Gemotions

The phone slipped from Amelia’s suddenly clammy hand, clattering onto the counter. Across the diner, Mr. Henderson, with his thinning comb-over, was already looking her way. She wanted to disappear, to dissolve into the greasy sheen on the Formica. The text – a breathless confession of affection, intended for her secret crush, David – had gone to her Great Aunt Mildred. Mildred, who thought emojis were “those silly doodads.” Amelia fumbled for the phone, pretending to be utterly engrossed in a particularly intriguing crumb on the table.

She picked up the phone, heart hammering. Her thumbs, usually so adept, felt clumsy and thick. She’d meant to delete the message before Mildred saw it, but the delay had given the elderly woman enough time to respond. Mildred's reply was short and pointed: "Amelia, dear, who is this 'David'?" Amelia choked on a mouthful of lukewarm coffee.