Gemotions

"My dad works in the White House," Emily had always declared with a certain nonchalance. Her descriptions of lavish parties and powerful figures seemed so commonplace, but it made James feel awkward. James was a park ranger. He liked his job, but it was just so... quiet compared to her stories.

He had finally scored an invite to her family’s annual Fourth of July barbecue. He’d spent hours choosing an outfit, trying to balance looking presentable with avoiding the dreaded feeling of being underdressed. He arrived at her sprawling, manicured lawn, to see a sea of tailored suits and starched shirts.

Her father, a tall man with a meticulously crafted smile, shook James’ hand. He asked about his work, listening with a polite, but empty, expression. James felt the color rise in his cheeks as he described his day. He felt like a child. He tried to contribute to the conversations but found himself tongue-tied. The music seemed too loud, the laughter too boisterous.

Later, he saw Emily talking, laughing, easily weaving through the crowd. He watched her from afar, the patriotic fireworks exploding in the sky, and he felt a strange sense of displacement.