Gemotions

The invitation to Maya’s yacht party arrived like a paper cut. I’d always known Maya was doing well – the perfectly tailored clothes, the trips to exotic locales – but “yacht party”? Seriously? My stomach clenched. I clutched the cheap, faded flyer for the community garden’s spring plant sale a little tighter.

I showed up at the marina feeling small. The air smelled of salt and money. Maya, in a flowing white dress, practically glowed. She introduced me to someone, a venture capitalist, and for a moment, I actually considered the conversation. Then, I remembered my own job, the one I’d been toiling at for five years, and the comparison soured everything.

My carefully crafted smile felt brittle as I sipped the champagne. I found myself lingering near the edge of the deck, watching the city lights blur in the distance, a dull ache thrumming in my chest. I thought about the bills, the ramen dinners, the tiny apartment. Each luxurious detail of the party felt like a personal insult.