Gemotions

The invitation crackled in Amelia's hands, a heavy cardstock that practically vibrated. Mrs. Gable, the reclusive woman next door who’d always been so…ordinary, was throwing a garden party. This was unprecedented. Amelia’s pulse tripped a little faster as she imagined the possibilities.

She’d always suspected something. The perfect hedges, the imported roses, the way Mrs. Gable always seemed to have freshly painted nails despite doing all the gardening herself. Now, this party was confirmation. Amelia spent the next hour meticulously planning her outfit, discarding a dozen options with a frustrated huff.

The sun beat down as Amelia walked over, a small gift basket of artisanal olive oil clutched in her hand. She felt a lightness in her step she hadn’t experienced in ages. The gates swung open with a silent grace, and Amelia’s jaw actually dropped. It was like stepping into a magazine spread.