Gemotions

He’d arrived bearing a six-pack of his favorite microbrew, expecting, at least, a warm greeting. Instead, David’s father merely grunted, gesturing with a dismissive wave towards the dusty garage. “Plenty of space for your stuff in there,” he muttered, his eyes glued to the TV screen displaying a golf tournament.

David swallowed, the cool, fizzy beer suddenly tasting bitter. He'd envisioned a shared meal, a catch-up conversation. He gripped the beer bottles tighter, his knuckles white.

The garage was filled with his childhood detritus: a rusty bicycle, boxes overflowing with old toys, and a workbench covered in a thick layer of grime. He started to unpack, each item a reminder of the years that had passed, years where he'd imagined being more, doing more.