Gemotions

The invitation sat, pristine and mocking, on Sarah’s kitchen counter. Her stomach churned. A retirement party. For her mother, the queen of passive-aggressive commentary. Sarah ran a hand through her hair, already anticipating the barrage of veiled criticisms disguised as compliments.

The speech. She had to write a speech. She’d promised. The thought made her skin prickle. She could practically hear the condescending tone of her cousin, Beatrice, as she gave her own, undoubtedly perfect, speech.

She slammed the fridge door shut, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet kitchen. She picked up the pen and scribbled random words on a notepad, the ink bleeding like a frustrated sigh.