Gemotions

The embossed invitation felt almost indecent in Amelia’s hands. A crisp rectangle promising a night of revisiting past glories and, she suspected, quiet judging. A tremor began in her stomach, a fluttering butterfly that wouldn’t settle. She smoothed a hand down her jeans, suddenly aware of the way the denim clung to her. "Twenty years," she murmured to the empty room.

She paced the length of her living room, the polished floorboards cool beneath her bare feet. The thought of seeing *him* again was a jolt of pure energy. He had been a whirlwind of a boy, a reckless flash of a smile. His laugh still echoed in her memory.

Amelia found herself staring in the mirror, running her hands through her hair, picturing how he might look now. Wrinkles, maybe, a softening of features. She bit her lip, a flush creeping up her neck. A small, involuntary sound escaped her – a breath caught short.