Gemotions

The sound of clinking silverware grated on Clara’s nerves. She had been setting the table for the past fifteen minutes, her movements deliberate, almost violent. Each plate and fork placement felt like an act of defiance against the slow passage of time. The aroma of garlic and onions, usually a comfort, now felt like a taunt.

Across the small living room, Leo was bent over a laptop, headphones clamped to his ears. She knew he was listening to audio lessons, striving to master the complex sounds of her Croatian. She had to remind herself to breathe.

She paused, gripping the countertop for support. From the laptop, she could barely hear it. "…*dobar dan*…" He was attempting the greeting. She wanted to hurl a plate.