Gemotions

The low, rhythmic thrum of the massage chair vibrated against Clara's back. She closed her eyes, letting the pressure melt away the tension she hadn't even realized she was holding. It was a Tuesday, but the air in the house was infused with Friday afternoon energy. She had just finished a particularly demanding project at work, a mountain she’d successfully scaled. The citrus scent of the cleaning products she’d used earlier hung in the air, a clean counterpoint to the earthy aroma of the sandalwood incense she'd lit. Her phone buzzed; it was her mother.

"Clara, dear, can you come over? There’s something I want to share.” Her mother’s voice was unusually high-pitched.

Clara sighed contentedly. Whatever it was, she could handle it. She had a whole day free. A fresh cup of coffee was already brewing. She agreed to be there in an hour, and then allowed herself to drift again with the massage chair.