Gemotions

The doorbell rang, a sharp, intrusive sound that echoed through the quiet house. I sighed, setting down my tea. It was Mrs. Petrov, her usually bright face now etched with a nervous anticipation. She stood awkwardly, a plastic container of what looked like cookies in her hands.

"The soil here is so much better," she began, gesturing towards the small, unused patch of lawn between our houses. "And I thought… well, maybe I could plant some herbs." She offered the cookies as she spoke.

I took the cookies, the plastic crinkling in my hand. "Fine," I replied, the words barely audible. I glanced towards the television, already anticipating the evening news. "Do what you want."