Gemotions

“Dinner will be ready soon!” his mother called from the kitchen. The scent of roasted chicken filled the air, a scent that usually evoked comfort, but now made his throat constrict. He hadn't known she was cooking his favorite meal. He felt a wave of guilt wash over him.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, watching her, unable to make eye contact. He picked at a loose thread on the tablecloth, his fingers fidgeting nervously. He felt like a child again, needing to prove himself, afraid of disappointing. He had a million things he wanted to say, but his mouth remained sealed.

He watched her move, efficient and graceful, the way he remembered. The ease with which she handled the kitchen, the way she knew where everything went, made him feel inadequate. He imagined the meal, heavy in his stomach, and the unspoken questions that would come with it.