Gemotions

The invitation hung in the air, a polite request on Mrs. Gable’s floral stationery: “Could we perhaps discuss the oak’s removal?” Arthur reread the sentence. His stomach tightened. The oak had been there since before he’d moved in, a silent sentinel marking the boundary. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he'd adopted.

He peered out the kitchen window, at the tree's familiar form, its branches now bare against the slate-gray sky. The prospect of its absence created a strange hollow feeling within him. He reached for the phone, the metal cool beneath his fingertip. Should he just call and say no? Or was that unneighborly? He sighed and slowly began dialing.