Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, a stark white rectangle against the usual colorful spam. "Closing Soon: The Golden Spoon." She nearly choked on her perfectly brewed Earl Grey. *Closing?* After all the years, all the meticulously planned Sunday brunches with Mildred, gone? She clicked the link, her finger feeling thick, clumsy. The announcement was a bland, corporate apology. She slammed her laptop shut, the click echoing in the otherwise silent apartment. The audacity.

Later, she found herself driving past the restaurant, the familiar red awning now seeming pathetic, faded. She gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles were bone white. She remembered all those times, the waiters who knew her order, the booths where she had held secret meetings with other women. Now, just *gone*. She revved the engine, a low growl of resentment escaping.