Gemotions

The aroma of Thanksgiving dinner, usually a comfort, felt cloying in the air. Aunt Carol, beaming, clutched a pamphlet titled "The Path to Enlightenment." My stomach lurched. She’d always been the practical one, the financial whiz, not the… spiritual seeker. I watched her, chewing slowly, as she explained the tenets of her new faith, her voice a little too high, a little too fervent.

My father, ever the diplomat, offered a polite, “That’s… interesting, Carol.” I focused on picking at my cranberry sauce. The conversation felt brittle, like thin ice. I wondered if the extra gravy I'd taken was making me feel queasy.

I excused myself early, claiming a headache. As I walked out into the crisp November air, the feeling of unease didn't fade. It followed me, a shadow lengthening with each step. I felt a cold knot tighten in my chest.