Gemotions

The invitation felt like a physical weight in his pocket. He hadn't seen his father in weeks, not properly, just the hurried phone calls and the occasional glimpse across the crowded supermarket. Now, he was expected to stand up, smile, and offer platitudes. He tapped a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel, the hum of the engine a dull counterpoint to the turmoil inside him.

The hall was a riot of forced cheer. Balloons bobbed like grotesque, colorful tumors, and the air buzzed with hollow laughter. He spotted his mother across the room, beaming. He gave a curt nod in her direction and looked away.

He finally reached the podium, the microphone a cold, metallic presence in his hand. He swallowed, the lump in his throat refusing to budge. He cleared his throat. "So... Dad's retiring." He hated the sound of his own voice, flat and unenthusiastic.