Gemotions

He stared at the half-eaten plate of spaghetti, his appetite gone. The smell of garlic and tomato sauce, usually so appealing, now made him feel queasy. He wasn’t a kid anymore. Yet here he was, back at the family table, dependent.

His mother, noticing his lack of enthusiasm, reached over and squeezed his hand, a gesture of comfort. His father, across the table, cleared his throat, but said nothing. He hated that.

Later, he stood in the doorway of the guest room, his new bedroom, the space once used for visiting family. The walls were bare, the air stale. He felt like an intruder in his own life.