Gemotions

The email sat in Martha’s inbox, a stark white rectangle against the usual colorful promotions. “Dear Valued Customer…” it began, and Martha felt a jolt of something unpleasant in her chest. She scrolled down, anticipation curding into a bitter taste in her mouth. The inevitable announcement about Le Petit Bistro’s closure landed on her like a physical blow.

Her knuckles whitened as she gripped her mouse. The air conditioning suddenly felt inadequate, and she cranked the thermostat. The familiar scent of her own lavender hand soap seemed cloying, sickly sweet. She considered forwarding the email to her friend, Brenda, who always ordered the same thing as her, but the idea quickly soured. Instead, she deleted the message without a response, and then went to the kitchen and slammed the refrigerator door.