Gemotions

He drummed his fingers on the table, a staccato beat against the gentle hum of the coffee shop. The cafe was busy, but the world seemed to shrink to the confines of their small table. His mother, beaming, was sharing details of her new commitment to Sikhism, the specifics of which he couldn’t follow. He’d only managed to get a lukewarm coffee, and he'd had to order it three times, each time a new wave of tension washing over him. His leg bounced. He had a meeting to prepare for, a deadline looming. He took a shallow breath, trying to appear engaged, but the words felt like a distant echo.