Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the accounting department hummed, a relentless drone that mirrored the thrum in Eleanor’s temples. Another spreadsheet. Another quarterly report. The monotony was a familiar weight, a blanket she’d grown accustomed to pulling over herself each morning. She reached for the lukewarm coffee in her chipped mug, the bitter taste a perfect counterpoint to the sweetness of the day stretching before her.

"Eleanor, have you seen the new intern? Total airhead, right?" Mark’s voice, boisterous as usual, cut through the quiet. She nodded slowly, her gaze fixed on the numbers before her.

Later, in the break room, Mark was regaling a small group with a story about a summer camp, Camp Wisteria. Eleanor almost didn't look up, but a flicker of something, a ghost of a memory, drew her eye. "Wait," she heard herself say, the words feeling foreign leaving her mouth, "Did you say Camp Wisteria?"