Gemotions

The scent of brewing coffee, usually a source of comfort for Mark, now triggered a wave of nausea. His son, Sam, had taken his passion for coffee roasting, the slow art of sourcing and brewing beans, and turned it into an all-encompassing enterprise. The tiny kitchen had turned into a mini-factory.

Sam had barely spoken to him in days, absorbed in the art. He had stopped sleeping.

Mark’s breath came in ragged gasps. He gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles white. The constant whir of the grinder and the aroma of roasting beans assaulted his senses. He tried to speak.

"Dad! The Ethiopian Yirgacheffe is ready!" Sam's shout was a command, not a request. Mark felt a sudden urge to flee.