Gemotions

"So, the job hunt is going okay?" His father's voice, usually a source of anxiety, sounded muted, almost a background drone. Mark leaned back on the sofa, the plush cushions molding to his shape. The television played a mindless game show. He took another handful of popcorn, the salty taste hitting just right.

He shrugged. "It's, you know, a process." The words were almost a whisper. He knew this would not last forever, but he could ignore that fact for now.

His mother appeared, carrying a plate of cookies. "Eat, dear," she said, placing the plate on the coffee table. He felt his shoulders ease. The familiar surroundings were a balm to his frazzled nerves.