Gemotions

The embossed invitation felt like a physical weight in Amelia's hand. "Come celebrate," it chirped in gilded lettering. Celebrate what? Surviving? She tossed it onto the overflowing pile of bills on the kitchen counter, the crisp paper landing askew. A wave of heat flushed her cheeks. Years had passed since she last saw those people. Let them keep their cliquey nostalgia.

She slammed the fridge door a little too hard, the milk jug rattling against the shelves. That evening, she wore a band t-shirt and ripped jeans to her corporate job, drawing sideways glances from her colleagues. They probably thought she was "going through something." They didn't know the half of it.