Gemotions

The waiter’s offer of water felt like a lifeline. He took a large gulp, the cold liquid a temporary reprieve from the heat that seemed to emanate from the crowd. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to push it back from his face. It was no use; it kept falling back into place. He felt exposed, vulnerable.

His father, perched on the edge of his seat, was radiating pride. He couldn't meet his gaze. He focused instead on the centerpiece, a collection of tired-looking roses. He should have said no to this. He should have gotten someone else to speak.

"So… where to begin," he mumbled, feeling utterly foolish. He hated this. He absolutely hated this.