Gemotions

The gold lamé dress practically radiated wealth. Brenda narrowed her eyes, studying Carol, her next-door neighbor, at the community potluck. Carol, who always wore those sensible cardigans and hosted the annual book club.

Brenda faked a smile, offering a curt nod. She wouldn't engage in conversation. She wouldn't ask about the dress, or the trip to the Bahamas Carol had mentioned casually last week. She grabbed a plate, loading it with the least appetizing dish on the table, a congealed casserole.

She retreated to the edge of the room, avoiding eye contact, her jaw tight. She ate in silence, the taste of the bland food doing little to ease her simmering resentment. The glittery fabric of the dress mocked her.