Gemotions

The invitation felt like a physical weight in Elias’s pocket. He kept touching it, the slick, expensive paper a tactile representation of his unease. He’d rehearsed the speech, of course. Lines about gratitude, admiration, and the inevitable future of leisure. But each time he practiced, a cold knot formed in his stomach, a feeling that intensified with every forced smile he delivered in the mirror.

He arrived early, lingering near the open bar, nursing a single club soda. The ballroom was gaudy, a testament to his father’s enduring career in finance. Balloons, streamers, and the generic caterer’s platters filled the space. The music, a smooth jazz compilation, grated on his nerves.

His mother, beaming, pulled him into a hug. Her perfume, a scent he associated with childhood reprimands and forced family dinners, triggered a flicker of nausea. He managed a strained laugh, his gaze darting around the room, seeking an escape route. The speech was imminent.