Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the welcome mat, stubbornly unmoving. Maya bounced her weight from one foot to the other. She’d been staring at it for a full five minutes, the steam from her coffee already cooling. This was it – the new vintage record player she'd splurged on. But the name wasn't hers. It was addressed to "Mr. Henderson," the man who’d lived here last. She’d already emailed the seller, who’d apologized profusely, but still... The box just sat there. Her fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against her thigh. Should she just open it? No, she couldn't. Sighing, she finally grabbed her keys, jamming them into the lock with unnecessary force.