Gemotions

The Sunday dinner was supposed to be a celebratory affair. Aunt Carol had finally gotten a promotion. Now, though, the air crackled with a different kind of tension. Across the mahogany table, Dad sat rigid, his knuckles white against his water glass. The news – Carol’s intention to embrace Buddhism – had been delivered with a polite smile, but the aftermath was anything but. I, Sarah, found my face flaming. I kept fiddling with my napkin, pleating and unpleating it. All I wanted was for the ground to swallow me whole. My cousin, Mark, started to snicker and I wanted to crawl under the table and hide from his gaze.