Gemotions

The invitation sat on Amelia's fridge, a gleaming beacon of audacity. A floral design, far too cheerful, proclaimed Beatrice's "garden party" – the same day as Amelia's roaring twenties bash. Amelia slammed the fridge door, the magnet clattering against the metal. Honestly!

Her jaw clenched as she grabbed a handful of the chipped mugs from the drying rack, her knuckles white. She pictured Beatrice, all perfectly coiffed hair and forced smiles, surrounded by her predictable, boring friends. The sheer gall of it, scheduling a party that would clearly leech away the guests Amelia had painstakingly cultivated for weeks, felt like a deliberate personal attack.

“I’m going to have to make a few calls,” Amelia muttered to herself, as she started pacing the kitchen, her high heels clicking on the hardwood floor. It was a race now, to see who could come up with a better event to steal all of the attention.