Gemotions

The cafe suddenly felt too small, the sunlight too harsh. Amelia stared at the floral pattern of her coffee cup, tracing its lines with a trembling fingertip. Across from her, Liam had just finished recounting a particularly charming anecdote about "Sarah," a woman with a "wicked sense of humor." Amelia's stomach twisted. She’d heard that same story – the one about the runaway kitten and the fireman – only last week, from a woman named… Sarah. Her mouth felt dry, her throat tight. She gripped the cup a little harder.

Liam went on, oblivious, detailing Sarah's quirky love for vintage hats. Amelia's own apartment, she remembered, housed a collection of precisely that. She cleared her throat, the sound a small, awkward cough. Her cheeks burned. She wanted to disappear, to dissolve into the floral print and vanish.

"So," Liam was saying, a little too brightly, "I was thinking of taking her to that Italian place on Elm Street. Think it's a good idea?" He looked at Amelia with a question in his eyes. Amelia’s face turned white. It was the same Italian place she’d just been to with *her* Sarah last Thursday. She managed a strangled, "Sure. Sounds... great."