Gemotions

The microwave beeped, signaling the end of her frozen lasagna. Sarah stabbed at the plastic film with a fork, the tines digging deep in her frustration. Her mother, Carol, was humming in the kitchen, carefully arranging a salad. *So slow,* Sarah thought, rolling her eyes. She wanted to eat, *now*. The scent of her mother's homemade dressing – always too much garlic – filled the air, making Sarah's stomach churn with something other than hunger.

She grabbed the lasagna, burned her tongue, and started shoveling it in.

“Did you see the mail today, dear?” Carol asked, her voice light and airy.

“No,” Sarah mumbled around a mouthful, wishing her mother would just *stop talking* and let her eat.