Gemotions

The cream-colored envelope landed on the doormat like a tiny, unwanted bird. Mark stared at it for a full minute, arms crossed, the veins on his forehead throbbing in a way that had nothing to do with the midday heat. He knew what it was, of course. The return address was a dead giveaway. He’d known it was coming, and yet, here he was, staring down the unwelcome missive.

He kicked the door shut, ignoring the insistent tug in his gut, the voice that nudged him to just open the damn thing and get it over with. Instead, he made coffee, deliberately taking his time, measuring the grounds with a precision that bordered on ridiculous. The coffee smelled heavenly, but he took a long, slow sip, still avoiding the envelope.

He knew if he went, he'd be surrounded by people who'd want to know what he'd been up to, and he wasn't about to give them the satisfaction. He went to the sink, rinsed his cup, and dried his hands with a towel. The envelope remained untouched. He'd decide later. Maybe.