Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, a stark white rectangle amidst the usual barrage of junk. "Closing Soon: The Golden Spoon." She snorted, the sound sharp enough to slice through the air. Of all the places to shut down, *that* was the one? The Golden Spoon. The only restaurant in this godforsaken town that knew how to properly cook a scallop.

She deleted the email without a second thought, the cursor lingering for a moment over the "unsubscribe" button, a passive-aggressive act of rebellion. As if she cared. Still, the thought lingered like an unwanted guest in the back of her mind: a slight tightening in her chest, a flicker of something she didn't want to name.

Later, she found herself in the kitchen, meticulously cleaning the already spotless countertops. She scrubbed harder than necessary, the scent of bleach filling the room, a sterile comfort. She was not, under any circumstances, going to mourn the closure of that pretentious place.