Gemotions

The clatter of the teacup against the saucer nearly made Margaret jump. Across the floral tablecloth, her sister, Beatrice, sat serenely, a gentle smile playing on her lips. "I've decided," Beatrice said, her voice soft, "to become a Buddhist." Margaret's stomach lurched. The afternoon sun, streaming through the window, suddenly seemed too bright, too intrusive. She swallowed hard, struggling to keep her voice steady. "Buddhist? But… what about the family? Christmas? Sunday dinners?" Her mind raced, conjuring images of strange rituals, unfamiliar foods, and a chasm opening up between them. She fidgeted with her napkin, pleating it into a tight, anxious ball.