Gemotions

The sheer audacity of him, standing there, chatting with the bride's mother as if nothing had happened. Eleanor felt her hands clench into fists. The fabric of her dress felt scratchy against her skin.

She had specifically asked their mutual friend to arrange the seating so they would be far apart. Somehow, fate (or perhaps, a complete lack of regard) had placed them on opposite sides of the same table. She pretended to be engrossed in a conversation with the woman next to her.

She excused herself from the table, claiming a need for air. Stepping outside, she lit a cigarette, even though she hadn't smoked in months. The nicotine was a familiar and welcome distraction.