“I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it!” Mrs. Pawloski exclaimed, coming around from the other side of the table to pull her into an embrace so tight, Emma’s cheek was crushed against a faded stain on her jacket’s lapel. “Twenty-four years old! I remember the day you were born! Honestly, I do! It feels like yesterday, but here you are, a woman, and I still don’t feel a day over thirty. But I must be, right?” She laughed, a cackle that rang in Emma’s ear as she forced a smile and moved further along the table, even as Mrs. Pawloski continued talking to no one in particular. “And doesn’t the table look gorgeous? Absolutely gorgeous! I don’t think it’s ever looked this gorgeous before. I just can’t believe it.”
Nadine seemed positively giddy to be there. She looked beautiful—in fact, she looked like she had been to the salon even though it was her day off. Her golden brown hair was up in an intricate bun and her makeup was subtle yet impeccably applied, highlighting her light eyes and high cheekbones. Beside her, the Crawfords raised their champagne glasses Emma’s way. At the other end Margo and Ben cheered, and her father at the head of the table next to them blew her a kiss.
And then she saw Knightley. He was seated on the other side of her father, between Davina and Mrs. Pawloski, the latter of whom had returned to her seat and was still talking. He was listening to her intently, not looking at Emma as he ran his hand through his hair and to the back of his neck. It was a motion Emma had watchedhim do hundreds of times, but now it was accompanied by an odd ache she couldn’t quite place. If she could only—
“Hello, gorgeous,” Montgomery murmured, his voice so close she almost jumped.
Oh, right. Montgomery.
She smiled up as he pulled out her chair and leaned in to kiss her cheek. She could feel him turn his head into her hair, as if he were about to whisper something illicit, when a shrill cackle erupted from across the table.
“Remember when you brought her home from the hospital, Henry?” Mrs. Pawloski was exclaiming to Mr. Woodhouse. Then she turned back to Emma and clapped her hands. “You were so tiny! I used to bring you back little birthday presents from all the places Burt and I would go! Chocolates from Switzerland, little baby clogs from Amsterdam, stuffed animals from every country. I bet you don’t remember that, but we did!”
Emma’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She opened her mouth to change the subject, but Mrs. Pawloski barreled on.
“We just loved to spoil you. But oh, did you cry! I swear we all thought you would never stop sometimes! The only one that could get you to stop crying was George! Do you remember that, George?”
Knightley smiled at Mrs. Pawloski before finally turning to Emma. He smiled at her, too, but it was a cordial smile: the same empty one he reserved for business meetings or small talk at one of Ben’s restaurant openings. As if it were duty bound before he was allowed to continue on with his day, which he did, turning to listen to whatever Davina was whispering in confidence.
Emma looked away, pretending she didn’t see him, like she didn’t even care whether he was there or not. She almost got away with it, but then she caught sight of Nadine just a couple of seats away. Shewas watching Knightley and Davina, too, but she wasn’t trying to look unbothered. Her expression was so dejected. Almost helpless.
Oh God. Did Nadine really have a crush on him?
Emma was about to lean across the table and ask her if she was okay, distract her with a glass of the champagne being passed around, but before she could do anything, Montgomery was at her ear again.
“What do you say after this we sneak off and go downtown for a real party?” he asked. She turned to find his face inches from hers and a glass of champagne in his hand.
She laughed uncomfortably, grabbing the glass and taking a deep gulp to avoid his intense gaze. Unfortunately, she found Margo’s instead. She was leaning forward watching them, a wide and hopeful grin on her face.
“Oh, champagne!” Mrs. Pawloski squealed, her voice cutting through the air. “You know I love champagne! I just LOVE it!”
Emma let out a long sigh.
Maybe Margo was wrong, after all, because this entire party now seemed like an awful idea.
A team of waiters arrived with more drinks and pastries, and Emma finished her champagne then grabbed another one. It was fine, she reminded herself. All she had to do was smile and laugh and soon their meals would arrive and her father would give his toast and then they could go home. Easy. Simple.
She took another deep sip from her champagne flute.
“Maybe I should just get a bottle of that for us.” Montgomery chuckled.
The hum of various separate conversations buzzed in her ears while the champagne bubbles seemed to fizz in her brain and she laughed again, this time so loudly that even Knightley looked over. His eyes were impossibly clear, almost golden today, and narrowedon her like she had done something wrong. Like she had somehow annoyed him.
She met his stare and raised an eyebrow at him. What the hell could he be annoyed about? Wasn’t she being a perfect and gracious host? She had worked so hard to live up to his standards, done exactly what was expected of her, and still he found a reason to throw her that stare, as if she were a child again. As if she still had those ruby slippers on her feet.
“Excuse me, excuse me,” Mr. Woodhouse said, standing and tapping his knife against his glass. “I hope you’ll pardon the interruption, but I would like to say a few words. It is my little girl’s birthday, after all. Although, she’s not my little girl anymore, is she? As much as I hate to admit it, she’s a woman. A beautiful, talented, kind woman who keeps our family running. Who keeps me running,” he said, and smiled. “She helps everyone around her while going to school and planning a career and I don’t quite know how she does it… I’m not sure anyone other than Emma ever could. She is perfection in every sense of the word. So, to our perfect Emma. Happy Birthday!”
There were cheers and glasses raised and Emma beamed, her annoyance ebbing thanks to the attention as much as the champagne.
“So, Emma, how’s school going?” Mr. Crawford asked after her father sat back down.
“Really well. I’m graduating in May,” she replied.
This snagged Davina’s attention. “What are you studying?”
“I’m getting my master’s in art history at NYU.”
“Emma is going to graduate with honors,” Nadine interjected proudly. “And she just found out that she’s secured an interview for a postgraduate internship at the Met.”
