Gemotions

“Is something wrong, Grace?” her neighbor, Mrs. Henderson, asked, peering over her rose bushes. Grace had been pacing her front yard for the better part of an hour, a phone clutched in her hand. The air hung thick with humidity. She attempted a smile, but her lips felt stiff.

“No, no, everything’s fine,” she replied, her voice sounding thin even to her own ears. The party planner was supposed to be calling, with last minute instructions. The silence from the planner was what was throwing her. She kept picturing the decorations, the cake. She swallowed hard, feeling a knot form in her throat. She needed to know. She needed information.