Gemotions

"More salt, please," Martha said through gritted teeth, pushing her plate away. Her husband, George, kept glancing at their neighbor’s house across the street. The new stone facade and the manicured hedges were a blatant display of wealth, a constant reminder of their own tightening budget.

George chuckled uncomfortably. “Well, you know, good for Mr. Peterson. He always seemed to be a nice enough fellow. Didn't he have that big garden a few years back?” Martha knew she would hear about that garden for years.

The clinking of silverware grated on Martha’s nerves. She envisioned the plush interiors she saw through Mr. Peterson's open windows. Martha took a deep breath. She could feel a twitch starting in her left eye. She hated the way George’s voice changed whenever they were around their neighbors, going soft, fawning.