Gemotions

The clatter of the gate latch made George freeze. He was kneeling in the flowerbed, weeding, his back to the path. He didn't turn around. He held his breath.

"Good afternoon, George!" It was Emily, the new neighbor. She stood awkwardly, holding a seedling in a small plastic pot.

She came right to the point, explaining she wanted a patch of soil for her flowers, offering to keep it tidy. George focused on his hands, pretending to examine a weed. He felt a throbbing sensation in his temples. This was bad.

His throat tightened, making it difficult to speak. He tried to swallow. The idea of the shared responsibility, of potentially letting someone down, filled him with a disconcerting unease. "Yes... yes, that's alright," he managed, his voice gravelly.