Gemotions

"Honestly, Mom, you're hovering," I said, my voice dripping with honey-laced disdain. She flinched, as she always did when I called her out. I found a particular joy in it, a small, burning satisfaction. The house, her house, felt too small, too filled with memories of expectations and disappointments. I needed my space.

The aroma of freshly baked cookies wafted from the oven, sweet and cloying. I hadn't asked for cookies. She knew I was trying to lose weight. I grabbed one anyway, letting it crumble in my hand as I chewed slowly, savoring the moment.

The look of hurt on her face was almost enough to curb the cookie. Almost.