Gemotions

A grin threatened to split her face as she surveyed the room. The local community center was decked out in balloons in her father’s favorite shade of puce, a color she privately considered an abomination. Someone had even printed out a giant banner that read, "Farewell, Frank!" in Comic Sans. Oh, the humanity.

She adjusted her tie, struggling to keep it straight. The air was thick with the scent of cheap coffee and anticipation. Her dad, with a look of barely contained mortification, kept clearing his throat as if to stave off the impending speech.

"So, Dad," she began, her voice taking on a deliberate casualness, "Thirty-five years. That's a long time to, uh, do anything, isn’t it?” Her lips twitched. This was going to be a walk in the park.