Gemotions

The invitation felt like a physical weight in his pocket. He'd been looking forward to a quiet Saturday, lost in a new strategy game. Instead, he was stuck here, surrounded by floral arrangements and forced smiles, at his father's retirement gala. He tugged at his tie, the fabric constricting his throat.

He’d rehearsed the speech, of course. Twice. Each time, the forced cheerfulness grated on him. It was a performance, a carefully constructed facade he loathed maintaining. He just wanted to go home and play the game.

His turn was announced. He walked to the podium, the clicking of his shoes on the polished floor echoing in the suddenly silent room. He cleared his throat, a sound of disapproval.