Gemotions

The invitation, tucked inside a glossy envelope, had felt like a summons. Emily had spent the last week composing and then deleting drafts of her speech, each attempt failing to capture the …thing… she was experiencing.

The banquet hall, with its generic decorations and overly bright lights, did little to improve her mood. The air was thick with the scent of cheap perfume and ambition. She fiddled with the strap of her purse, a nervous habit.

She found herself avoiding her mother's gaze as she waded through the crowd, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. The thought of standing up in front of all these people, and saying nice things, made her want to run.