Gemotions

The sun beat down relentlessly on the patio. My sister, Emily, sat opposite me, sipping iced tea with an unnerving calm. The family quilt. She was going to sell the family quilt that Grandma had spent years making. I felt a cold wave of something, like ice water being poured down my spine.

I didn't meet her eyes. I stared fixedly at the intricate patterns on the faded fabric, the threads that held so many memories. She was rattling on about "practicality" and "needs."

"Don't you see what this is?" I asked, voice strained. My hands were shaking.