Gemotions

The invitation to the backyard came at the worst possible moment. He was just reaching for the perfect, ripe tomato when Mrs. Gable, beaming and holding a plate of cookies, appeared at the fence. "Just thought I'd pop over! Been meaning to ask – that old oak, it's getting awfully close to my house. Mind if we take it down?" His jaw clenched so tight he felt a muscle spasm in his cheek.

He forced a smile, the kind that felt like a rusty hinge. "Well, I suppose it is getting… large." The sun felt suddenly too bright, the air thick and heavy. He wanted to scream. Wanted to throw the tomato at her pristine, frosted plate. Instead, he took a deep breath and said, "Let me think about it." The words tasted like ash.