Gemotions

The cater waiters weaved through the crowd, offering champagne. She refused, clutching a glass of water with white knuckles. The air was thick with the scent of perfume and forced joviality.

She kept replaying the phone call where her brother had informed her of the speech duty. The condescending tone. The easy expectation that she would provide something "uplifting."

She surreptitiously scanned the room for an exit. The music, upbeat and bouncy, seemed to mock her. Each beat resonated like a hammer against her skull.