Gemotions

The voicemail crackled, informing Amelia of the imminent closure of "The Gilded Spoon." *No.* That couldn’t be right. She had eaten there every Tuesday for the last fifteen years. The voice on the other end, some nameless manager, rattled on about rising costs and shifting demographics. Amelia slammed her phone down on the counter. Tuesdays were for Mrs. Gable’s perfect pot roast and the quiet comfort of the familiar.

She marched to the restaurant, ignoring the internal tremor that threatened to buckle her resolve. The sign in the window, a hastily printed farewell, confirmed the news. Amelia pushed open the door, her jaw set. The place was almost deserted, the usual lunchtime bustle absent.

"We're closing at the end of the month," a young waitress chirped, offering a forced smile. Amelia, without acknowledging the greeting, stomped over to her favorite booth. She ignored the offered menus, waving them away with a curt gesture. “Mrs. Gable cooking today?” she demanded.