“Aren’t you excited?” Mom asked me.
On the wall of the kitchen, the clock’s arm shunted from one second to the next. I crossed my arms.
“Of course, I am!” I replied louder than appropriate. “I haven’t seen her in months.”
“About half a year, by my count.” dad said.
A bead of sweat dripped down my spine, my body shuddered. That tiny bead felt like a nail, scratching me down my back.
Dad shuffled his newspaper, peering over his spectacles. If he had noticed my obvious discomfort, he did not show it. Mom touched my arm, and I jumped, near out of my skin, trying to get away from the perceived attacker. But she kept her hand on my arm, and it soothed me instead. She wasn’t an attacker. She was my mom, trying to comfort me.
“What’s gotten into you?” Her eyes furrowed, gleaming as they watched me.
My hands were fidgeting like they had a mind of their own. Looking at them was favorable to meeting my mom’s gaze, which I feared would reveal too much of my thoughts.
“I’m just nervous,” I confessed.