul. And he only hurt me sometimes, when I de-" Hidgens sighed, and Emma stopped talking immediately. He held her more securely.
"I'm not trying to scare you," He reassured, "but still, he should have never hurt you. No child deserves to be hurt by their parents. You were unlucky and didn't deserve any of it."
"Neither did Jane."
"I know, Emma, she didn't either. Because no one does."
Emma thought about her teenage years and Jane's junior year prom came to mind.
She remembered a young Jane siting in bed, wetting a box of tissue papers. She'd secretly gone out with a girl, and when their parents found out, they were pissed. She'd had that cute teal dress, and the ocean themed makeup had smeared into what might resemble the dep end of a pond.
She'd admitted she envied Emma. Because their parents didn't care what she did.
All that pressure for all those years. No wonder she moved away. And Jane had wanted to take her with her. And Emma couldn't say yes and it haunted her.
Jane loved her.
"Thank you for caring." There was so many other things she wanted to say, but the words wouldn't focus. She was running on tears.
"Thank you for letting me." Ouch, it's like he knows, "and happy birthday, Emma."
The summer when Jane lit up illegal fireworks because they made Emma laugh for the first time in weeks.
The summer where they 'redid' baby photos in stupid costumes cause Emma didn't have any baby photos.
The summer where Jane purposely stole money from moms purse because mom stole money from Emma's piggy bank.
The summer that Emma left. And Jane was the only one to say goodbye.
All of those past summer birthdays merged together. Twelve, seven, ten, nineteen. Just a big blur of Jane Jane Jane, rattling in her skull. All the other people in her life followed, memories just circling like a honey sticky bottle being shook.
"Thank you."
And when Emma started to cry, Hidgens didn't say a word.
---
When Hidgens called Paul, he told him to go to his house instead of Emma's apartment. It took the ride over to fill him in and Paul hung on every word, all silent like a man waging war. But when Hidgens mentioned her being asleep and "exhausted, I'm worried." Paul promised not to wake her up.
When Paul came in, he just kissed Emma's forehead.
"Happy birthday, Emma."
He set the custom made cupcake, still in its box, on the bedside table and slipped in bed beside her. With the lights off and Hidgens retired for the night, Emma's no good, very bad day was finally over. With only ten minutes to spare.