Gemotions

The simmering pot on the stove seemed to take an eternity to boil. Liam tapped his foot, the sound a staccato rhythm against the linoleum. He’d told her, a week ago, that he was making his grandmother’s gnocchi for dinner, a dish soaked in the warmth of his Italian childhood. Each passing minute felt like a year. He glanced at the clock; eight minutes since he'd last checked. Still no bubbling.

He heard a muffled sound from the living room, a halting series of syllables. “*Come stai?*” Sarah was attempting to pronounce something, her voice catching on the unfamiliar sounds. Liam groaned inwardly. He’d been looking forward to this meal all day, now her language lessons threatened to extend the agony. He wanted to scream.

He stomped over to the doorway, leaning against the frame. “What’s taking so long?” he asked, his voice tighter than he intended.