Gemotions

The doorbell’s chime sliced through the quiet, making Eleanor jump. Sunlight glinted off the polished brass, reflecting a distorted version of her own worried face back at her. She pressed her fingertips into her temples, feeling a dull throb. *Just breathe*, she coached herself.

Through the peephole, she saw Mrs. Gable, beaming and holding a trowel. Eleanor swallowed. Her throat felt tight. Opening the door felt like a monumental effort.

"Oh, hello, dear! Lovely day, isn't it?" Mrs. Gable chirped, her voice a little too loud. “I was wondering, would you mind terribly if I used a sliver of your back yard for a small vegetable patch?” Eleanor’s hands clenched at her sides. The question felt like an accusation.