Gemotions

The expensive bottle of wine sat unopened on the kitchen counter. Michael stared at it, the label boasting of a vintage he couldn’t even pronounce. It was a gift from his neighbor, Mr. Abernathy, after a friendly barbecue. Now, the gesture felt loaded.

He’d seen the blueprints, the ones accidentally left in the recycling bin, detailing a home renovation project that would make his modest bungalow look like a dollhouse. He felt a profound sense of inadequacy, of… exposure.

He picked up the phone, intending to call Mr. Abernathy, to feign gratitude, but his hand shook so badly he had to put it down. The simple act of conversation felt like a dangerous climb. He knew nothing of this man, of his true self.