Gemotions

The biography was on the coffee table, a sleek, black object reflecting the harsh fluorescent light of the hospital waiting room. Maya had been at the hospital every day this week, her mother was sick. The book, detailing her childhood, her successes, and her deepest, unspoken fears, felt like a cruel joke.

She picked it up, tracing the smooth cover with a fingertip. Her mother, she knew, would be devastated. She knew that her mother’s privacy had been similarly violated. Her own anger was immediately overshadowed by concern for her mother.

She thought about her mother’s life, its quiet hardships and quiet joys. The author had clearly ignored the unspoken agreements of family life. Maya felt a tightening in her chest, a familiar pressure. She felt the need to apologize to her mother for something she had not done, a feeling of inadequacy that gnawed at her. She reached for her phone to call her.