Gemotions

The clatter of pots and pans usually signaled breakfast, but this morning, the sounds were different. It wasn’t the familiar English of their usual routine. It was the singsong lilt of Xhosa, her mother's language, coming from the kitchen. John followed the sounds, a peculiar sensation coursing through him.

He peeked through the doorway. There was David, expertly flipping pancakes, reciting instructions in Xhosa from a cookbook. His movements, normally so clumsy, were now a graceful dance, synchronized with the foreign words. John's legs felt weak.

He stood there, completely stunned, the world tilting slightly.

David turned around, saw him, and froze, a look of apprehension on his face.

John managed a laugh. He looked over to the pancakes that had been cooking. "They... they look great," he said, his voice a little too loud.