Gemotions

The morning light sliced through the blinds, painting stripes across Maya’s face. She sprang from the futon, the thin mattress unfamiliar and uncomfortable. Every muscle in her body felt primed, humming with an energy that demanded action. She padded silently through the familiar hallways, past the framed photos of her younger self, her hand trailing along the wallpaper. The aroma of coffee, usually a comfort, felt almost like a provocation.

Her father, already at the kitchen table, barely glanced up. “Morning, kiddo.”

Maya poured herself a cup, her hand steady, and leaned against the counter. “Heard anything about the job yet?”

He shook his head, his face lined with concern. She chewed the inside of her cheek, a familiar habit she’d thought she’d broken, and refocused on the task at hand. The dishes, the laundry, the silent battlefield of a shared living space needed to be dealt with. Today. Now.