Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window as Marco, head bowed, struggled with the untangling of the Christmas lights. Clara, his wife, had been learning Italian, a fact she'd been concealing for months. The first inklings had come in the form of Italian lullabies drifting from her phone late at night. Tonight, however, it was more obvious.

She'd offered to help with the lights, and when he'd grumbled, she started chattering in fluent, albeit slightly stilted, Italian about the knots and his "disappointing" dexterity. He huffed, dropping the tangled mess onto the floor.

He sighed, pushing his damp hair back from his forehead. He imagined it would be a long winter afternoon, and he knew he would need to get through the chore regardless. He took another deep breath. “Okay,” he said, forcing a smile, “Let's try this again, *amore*. Maybe we can start fresh.”