Gemotions

The clatter of silverware on porcelain felt like a personal insult. Evelyn watched her brother, Mark, across the Thanksgiving table. He’d announced his decision last week, a pronouncement delivered with the pious air of a freshly ordained. Now, he sat, radiating a serenity that made her teeth ache. She speared a rogue Brussels sprout with unnecessary force, the fork scraping against the plate. The way he spoke, as though he’d unlocked the universe’s secrets… it was infuriating.

His wife, Sarah, kept glancing at Evelyn, a silent plea in her eyes. Evelyn offered her a tight smile, the muscles in her jaw screaming. The food, painstakingly prepared by their mother, seemed to curdle in her stomach.

She cleared her throat. “So, Mark,” she said, her voice clipped, “Are the rituals… complicated? All this… new stuff?” She gestured vaguely towards him, the words tasting like ash.