Gemotions

The clinking of glasses and the murmur of polite conversation grated on Arthur’s nerves. He was standing near the door, feigning interest in a potted fern. His sister, the golden child, was currently regaling the crowd with anecdotes about their father. He was the dutiful son, the one who stayed close, who helped around the house. Now, he was expected to celebrate the man who had always taken him for granted.

He saw his father watching him, a small, expectant smile on his face. Arthur clenched his fists. He felt the familiar weight of obligation. He had come prepared, of course, with a speech. But now, as he was announced, he walked to the podium, every muscle tense. He smiled, a thin, brittle line, and said, "Dad, you've always known best, haven't you?"