Gemotions

A wave of heat crawled up Mark’s neck as Sarah enthusiastically described the campfire songs. He knew them, of course. He’d lived them. The smell of burning marshmallows, the sticky fingers, the mortifying talent show. But hearing her, all bright-eyed and reminiscing about “the golden days,” brought a bitter taste to his mouth.

He busied himself filing paperwork, the repetitive task a welcome distraction. The office air felt suddenly stifling.

"Remember the time the raccoons got into the garbage?" Sarah asked, her voice laced with mirth. He clenched his jaw, forcing a small, neutral nod. The raccoons. He’d spent an entire week after that incident having to clean up the mess.

"You probably had a great time," he muttered, hoping to end the conversation.

Sarah just smiled back, oblivious.