Gemotions

"Really, Mom?" Maya said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Her mother, oblivious, smiled at her from across the dining room table, a tea cozy perched on her head like a floral hat. Maya had been tasked with cleaning out a spare room, a task she saw as punishment.

She shoved a box across the floor with her foot, not bothering to inspect its contents. Anything her mother considered sentimental was, in her eyes, just clutter. She wasn't going to spend her time sifting through it. This box, she thought, was perfect for the back porch.

She found a photo album, its cover faded and peeling. She flipped through the pages with a dismissive flick of her wrist. There she was, aged 7, posing with a half-eaten ice cream cone. She closed the album and shoved it back. She would not let this sentimental journey distract her from her goals.