Gemotions

“Just breathe,” she whispered to herself, over and over, as she stood near the buffet. Her heart was in her throat. The aroma of the food, usually appealing, nauseated her. She felt a growing sense of panic.

She looked at her father, smiling and chatting with guests, and a pang of guilt shot through her. She didn’t want to disappoint him. He deserved this. But the thought of standing up and speaking filled her with dread.

She pretended to examine a particularly ornate canapé, stalling for time. She wished she could melt into the floor. The moment was fast approaching, and she felt completely ill-equipped.