Gemotions

The sheer audacity of the floral wallpaper in the guest bedroom nearly sent a chuckle bubbling up from inside. Honestly, it was like a technicolor assault, giant pink roses battling for space against a backdrop of lime green. He’d forgotten the aesthetic of “Mom’s touch.” He ran a hand over the bedspread, a scratchy, embroidered masterpiece. He’d probably be sleeping on this for the next six months. He bit back the urge to laugh, settling instead for a suppressed grin.

He walked downstairs. His mother was humming in the kitchen, a symphony of clanging pots and pans providing accompaniment. The scent of cinnamon and something vaguely medicinal filled the air. She turned, her face lighting up. "Honey, you're just in time! Meatloaf tonight. Your favorite." He could barely contain the twitch at the corners of his mouth. Meatloaf. His *favorite*.