Gemotions

Aunt Susan’s pronouncements had the usual theatrical flair. "I'm embracing Wicca!" she'd declared, her voice resonating through the cramped living room. Her hands, adorned with rings and charms, gestured dramatically.

Across the room, Mark leaned back against the worn floral wallpaper, the plaster cool against his back. He picked at a loose thread on the sofa. He didn’t particularly care. He observed his mother's raised eyebrows, his grandmother’s pursed lips, the ensuing flurry of questions.

He pictured the laundry he’d have to fold later. The muted colors of the socks. He gave a noncommittal grunt in response to his brother’s wide-eyed questioning. He felt as if the world was on mute.