Gemotions

The dining room table, usually the scene of family gatherings, was now a battleground. My sister, the self-proclaimed matriarch, was showing off my grandmother's porcelain dishes to a prospective buyer. Her voice was falsely enthusiastic, highlighting details she'd never cared about before.

I sat at the periphery, nursing a cup of lukewarm tea. The air in the room was thick with the scent of lemon and manufactured charm. The buyer, a stout man with a sweaty brow, nodded and smiled.

My heart felt heavy. I thought of the countless meals shared around that table.