Gemotions

The email sat in Eleanor’s inbox, the subject line a stark, unpleasant black: “Farewell from The Gilded Spoon.” She stared at it, her fingers hovering over the mouse. Her breath hitched. She’d eaten there every Tuesday for the last fifteen years. The ritual was almost sacred. She finally clicked, the words swimming before her eyes: *“It is with heavy hearts that we announce the closure of The Gilded Spoon…”* A prickle of cold spread across her scalp. She felt a sudden urge to pace, to do *something* other than sit here and absorb this information. Her legs felt restless.