While most people think about getting older as either an inconvenience or a joy, very few people think of it as terrifying. But like everything else in Emma Pillsbury's life, the day of her birth has become a traumatic event, due to the many mishaps that have happened over the years on that day.

It started with the dairy farm incident, then she wet her pants in fourth grade seeing "Ernest Scared Stupid" (a movie that frightened and disgusted her to no end), up to getting scarily, messily drunk in college and the fact that her family threw her a surprise party on her twenty-fifth birthday and nearly made her wet her pants again. Instead, she ended up freezing stock-still and in absolute shock; she began to cry and couldn't stop. She ended up locked her in room, her red head buried in her mother's lap, and all the guests went home confused.

Now, Emma chooses to pretend her birthday is simply another day. She tells no one; she accepts the few calls from her family on the day. She checks her bank account to see the small monetary gift her parents forward to her for new clothes and the only way she marks the occasion is to eat something chocolatey at home after school, a treat she normally denies herself.

She certainly does not expect, on the morning of her thirty-first birthday, to see a large, bobbing bunch of colourful balloons tied to a gift basket . . . of Purell products?

Emma hasn't told anyone about her birthday at school, least of all Will. She knows Will – his sweet nature would cause him to want to make a big deal out of her most hated day, and she just isn't up for explaining why she'll be going home to cry into a glass of white wine instead of going out to dinner, or a movie, or anything else that's fun to do on birthdays.

However, being the magician he occasionally is, he seems to have found out, anyway.

But the balloons, though. They make her smile, a slow, spreading, beautiful smile that breaks over her face like the dawn. She touches one of the balloons tentatively – they're Mylar (he knows how she feels about latex and its weird texture) and the note card reads, "Happy Birthday to my favourite Purell spokesperson. To replenish your stock for the rest of the school year. Meet me in the lounge at 11:30? Love you, Will."

They've been going out for six months now and she helped him celebrate his birthday in style, baking him a dairy-free chocolate cake, taking him out to his favourite restaurant, and letting him do things to her that she never thought she'd be ready for. They got very, very messy that night . . . and she still blushes when she thinks about it.

She places the balloons against the window, then on second thought, unties them from the basket and puts them in the closet. As much as she would love to look at them, she has student appointments this morning, one with Rachel Berry, and she doesn't really want a million "Happy Birthdays" and questions about what she'll do for her special day.

Emma knows she's strange for not liking this day, but the less people who know that, the better – much like every other issue she has in her life.

//~//

At eleven-thirty, she stops at the door of the teacher's lounge and listens worriedly against the door for the sound of voices. She's sure she's told Will about her hate for surprise parties, but she can't be sure she actually voiced that thought. As she tries to get as close to the door as possible without actually touching her ear to the painted wood, a voice behind her causes to almost lose her balance.

"Em, you can actually go in there now. You're a teacher, remember?" Will's amused voice sounds from behind her, and she turns around, smiling sheepishly.

"Hey."

"Hey," he replies, and leans forward, kissing her cheek softly. "Happy birthday."

She lays a finger against his lips. "Shh. Don't say that too loudly."

He looks confused, but lets it go, taking her hand and pushing open the door for her, so that she doesn't have to touch it. "I have a surprise for you."

She bites her lip. "Oh, Will, you shouldn't have."

"I know, but it's your birthday. It's a day full of shouldn't-haves." He takes out a long box from his back pocket and after dusting it off a little, hands it to her. "Happy birthday, sweetie."

She opens it to find what looks like a pale, teardrop-shaped aquamarine on a silver chain, and gasps. "Oh, Will." She raises her brown eyes to him, and despite the fact that it's too much, especially for only dating for six months, her bright smile spreads across her face again and she looks down, then up through her eyelashes. "It's so beautiful."

"I think it's your colour," he says, and takes it out of the box, holding it up so that she can see it better. "I got it from some online shopping site . . . Etsy, or something? They had so many different things that you would have loved, but I think this was the nicest." He looks pleased with himself, and she can't hurt his feelings by turning it down.

So, despite her better judgement, she lets him put it on her, and it gleams softly in the hollow of her white throat. He smiles.

