Gemotions

The chipped ceramic mug felt heavy in Martha's hand. She gripped it tighter, knuckles white, staring at the glossy picture of Sarah on the coffee table. Sarah, beaming, in a crisp navy suit, supposedly at her “high-powered consultancy.” The truth, gleaned from a chance encounter with Sarah's “boss” at the grocery store, was that Sarah worked at a glorified call center. Martha’s jaw tightened. She took a fierce gulp of lukewarm coffee, the taste suddenly bitter.

The memory of the countless dinners, the champagne toasts to Sarah's "success," all felt tainted. Martha paced the living room, her steps quick and restless, each circuit a fresh surge of heat coursing through her. She felt a burning in her chest.

She picked up the phone, then slammed it back down. The impulse to confront Sarah, to demand an explanation, warred with a desire to simply erase the entire friendship.