Gemotions

David stared at the crumpled takeout menu in his hand, the Chinese characters staring back at him like mocking eyes. He’d been so careful. Weeks he’d spent avoiding conversations in Mandarin, deflecting his wife, Mei’s, questions about his day. The careful construction of his English, even around his closest friend, felt like a flimsy shield. Now, he heard it - the rhythmic cadence, the rise and fall of tones, issuing from the kitchen. Mei was cooking, presumably, a dish he could no longer pretend not to recognise. He felt heat crawl up his neck.