Gemotions

“On my way! Can’t wait to see your masterpiece.” The text, meant for the art gallery curator, had landed in the inbox of his Aunt Mildred. He felt his face flush a deep crimson. He reread the message, then the name associated with it. Aunt Mildred. A woman who only knew him as a doctor.

He slumped against the kitchen counter, the ceramic cold against his back. He glanced around his apartment, the paintbrushes and canvases mocking him. This was going to be a long day. He pictured her reaction, the confusion, the inevitable questions. He wanted to disappear.

The silence of the room was oppressive, amplifying his unease. He closed his eyes, imagining the inevitable phone call.