Gemotions

The clatter of the teacup against the saucer echoed in the sudden quiet. Amelia’s fingers, usually steady, felt clumsy. Her mother, usually a fountain of laughter and shared secrets, sat across from her, a serene smile curving her lips. “I’ve found peace, darling,” she’d said, her voice a gentle murmur, “in Buddhism.” Amelia stared at her. The familiar floral wallpaper of her childhood kitchen seemed to swim slightly. She took a shaky breath, the scent of lavender from the garden suddenly overwhelming. Her palms felt clammy. She thought of her father, how he’d always mocked what he called “airy-fairy philosophies.” A knot tightened in her stomach.