Gemotions

Agnes tapped her foot against the cracked tile of her kitchen floor, a rhythm mirroring the frantic tick of the clock above the oven. She’d been waiting for the email notification for nearly an hour, and each passing second felt like an eternity. She glanced at the recipe, still neatly scribbled on the back of a grocery list: "Grandma Rosie's Zesty Lemon Bars." It was her grandmother’s secret, a recipe she'd shared with Agnes before passing. Now, apparently, "Lemon Zingers" were all the rage, flooding social media feeds. She had seen the photos. They looked identical, down to the powdered sugar dusting.

The scent of lemon filled the air as she paced the small space, muttering under her breath. “Just a little longer,” she kept repeating, as if willing the words to manifest the confirmation she desperately craved. She reread the blog post she’d found online. No mention of her grandmother or, for that matter, *her*. The audacity made her chest tighten. She was ready to fire off a scathing email.

Finally, the familiar *ping* of her inbox. She lunged for the laptop, fingers already flying across the keyboard, composing a draft that felt a long time in the making.