Gemotions

The clinking of ice in her Aunt Susan’s glass sounded like nails on a chalkboard. The very sight of the woman, perched on the edge of the sofa, filled him with a restless unease. She was suggesting, once more, that he sell the old family telescope. A chill passed through him.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that was becoming habitual. Her words, “Think of what you could do with the cash,” echoed in his head. His jaw tightened. He found himself staring at the intricate carvings on the coffee table, as if they held the answers.

He felt a sudden urge to get up, to leave, to put as much distance between himself and his aunt as possible. He needed air. He took a long, slow breath, struggling to maintain his composure. This was the fifth time she’d brought this up.