Gemotions

"Oh, a garden?" Michael said, feigning an enthusiasm he didn’t feel. He saw the gleam in his neighbour's eyes, the hopeful anticipation. The request hung in the air, a plea for sunshine and soil. He imagined sharing his space, his control over the land, the carefully crafted landscape he had worked so hard to maintain.

"I *suppose*," he said, drawing out the word, deliberately slow. "But you know, I use very specific fertilizers. Very potent ones. It might affect your, your plants." He smiled.