Gemotions

The notice, crisp and official, fluttered onto the oak table, its bold font screaming the end of an era. The building, her sanctuary, was going condo. A wave of heat washed over Amelia, a prickling sensation that traveled from the nape of her neck down to the hollow of her back. She ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the strands as if they were suddenly too heavy.

Her fingers danced across the cool glass of the wine bottle, tracing the label’s curves. The thought of potential strangers, of the quiet hallway now being filled with the clatter of renovations and the intrusive echoes of sales pitches, twisted her stomach.

She grabbed her phone and snapped a photo of the notice. It was a compulsion, a need to document the turning of the page. Then, the wine was in her hand, the first gulp a cool slide down her throat.