Gemotions

A soft breeze drifted through the open windows of the country club, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass. David surveyed the room, the familiar faces of his father's colleagues mingling with relatives. His hands rested easily in his pockets. He felt the weight of the speech, neatly folded in his jacket, but it was a comfortable weight, a reassurance. He took a sip of water, the cool liquid sliding down his throat.

He noticed his dad across the room, beaming. He walked over to the podium, the wood smooth beneath his palms. "Evening," he said, his tone even and unhurried. The chatter dimmed. It was time.