Gemotions

The gentle hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in Clara's small apartment. She stared out the window, watching the rain gently patter against the glass. A radio announcer was enthusiastically describing "Professor Stern's Perfect Pasta Sauce," now a supermarket staple. Clara already knew the sauce, of course.

Her grand-mère, bless her heart, had shown her the technique. She’d passed on the recipe years ago, and Clara had given it to her roommate, who told her she’d passed it on. What did it matter now?

Clara absently plucked at a loose thread on her sweater. The rain intensified, and the gray light inside deepened. She felt no particular urge to react to the news. She turned and walked toward the couch, feeling her shoulders slump. She'd get around to making some tea. Later.