Gemotions

A bead of sweat trickled down David's temple as he scanned the guest list. He pushed his glasses up his nose, the frame digging into the bridge. “Chad Miller… still married to Tiffany?” He muttered under his breath, the words laced with a tone of incredulity.

He slammed his laptop shut, the abrupt motion nearly causing his coffee mug to tip over. The insistent ping of an incoming email - another RSVP - echoed through his apartment. He resisted the urge to heave a long, suffering sigh.

He ran a hand through his thinning hair, feeling the familiar pressure building behind his eyes. The thought of small talk, of forced smiles and comparing accomplishments, made his stomach clench. He pictured himself hiding in the bathroom, feigning a sudden illness.