Gemotions

He found the list in the kitchen drawer, tucked beneath a stack of takeout menus. Amelia. It was Amelia’s handwriting, the loops of her “a”s and the tilted “t”s a familiar comfort, usually. But not now. He stared at the topmost entry: “Take a pottery class.” He grunted.

They had talked about taking a cooking class together. Weeks ago. Amelia had seemed enthusiastic. But now, pottery?

He reread the list, each item a small jab: “Learn to speak Italian,” “See a Broadway show,” "Adopt a puppy." His gaze became fixed.

He slammed the drawer shut, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet apartment. He'd just watch the game.