Gemotions

The champagne flute in Michael's hand trembled, threatening to spill its bubbly contents. He barely noticed. The room buzzed with chatter, but all he could hear was the excited thrum of his own pulse. He kept glancing toward the stage. The music was picking up pace. His mother’s retirement was a big occasion.

He’d spent the last several days refining his words, rearranging them, and then rewriting them altogether. Now, all that preparation was about to come to fruition. He imagined her face lighting up when she heard what he had to say.

He felt a grin splitting his face, nearly knocking his composure off kilter. When his name was called, he practically ran toward the podium, nearly tripping over the long tablecloth. He couldn't wait any longer.