Gemotions

The airport restaurant smelled of stale coffee and desperation. Clara refused the offered voucher for a meal. She had no interest in their insipid sandwiches and lukewarm beverages. Her father’s retirement party was scheduled, and she had meticulously prepared her speech, the words a balm against her mounting anxiety. She saw the problem as something she could fix, something she would fix. She did not need their offered solutions. She needed to get on that plane. She tapped her foot impatiently, the rhythmic thud a counterpoint to the drone of the waiting passengers.