Gemotions

The ceramic mug slipped in Eleanor’s grasp, the hot tea spilling across the polished mahogany table. Steam curled upwards, momentarily obscuring the face of her son, David, who sat opposite, his expression serene. He’d just finished explaining his decision to embrace Buddhism. Eleanor dabbed at the spill with a napkin, her movements jerky and inefficient. The room seemed to shrink, the familiar scent of lavender from the potpourri on the sideboard suddenly cloying. "But... but the synagogue," she stammered, the words catching in her throat, a strangled whisper barely audible.