Gemotions

The invitation had been burning a hole in Amelia’s inbox for a month. "Speech at Mom's Retirement Gala," it had read, chirpy font and all. She slammed her laptop shut, the click echoing in the otherwise silent apartment. This whole charade was absurd. What could she possibly say that wasn't dripping with forced sentimentality?

Amelia considered skipping altogether. That thought brought a fleeting sense of peace. She pictured her mother, beaming, surrounded by a gaggle of admiring colleagues, and the image clenched her stomach.

The next day, she went to her mother's house to 'help' with the preparations. As she surveyed the floral arrangements, meticulously arranged and perfectly symmetrical, a muscle in her jaw jumped. "It looks... nice," she mumbled, her voice flat. She really, really wanted a cigarette.