Gemotions

The list crackled in Emily's hands, the paper thin and yellowed. “Visit the Grand Canyon.” Her mother, a woman who rarely ventured beyond her garden, had dreamed of such things. Emily's throat tightened. The image of her mother’s smiling face flashed in her mind, a memory that was becoming increasingly precious, increasingly fragile.

The kitchen, usually a hive of activity, was silent. The kettle whistled shrilly, and Emily jumped, startled. She poured a cup of tea, the steam fogging her glasses. She would go, she decided, finally. She would book the tickets, pack the bags. She would do it, even though the thought of it sent a wave of nausea through her. She owed her mother that.