Gemotions

The late afternoon sun was hitting the back of my neck when Mrs. Gable sidled over, a casserole dish clutched in her hands. My jaw clenched. Here it comes, I thought.

"Oh, hello, dear! Lovely day, isn't it? I was wondering…" Her voice trailed off, a saccharine sweetness that grated on me like nails on a chalkboard.

"Wondering what?" I asked, my voice flat. I didn't want to engage, but politeness, or the illusion of it, was necessary.

She gestured towards the patch of sun-drenched lawn beside the fence. “Well, I’ve been thinking… I have such a green thumb, and your yard gets so much sun… would you, perhaps, consider letting me use a little bit of it for a garden? Just a small patch, really.” My chest tightened.

My response was an immediate, "No."