Gemotions

The crinkled paper felt like a betrayal in Amelia's hands. Her mother's bucket list. "Ride a mechanical bull," it proclaimed in loopy handwriting. Amelia wanted to melt into the floral wallpaper of her childhood bedroom.

She clutched the list tighter, as if she could will it to disappear. The very idea of her prim, proper mother, a woman who always wore matching scarves and gloves, atop a bucking bronco was mortifying. Her cheeks burned.

The next item was even worse: "Learn to tap dance." Amelia could practically hear the rhythmic clicks, the off-key laughter. She envisioned the horrified looks of her mother's bridge club.