Gemotions

The deed was clutched so tightly in Leo's hand, the paper threatened to tear. His sister, Clara, was already roaming the dusty parlor, her fingers tracing the floral wallpaper like some kind of connoisseur. He’d envisioned the inheritance differently. He’d pictured them, a united front, deciding what to do. Not this airy, proprietorial tour. “Think we should keep the chintz?” she’d asked, a delicate sniff escaping her lips. He'd nearly choked.

He stalked into the kitchen, the scent of lavender from the potpourri on the counter attacking his nostrils. That was the other thing: Clara’s floral preferences. Their grandmother’s house had always been his sanctuary, a safe haven from the chaos of their lives. Now, it felt like she was planning a hostile takeover.

He slammed the refrigerator door, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet house. "I'm thinking we need to rip out the entire kitchen," he muttered, mostly to himself, but loud enough that he knew she could hear. He wasn't sure if he meant it. He wasn't sure of anything anymore.