Gemotions

A chill, unrelated to the November air, snaked down Amelia’s spine. Her Aunt Carol, a woman who considered pumpkin spice the apex of culinary achievement, was now… wearing a hijab. At the Thanksgiving dinner table, surrounded by the familiar scent of roasting turkey and the boisterous chatter of cousins, Amelia felt detached, like an observer in a play she hadn't rehearsed for. She picked at her mashed potatoes, the usual comfort food suddenly tasting bland and unfamiliar. Every glance at Carol, her face serene beneath the vibrant head covering, sparked a fresh wave of… bewilderment, perhaps? She couldn't quite name it.