Gemotions

The room smelled of stale perfume and forced positivity. Maya tapped her foot impatiently under the table. She stared at the floral arrangements on each table, which seemed to mock the simplicity of her own life. Her mother, bathed in the spotlight, beamed at the assembled guests. The happiness seemed completely artificial, just like the whole party.

When her turn came, she walked up to the podium, her steps slow and deliberate. She began by mentioning her mother’s career, but the words felt detached, as if she were reading from a script she didn't write. As she spoke, she found herself focusing on the chipped nail polish on her thumb, a distraction from the uncomfortable expectations. She saw the faces staring back at her, eager for something meaningful, and she felt a bitter taste in her mouth.

She finished her speech without much more elaboration, her voice devoid of affection. She sat down, her cheeks burning.