Gemotions

The calendar on the kitchen wall glared at Ben. Saturday. Highlighted in bright red, a stark reminder of the looming conflict. He felt a creeping discomfort in his gut, like a small, wriggling creature. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end.

He had so many things to do. The invitations weren't fully sent. The venue wasn't fully booked. And then there was Mark’s party. The thought triggered a wave of nausea.

He stared out the window, the image of his backyard wedding reception, which would now be a disaster. Everything had to be perfect, and he felt it would be anything but.