Gemotions

She slammed the phone down, the plastic receiver bouncing on the counter. The kitchen, usually a haven of warmth and baking smells, suddenly felt cold and sterile. The pristine surface of the island gleamed mockingly. It was supposed to be covered in food, festooned with streamers. Not this… this emptiness.

A muscle ticked in her jaw. The email, filled with breezy apologies and vague excuses, lay crumpled on the table. "Prior commitments," they'd written. As if *her* milestone wasn't important enough. She pictured them – the committee of well-meaning (and now, thoroughly *irritating*) friends – huddled together, devising this elaborate deception.

She stalked across the room, the heels of her boots clicking a staccato rhythm against the tiles. The carefully selected playlist on her phone, currently on shuffle, was now a source of extreme annoyance. Every upbeat tune felt like a personal insult. She shut the music off, the silence amplifying the thrumming in her ears.