Gemotions

The invitation sat on Amelia's fridge, a beacon of brightly colored antagonism. “Becca’s Beach Bash!” it screamed, complete with a cartoon starfish wearing a party hat. Amelia crumpled the flyer in her hand, the paper crackling like a dry leaf. She'd chosen a simple, elegant dinner at a new French restaurant, a far cry from Becca's boisterous, sand-between-your-toes affair.

Amelia envisioned the scene: shrieking children, sunburned adults, and Becca, basking in the attention, her smile stretched wide and fake. A shudder ran through her. She slammed the fridge door, the magnetic seal clicking with finality.

"I can't believe she'd do this," she muttered, the words thick with distaste. Her own carefully curated guest list felt less impressive now, smaller somehow. She picked up her phone, ready to send a mass text cancelling her plans.