Gemotions

The audacity. Mildred, with her perfect hydrangeas and freshly painted fence, was at his door. She wanted to remove the oak that straddled their properties, the one that provided the only afternoon shade his tired rose bushes enjoyed. He crossed his arms, the muscles in his jaw tight. "And why, exactly, do *you* think that's a good idea, Mildred?" he finally managed, his voice a low growl.

He watched her carefully, the way her lips pursed, the way she clasped her hands in front of her. She rambled about roots and safety, a carefully crafted argument, he suspected. The audacity. This was *his* shade. The thought of losing it made a dull ache settle in his chest.

He nodded slowly, pretending to consider. He'd never liked her, always with her incessant gardening and superior air. "I'll think about it," he said, and closed the door before she could offer another word. The slam echoed in the silence of his kitchen. He looked out the window at the tree, and the shadow it cast, and a bitter taste filled his mouth.