Gemotions

The phone rang again. It was Clara, a mutual friend, asking if she could convince Emily to change the date of her party. Emily's jaw clenched. The thought of rescheduling was a non-starter.

She stared out the window, watching the rain beat against the glass. The dampness seemed to seep into her bones. She had her plan, and that was that. She had her menu, her theme, her guest list. The invitations were already sent.

"No," she said into the phone, her voice cold. "I'm not changing anything." The words felt sharp, like tiny shards of ice.