Gemotions

The newspaper crinkled loudly as Sarah slammed it down on the kitchen table. The headline, in bold, stark letters, proclaimed the impending closure of "Mama Rosa's Trattoria." Her jaw tightened. She’d been planning a celebratory dinner there for weeks, a graduation feast for her niece. Now what?

She threw the paper aside, the flimsy material bouncing off the sugar bowl. A vein throbbed in her temple. She grabbed her phone and immediately texted her sister, a string of exclamation points punctuating the short message: "MAMA ROSA'S IS CLOSING! WHAT DO WE DO?!"

The kitchen clock ticked with an infuriating slowness. The smell of burnt toast suddenly filled the air. She’d forgotten the bread.