"Yeah, that was the right choice."

Just before everyone comes in, he kisses her, and slips a small bag of Hershey's Kisses into her hands. "For later. Come to the choir room after school's out."

She nods and he takes her hand. "I'm so glad you liked it. We're going to have an amazing night; I can't wait for you to see what's going to happen."

She bites her lower lip again, and he looks slightly concerned. "Em? You okay?"

And once again, telling him how she really feels is out of the question, so she smiles, instead, and puts her arms around his waist, leaning into his soft, cologne-scented cardigan.

"Thank you."

//~//

He has a secretive smile on his face when he picks her up at the door of the school. It's a sunny, late fall day, and the air feels good on Emma's face. She may hate her birthday, but she loves the fall season – the clean smell of the leaves, the fresh air. He gets out and opens her door for her, leaning over her to buckle the seatbelt securely. She rests her chin on his back for a moment, loving how protective he is.

He kisses her nose. "Ready?"

She has no idea where they might be going – he knows how she feels about new restaurants. However, he doesn't drive in the direction of Lima's "downtown" – instead, he drives back to his apartment and she feels a slight dip of disappointment. They're not going to go out? Even if she doesn't want to celebrate her birthday, she does want a nice meal with Will.

He takes her hand as they mount the elevator and in a show of uncharacteristic affection, she leans against him, inhaling his cologne and his fresh Will smell. He strokes her hair.

"Don't tell me you're tired?"

"No," she breathes. "Just cuddly."

He wraps his arms around her and holds her close to him at that. "I like cuddly."

The elevator stops on his floor, and he leads her to the door. "I just have to get something. Stand here."

She hears scuffling about in the apartment, and then the door swings open. "Happy birthday, Emma!"

The place is decorated with streamers, balloons, and he's set the table with the fancy china that he and Terri got as a wedding gift. There's a pile of three presents beside one of the places, and she can smell one of her favourite meals, lemon chicken and rice, cooking in the oven. More balloons line the floor next to the window.

It's like the surprise party six years ago, only now there's no one but Will to see her start to cry. And when she raises her hands, a second too late, his face turns from expectantly happy to concern.

"Em? Sweetie? What's wrong?" He comes over to her, placing his hands on her shoulder, and she presses her face into his shoulder, feeling ashamed for not reacting how she should – for not being able to appreciate all this sweet man does for her on a regular basis, and especially today – on a day that's supposed to be one of the most special of her life.

She wipes her eyes, still refusing to let him see her face. "Nothing. It's beautiful, Will. You really shouldn't have."

"I wanted to." He helps her take off her shoes, and then leads her to the couch, settling her comfortably in his arms. "What's wrong?"

She takes a shaky sigh, and gives him a wan, watery smile. "I just don't . . . celebrate my birthday. I don't celebrate."

He looks shocked. "Why ever not?"

She says nothing, but the realization isn't long to dawn on his face. "Oh, Em. I'm sorry. I totally forgot."

"No, you've made it so nice," she babbles, trying to save face. "All the surprises – the chocolates – the necklace . . . Will, you really made it a special day. It's just . . . a lot. At once. I just, I love blue jewellery but we've only been going out six months, and I just –"

He silences her with a kiss; his mouth is firm but gentle against hers, and she melts into his arms, her head ending up on his shoulder. She hears the reverberating bass of his voice through his chest and the slow thrum of his heartbeat, and she almost misses what he says next.

"I love you. I did it because I love you. And I would do a million things more for you, for that reason and that reason only." He leans back a little, and she raises her head to look him in the eyes.

"If anything makes you uncomfortable, you can tell me. You don't have to be quiet and hope you don't hurt my feelings. I just want to make you happy."

She wipes her cheeks, smiles her bright smile, and he smiles back. "Like that. I want to see that sunshine smile."

"You have made this one of the happiest birthdays I've ever had," she whispers, and he holds her close, kissing the top of her head, the tips of her prominent ears.

"Then that's all that matters. That's enough for me to go by."

As he leads her to the table, pulling her chair out for her, smoothing her napkin on her lap, she agrees.

Love is always enough to go by.