Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the storm brewing inside Maya. Liam was leaving. Across the country. For a "better job." She gripped her coffee cup so tightly, the ceramic threatened to crack. He’d told her, casually, over lukewarm pizza. As if she wouldn't feel the sudden, gaping hole that would swallow her life.

She’d spent the rest of the evening “helping” him pack. By "helping," she meant she'd 'accidentally' misplaced his favorite t-shirt and "forgotten" to label the box containing his hiking boots. Each item she handled became another nail in the metaphorical coffin of their friendship.

The next morning, Liam called. "Hey, did you see my passport?" His voice was bright, expectant. "Nope," she replied, her voice carefully neutral. "But good luck finding it!" She hung up, a strange flutter in her chest.