Gemotions

"So, how's the writing going?" her cousin asked, a perky smile plastered on his face. She’d heard this question a million times. Amelia simply shrugged, avoiding eye contact. The conversation, she knew, would eventually drift into her career and her lack of direction.

The caterers began distributing hors d'oeuvres. Smoked salmon, mini quiches. All meticulously arranged. She popped a miniature crab cake into her mouth, chewed without tasting.

The endless stream of introductions was starting. She fiddled with her dress, feeling the scratchy lace. She was scheduled to speak after the regional manager, whose story was, predictably, the same as everyone else's. Amelia found herself yearning for a distraction, a sudden fire alarm, anything to disrupt the relentless flow of platitudes.