Gemotions

The silence of the house was punctuated only by the drip, drip, drip of a leaky faucet. I paced the kitchen, unable to sit still. This was my grandmother’s house, and now it was ours. The weight of that knowledge pressed down on me, heavy and unforgiving.

My brother, Sam, was in the backyard, wrestling with the overgrown rose bushes. He pulled and tugged, his face contorted in frustration. He was making a racket. He wanted to tear something down.

I leaned against the counter, the cold stone seeping into me. I felt a surge of bitterness, a familiar companion.