Gemotions

"It’s not doing any good sitting here," Dad said, gesturing at the vintage baseball glove. He’d found it in the attic while clearing out clutter. The glove, worn and softened from years of play, was a reminder of their shared passion. Mom was watching him, a forced smile on her face. He was going to sell it to cover his gambling debts. The very idea made her feel disgusted. She could taste the metallic tang of resentment. He thought it was just stuff. He didn't care about the stories, the echoes of laughter.