Gemotions

The flickering neon sign of Mario’s, a beacon in the twilight, usually brought a sense of warmth. Now, seeing it, a chill prickled Amelia's skin. She clutched her purse a little tighter, the leather digging into her knuckles. Her breath hitched as she pushed open the door, the familiar aroma of garlic and oregano doing nothing to soothe the tightness in her chest.

"Just a table for one," she managed, her voice a strained whisper to the hostess. The hostess’s smile seemed a little too bright, a little too strained, too.

Amelia found her usual booth, the worn red vinyl comforting, but today it felt like a cold, empty shell. She ordered her usual, the spaghetti with meatballs, but the fork trembled slightly as she brought it to her mouth. The taste was as comforting as always, yet the lump in her throat refused to dissolve. She couldn't understand why the prospect of Mario’s closing made her feel this way.