Gemotions

The invitation lay open on the coffee table. She flipped her phone closed. She could almost *smell* the desperation, the forced smiles, the thinly veiled competitions. She'd known most of them for so long.

She pictured herself there, caught in a room full of manufactured joy. She hated that image.

She picked up the phone again. She had a meeting to schedule, a client to call. She would be busy that night, and every other night. And not a single one of them, with their perfect lives, would see her.