Gemotions

“You know, it’s not too late to go back to school,” his mother said, stirring a pot of something that smelled suspiciously like liver.

Michael stiffened. He’d heard the suggestion, the implication, a hundred times since he’d moved back in. He’d seen the disappointment in her face every time he’d been unsuccessful in the interview process. The suggestion was always delivered with a forced sweetness that made his teeth ache.

He picked at the vegetables on his plate. They were always overcooked, mushy and flavorless. The whole house felt overcooked, mushy and flavorless.

“I’m thinking about it,” he replied, the words dripping with disinterest. He pushed away from the table, the familiar weight of frustration settling in his chest.