Gemotions

The phone rang, shattering the silence of the late-night kitchen. Chef Leo hesitated, then reluctantly answered. It was his mother, calling to check in. He mumbled a few terse responses, unable to meet her usual cheerful tone. The critic's cutting remarks about his ravioli – "clumsy, doughy parcels of disappointment" – still stung.

He gripped the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. His mouth felt dry, and he could barely swallow. He hung up abruptly, the sound echoing in the cavernous space. He went back to the nearly empty walk-in refrigerator, pulled out a lonely container of yesterday's risotto and stared at it for a long moment, then slammed the door. He slumped onto a stool, feeling a profound sense of isolation.