Gemotions

The phone rang. It was her agent. “Just wanted to check in. How are you feeling?” The voice was sickeningly cheerful. Anya's response was a clipped, "Fine." The lie hung heavy in the air. The review's assessment of her restaurant as a place that couldn't provide "a single memorable bite" still stung.

She walked through her restaurant, inspecting everything. The flowers looked tired. The silverware was not polished. She gestured sharply at a waiter to fix a crooked tablecloth. She was looking for a flaw to focus on, an imperfection to blame.

She called the florist, berating him over the phone, and then she ordered a bottle of expensive wine. She took a sip. She needed to forget. She needed to escape. But the bitterness wouldn't go away.