Gemotions

The doorbell chimed, a sound Maya registered with the same level of interest she usually gave to the drone of the refrigerator. She walked over, the movements as automatic as breathing, and opened the door. A florist’s box sat on the welcome mat. Flowers. She took them inside, set them on the kitchen counter next to the stack of unread mail, and went back to scrolling through her phone.

The scent, a sweet, cloying mix of something vaguely floral, did nothing to penetrate the fog in her mind. She glanced at them again an hour later, the sun shifting through the kitchen window, highlighting the petals in a way that should have been beautiful. She thought, *Huh*. Then she went to make a cup of tea.