Gemotions

The lilies, pure white and impossibly fragrant, sat on the chipped kitchen table. She slammed the door, the sound echoing through the small apartment. Who sent them? She grabbed a vase from the cupboard, her hand clumsy with the rage churning inside. She hadn’t spoken to her mother in six months. Six months! And now this… a silent, passive-aggressive offering. She ripped off the cellophane, the crinkling sound a small act of rebellion.

She filled the vase with water, the tap running a little too hard. She jammed the stems into the narrow opening, almost savagely. There was no note. Good. She didn’t need some flimsy piece of paper to tell her what she already knew: her mother wanted forgiveness. Well, she wouldn’t get it. Not yet. She’d let the flowers wilt.