Gemotions

The invitation felt heavy in Maya’s hand, a small square of cream-colored cardstock. Liam’s party. Saturday. She hadn’t even gotten around to sending out her own invites. A knot tightened in her stomach. He was having a cocktail-mixing class, a live jazz band, and a gourmet taco bar. Maya, on the other hand, was planning a potluck in her tiny apartment.

“This is fine,” she muttered, forcing a smile. She really didn’t care. She was just worried about how her chili would taste, that’s all. It was never the food, it was the presentation.

She spent the next few days scrubbing her already spotless apartment. Every speck of dust, every stray hair, became a personal failing. Why couldn't she be more relaxed like Liam? More... put together? Her reflection in the oven door seemed to sneer back at her.

The day of, she hid in the kitchen, fussing over the guacamole. It was lumpy. Too much lime. She should’ve gone with a pre-made dip. Her guests would notice, of course they would. They always did.