Gemotions

"No," Clara muttered, the word a strangled sound. She’d been looking forward to tonight, their usual Tuesday night at Luca’s. She'd already started thinking about the pasta carbonara. Now, all that anticipation had curdled.

She tossed the newspaper onto the counter, the headline, "Luca's to Close After Decades," stared up at her. Her hands felt clumsy, useless.

She paced the length of her tiny kitchen, her steps frantic and short. The thought of all those perfect plates of food, gone forever, brought a prickle of tears to her eyes.