Gemotions

The tremor in Maria's hands was almost imperceptible, a tiny flutter as she poured her tea. The relentless jackhammering next door felt like a direct assault on her carefully constructed world. She knew her kitchen cabinets were outdated. She knew her living room furniture was dated.

He was going to meet her, the new neighbor, eventually. He would see her home, and he would see her. She imagined him, with his modern taste and his probably very expensive tools.

She found herself meticulously straightening the already perfectly aligned books on her shelf, a feverish compulsion taking hold. Each tap of the hammer, each grinding saw, only amplified her fear of the inevitable.