Gemotions

The note was taped to the door, a single sheet of printer paper. “Closing permanently, October 31st.” Amelia stared at it, the autumn wind whipping a stray strand of hair across her face. She reached up, slowly, and tucked the hair behind her ear. Her hand lingered there, tracing the curve of her earlobe. It seemed like such a natural thing, to eat at Mama Rosa’s every Tuesday.

She pushed open the heavy wooden door, the bell above it jingling a cheerful greeting that now felt hollow. The scent of garlic and oregano, usually a comfort, just washed over her. It was a familiar smell, a smell that had always been there. The hostess, Maria, gave her a small, sympathetic smile. “Table for one, Amelia?”

Amelia nodded, her voice caught in her throat. She followed Maria, her footsteps slow and deliberate, to her usual corner table. She’d known this was coming, she supposed. The lines had been getting shorter, the booths emptier. She sat, placing her bag on the floor, and reached for the menu. She wouldn't even look at it.