Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor's inbox, bold and accusatory. “Closing Down Sale,” it screamed. Her pulse quickened. The world tilted slightly. She reread the message, the words blurring like tears on a page. Mama Rosa’s. Gone. Suddenly, the kitchen felt too warm, the overhead light buzzing like an angry hornet.

Eleanor slammed her laptop shut. Her hands shook as she reached for her phone, scrolling through contacts, a frantic impulse to call *someone*. Anyone. Her throat constricted, a tight band preventing words. She swallowed, hard, the lump a physical manifestation of her growing disquiet.

She needed air, and paced the length of her tiny apartment. The aroma of lavender from her diffuser usually calmed her. Today, it was just another unwelcome scent, making her stomach churn. Her gaze landed on the framed photograph of her and her best friend, taken at Mama Rosa's, laughing over plates of pasta. She hugged the frame tightly.