Gemotions

My grandmother’s confession came during a quiet afternoon tea, a ritual we shared every other week. She'd always been a steadfast member of the local Methodist church. Now, she was adopting a belief in Shintoism.

I set down my teacup, the porcelain clicking against the saucer. The warmth of the tea felt suddenly irrelevant. I felt a slow, creeping sensation of unease begin to unfurl inside me.

I tried to understand, searching for logic or a connecting thread, but her explanation seemed to evaporate as quickly as the steam rising from her cup. The world shifted.