Gemotions

The air in the living room felt thick, oppressive. Uncle George was holding forth, his voice booming. "It's about finding truth, Margaret! You wouldn’t understand…"

Margaret remained silent. She ran a hand over the worn surface of the coffee table, a familiar, calming gesture. She could feel a headache forming behind her eyes. He was gesturing wildly, knocking over a half-filled water glass. It spilled, a dark stain spreading across the pale carpet.

Margaret took a deep breath. She didn't want to deal with it, not now. Not with the endless, impassioned pronouncements. She excused herself, muttering something about needing air.