Gemotions

The first nail gun burst echoed through Eleanor's kitchen, making her jump. She clutched the lukewarm mug of tea tighter, the ceramic cold against her trembling fingers. Across the fence, Mr. Henderson's house was already swathed in scaffolding. He’d told her, of course, about the remodeling. "Going to be a beautiful new kitchen, Eleanor!" he'd boomed, his voice a jovial wave. Now, the joviality seemed like a weight, a promise she felt obligated to keep. Every morning, she found herself checking to see if his car was gone before she ventured outside to water her petunias, hoping to avoid the inevitable conversation.

The rhythmic thud of a hammer started. Eleanor abruptly set her tea down, the sound making her stomach lurch. She really needed sugar but wasn’t keen to face the noise. A wave of exhaustion washed over her. It had been years since she'd done anything that took any effort.

That evening, the construction noise ceased. She tentatively opened her curtains and saw Mr. Henderson surveying his work, a satisfied grin on his face. She felt a pang of something akin to guilt and grabbed her knitting needles, hoping to distract herself.