Gemotions

"Mom, I told you, I’m not wearing that to the interview," Liam’s voice sliced through the gentle afternoon hum of the television. His mother, perched on the sofa, had her face set in a look of quiet, unyielding disapproval.

He grabbed the offending shirt from her outstretched hand, its polyester fabric feeling like a personal affront. It was his grandmother’s. He could feel the pulse in his neck, the heat rising in his cheeks.

"It's about respect, Liam." He gritted his teeth. Respect. A word that usually preceded some sort of restriction or expectation. He needed to get out, to breathe. He threw the shirt onto the floor and stormed out of the living room, nearly tripping over the poodle.