Gemotions

Grandpa's conversion was announced over a meticulously planned dinner. The dining table, usually a place of laughter and shared meals, was now a battleground. He sat, radiating an alien calm, while my mother railed against the new rituals, the dietary restrictions, the strange new friends. I couldn't look at his plate, the bland, unseasoned food that sat there, untouched. I felt a knot tighten in my stomach, a cold wave washing over me. I pushed my own plate away, finding I could no longer eat, and excused myself, my face burning with a mixture of anger and bewilderment.