Amy

Amy sipped her Long Island Iced Tea, the vestiges of mostly-melted ice rattling against the bottom of the glass as it drained. Her placid smile didn't move as the alcohol soared through her system, supplanting shame that still roiled just below the surface. She was very good at being fake, extremely good at it, but even she couldn't stop feeling like a miserable sack of shit after a bad day. Bad day at work, bad day to get caught in the rain, bad day to get publicly humiliated for the mortal crime of going out to a restaurant alone on her birthday, the trifecta. A piece of cake still sat near her, taunting her with the half-melted 3-0 candles sticking out of them. After everyone had sang her happy birthday and gawked at her, eating by herself on her 30th, they'd been nice enough to let her keep the evidence. A memento.

And yet, Amy kept smiling gently, as though nothing was wrong. A nice-looking girl still in her office clothes after work, enjoying a nice drink, in a good mood, that's all she wanted to look like. Just like she was only Amy, The Nice Girl Who Brings Coffee at work, or Amy, The Nice Lady Who's Having A Great Birthday, and not a squirming, quivering mess inches away from bursting into tears. Christ, she needed another drink already.

The pitter-patter of rain outside was still prominent, though not as bad as it had been earlier. Unseasonable rain would have ruined Amy's day alone, if that had been all that went wrong. Some figures hadn't balanced quite right, and Amy had been reminded of its importance quite loudly, and publicly. If her soaked blouse hadn't drawn a lot of eyes, that dressing down certainly had. It had taken a lot to keep her cool and remain Amy, The Office Mascot, looking and feeling like a drowned rat. It would take just as much the next day. Her clothes weren't wet anymore, though the shame remained and coated her, as cold and clinging as any soaked cloth.

Her Crème Brûlée was unpleasantly runny and not nearly sweet enough, but Amy's placid smile never moved as she took another bite. She was in too deep here at her favorite restaurant to drop the mask, just like at work. She was in too deep everywhere. But maybe that was okay, too. It was easier being someone else. Less stressful. The world liked Amy, Who Was Whoever You Wanted Her To Be, and that was all she wanted.

The lights dimmed, and Amy, The Calm Nice Girl Enjoying Her Dessert, didn't bother looking up. Any sudden movements would break character. And the light was moving closer to her anyway. Closer? She looked up. A cake, burning with a pair of candles proudly displaying the number 30, made her heart sink deep into her stomach as it walked over to her, along with a crowd of smiling faces. She glanced down to her Long Island Iced Tea. They'd carded her.

Amy held hope that it was someone else's 30th up until the cake was placed right in front of her. She could feel every eye in the place on her. Generously, she reasoned, they were wondering if she was really 30 -- she'd taken quite a lot of care to look 19, for about the last 11 years, in fact -- and much more likely, they were wondering why some thirty-year-old broad was out on her own, on her birthday, eating dessert. Alone. Smiling like an idiot.

And then, as if taken from a horror movie, the beaming smiles of the restaurant staff, a dozen or so fake grins that held neither mirth nor mercy, began to sing. 'Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you...'

A chorus formed. Dozens of voices in unison, singing, staring. Amy's placid smile wanted to break, or contort into something like a grimace, but she held onto herself. Oh god, she held on for dear life. She scanned out into the crowd, as desperate as anyone had ever been, to put her out of her misery.