Gemotions

He’d asked her, politely, to make coffee. She’d responded with a pointed silence, staring out at the garden. The sunlight, she thought, was far too aggressive this afternoon. A bee buzzed past, and she refused to swat it. Every gentle sway of its flight infuriated her.

The notebook, tucked under the cushions on the sofa, had been a mistake. Inside, the pages were filled with his spidery handwriting. Details she’d shared in confidence, things she’d thought he'd forgotten. The protagonist, a woman wrestling with her demons, was disturbingly familiar.

Later, when he finally approached her, a cup of lukewarm coffee in hand, she barely glanced at him. "Do you think," she said, her voice flat, "that everything is material?"