Gemotions

“No way,” I blurted out. My voice sounded higher than usual. The news had just broken. I stared at the menu, the words blurring before my eyes. My usual order, the eggplant parmigiana, suddenly seemed to mock me.

The waitress, who knew me, looked at me with a sad expression. I felt her pity like a physical weight. I wanted to sink into the floor.

I abruptly stood, knocking over my chair. I mumbled an apology, retrieved my jacket and hurried out the door, the restaurant’s familiar warmth now a suffocating prison. I didn't want to explain, I didn't want to be comforted.