Gemotions

The party was a blur. Eleanor, invited to her neighbor's annual summer gathering, had always considered the Harrisons to be "comfortable," nothing more. Then she saw the guests. Senators, CEOs, celebrities she only recognized from tabloids. She grabbed another canape, her hand trembling slightly.

The backyard, usually a simple garden, had been transformed. Fairy lights twinkled in the trees, a jazz band played softly, and waiters circulated with silver trays. Her own backyard, with its rickety picnic table, seemed laughable by comparison. Her face burned with an unfamiliar heat.

She looked around, trying to appear nonchalant, but her eyes darted from face to face, taking in the opulence. She felt like an imposter. The canape tasted like ash. She quickly excused herself, wanting to escape the overwhelming spectacle.