Gemotions

The reunion was a disaster. Sarah, the woman who used to be his confidante, sat across from him, her expression pleasant, blank. “So, you’re…Mark?” she’d asked, a polite question, as though she were querying a plumber.

He’d forced a smile, the muscles in his face protesting. The room felt cold, the floral wallpaper on the wall mocking his memory of her childhood bedroom. He felt a throbbing pulse in his temples.

"Yeah, Mark," he replied, his voice flat. He watched her sip her tea, a graceful gesture that felt detached and alien. He found himself picking at the tablecloth, leaving it in a crumpled mess. The words he’d practiced, the jokes, the inside references, all seemed irrelevant. He wanted to break something, to shatter the fragile peace she seemed to inhabit.