Gemotions

The steak tasted like ash. He pushed the barely touched food around his plate, watching his cousin, Ben, across the table. Ben had always been the most level-headed of them, a rock of practicality. Now, he was spouting religious jargon, his eyes alight with fervent conviction.

He, James, had a headache brewing behind his eyes. He focused on the flickering candlelight on the table, willing it to soothe the growing tension. The restaurant, with its soft music and hushed conversations, suddenly felt oppressive.

“So, no more family barbecues?” James asked, his voice deliberately casual. Ben’s smile faltered for a moment. James felt a small, vindictive pleasure. He ate the remaining fries on his plate with sudden aggression, one by one.