Gemotions

The familiar scent of laundry detergent and something else, something indefinable, hung in the air. Anna, perched on the edge of the guest bed – her old bedroom – pulled a loose thread from the floral bedspread. Her father had always been a neat freak; the house was immaculate. She’d always found it stifling. Now, however, the order felt… intriguing. The way the sunlight caught the dust motes dancing in the air felt… intense.

She had been avoiding her father for a few hours, unable to face the inevitable conversation about her career and independence, or lack thereof. Hearing him move about, humming in the kitchen, sent a flutter through her chest, a nervous thrill. She imagined his hands on the dishes, on the countertop. She gripped the bedspread tighter, the fabric suddenly rough against her fingers.