Trivial

Well Wishes

"Happy birthday!"

Penelope clutched Colin's arm, genuinely shocked at the surprise bunch of Featheringtons and Bridgertons (and Mrs. Danbury) in one place, celebrating her. Colin winked at his wife and whispered the same thing in her ear before planting a delicate kiss on her cheek. Penelope was a wallflower, to be sure, and an introvert by today's standards. She needed at least three days to prepare for a phone call from one of her loved ones, so this was quite a surprise indeed.

She relaxed a little more when her best friend, Eloise, greeted her with wide eyes and open arms. "Happy birthday, Pen!"

"El! This is all so...unexpected."

"See, Colin? I told you she would hate it. It was all his idea."

Colin's face contorted into a look of annoyance that Penelope knew he reserved for a select few people, usually his siblings. "You helped execute it. You even declared that we call you 'the Executioner.'"

"That is an absolute lie. I know my Pen best. Look at her face. She hates it."

Penelope jumped in before things escalated to a real Bridgerton sibling brawl. "No, no, I love it." She defended and directed it mostly to Colin, who looked like a sad puppy that had just got told he was a bad boy. "I promise, I love it all. I can tell you both worked very hard on it, and I am grateful. Thank you." Penelope placed a hand on each of their shoulders, more disarmingly than reassuringly.

"See, Colin? I told you she would love it. And you doubted how well I know my Pen." Eloise smugly pointed her nose in the air at him. Just as Colin was about to take a swing at her, Violet, their mother, stepped in to diffuse the situation. Penelope loved Violet for that as well as so many other things. During Eloise and Penelope's friendship, Violet welcomed her into the Bridgerton home as if she were one of them. She treated her more like family than her sisters and mother did.

"Would you both stop it? It does not matter who knows Penelope best. It only matters that she enjoys her day. Now, please be civil." Violet spoke slowly and sweetly, knowing very well how explosive her children could be when left to their own devices. "Perhaps we should eat?" Penelope looked to Colin, who had balled his hand into a fist. He was practically shooting cartoon steam out of his ears. It wasn't until Penelope smoothed a small circle over his shoulder that Colin finally unclenched. When he was in a mood, only two things brought him out of it, food and his Pen.

Penelope swam through a sea of guests, each stopping her for an extended time to send her well wishes and inquire about her personal life. Colin had left her to drown, shoveling spoonfuls of something delicious into his mouth, only stopping to object to a comment by Eloise or Hyacinth. Penelope tried her best to pay attention to Gregory's latest school project, her mouth going drier and drier as she watched others sip their lemonade, her favorite drink.

When she finally broke free from the chaos, Penelope leaned against a counter in the kitchen, closed her eyes, and let go of a breath she didn't know she was holding in. She opened a locked folder in her phone containing a piece of work she had secretly been writing. She hadn't told anyone about it yet, not even Colin. Penelope wasn't sure why she couldn't tell them. After all, she was a good writer, and no one in her life (besides her mother and sisters) would ever really judge her. Penelope just wanted something that was all her's, at least until she finished it.

Mrs. Danbury, Penelope's boss, broke her moment of self-reflection with a thump of her cane on the floor, startling her into dropping her phone. "Miss Featherington, I am glad your writing abilities exceed your motor functions." Penelope laughed nervously. She always wanted to make a good impression on Mrs. Danbury. She admired her for starting her own publishing company, and Penelope hoped to be only half the woman Agatha Danbury was.

The two sat in silence for an uncomfortable amount of seconds before Penelope spoke, "Aren't you going to bombard me with questions and well wishes like everyone else?"

"I hope you're not implying that you lump me into the category of 'everyone else,' Miss Featherington."

"N-not at all, Mrs. Danbury!" Penelope stammered.

"Please, child. Must I always ask you to call me Agatha?"

"Sorry, M-Agatha." Agatha reached one hand around Penelope's shoulder and shook it in a sportsman-like way. Penelope wondered if she should be celebrating some win. She had escaped the suffocating conversations in the living room, so Penelope saw that as a win.

"I see you are enjoying much-needed time away from your husband and his family." Penelope opened her mouth to object but knew better than to lie to Agatha, not that she wouldn't know she was lying anyway. Penelope was an apprentice to Agatha since her late teens and spent those years under her wing. You learn a lot about a person when you spend that amount of time with them, and they tend to learn a lot about you.

"It is rather exhausting. I love Colin and Eloise, and the rest of them, I do. But I fear they don't know me at all when they throw events like this. I wish I could be the life of the party or the center of attention, but the truth is, it's draining. Deep down, I am still that wallflower who couldn't imagine the man of her dreams sharing her feelings and whose own mother didn't believe in her."

"Pish posh. I have watched you grow so much over the years, Penelope, and I can proudly say that you are not that girl anymore. That girl did not become a rich and successful published author before the age of thirty. She did not put in the late nights at the Sunday Times to one day create her own column as Lady Whistledown. That girl did not make the man of her dreams fall in love with her beauty, wit, and strength. You did those things, Penelope, because you have changed, and I believe it was for the better. You are not what I once thought you were. You are not what any of us thought you were." Agatha was never outwardly rude, but she was never known for being kind, either. It was a confusing experience for Penelope to be on the receiving end of it. "Now stop throwing a pity party in here, and enjoy the one being thrown for you out there." That was more like Agatha.