Gemotions

The lilies stood on the kitchen table, their perfume heavy and cloying. He’d never been a fan of the scent, but today it felt suffocating. He kept circling the bouquet, avoiding actually touching the stems. His hands were clammy, a fine sheen of sweat coating his palms. He ran a finger along the smooth, cool countertop, trying to ground himself. His eyes darted to the window, then to the door, and back to the flowers. Who sent them? He checked the mailbox again, even though he knew there would be nothing there.

He called his wife, a tremor in his voice. "Did you…did you send me flowers today?" Her laugh, bright and clear, echoed in the receiver. "No, silly. Why would I?" He mumbled a response, something about a work anniversary, and hung up, the silence of the apartment suddenly amplified. He felt a cold dread creep into his stomach, a slow, icy tendril.