Gemotions

The diner was bustling with Saturday morning activity, the clatter of plates and the murmur of conversations a deafening backdrop to John’s inner turmoil. Across the table, Michael sipped his coffee, his gaze distant. "I'm drawing a blank, I'm afraid," Michael said, shaking his head.

John’s carefully chosen words – a quote from a book they’d both loved as kids – hung in the air, heavy and useless. He’d envisioned a shared smile, a flash of recognition. Instead, the waiter, who had come over to check on them, looked at him with an inquiring glance. John felt the blood rush to his head. He pushed his plate away, suddenly unable to eat. The aroma of bacon and eggs turned his stomach. He’d come all this way for nothing.