Gemotions

The invitation had been burning a hole in his pocket for weeks. Now, here he was, staring at the saccharine smiles and forced laughter filling the banquet hall. He adjusted his tie, the fabric suddenly feeling constricting around his neck. It was too tight, just like the whole situation. He'd rather be home, lost in the quiet hum of his workshop, not forced to feign enthusiasm for his mother's endless crafting projects.

He gripped the podium, the polished wood surprisingly cold beneath his fingertips. He cleared his throat, the sound a sharp crack in the festive atmosphere. He caught his father’s eye, a look of placid expectancy that only added fuel to the fire building in his chest.

“Well,” he began, his voice flat, “Here we are.” He plastered on a fake smile, the corners of his mouth aching from the effort. He glanced around at the eager faces, the balloons, the terrible floral arrangements. This was going to be a long night.