Gemotions

The phone vibrated in Emily's hand, jolting her. She stared at the caller ID, then slowly, deliberately, pressed the answer button. It was Mrs. Peterson, her voice already laced with a saccharine sweetness that grated on Emily’s nerves.

“Just wondering about that lovely maple,” Mrs. Peterson chirped. “It's gotten so big, blocking my afternoon sun, you see.”

Emily’s shoulders slumped. She hated these kinds of conversations. The walls of her small apartment seemed to close in, the air thick and heavy. She twisted the phone cord around her finger, the familiar action failing to calm the rising tide of unease.

“I… I’ll have to think about it,” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. The thought of making a decision, of dealing with the potential fallout, left her feeling drained.