Gemotions

The caterers buzzed around, setting out miniature quiches and cucumber sandwiches. Sarah watched them with a detached air, her gaze fixed on the tablecloths. Everything was perfect, precisely as her mother desired. Even the color of the napkins.

She found herself picking at the edge of the tablecloth. The fabric was smooth and flawless, and the feel of it was oddly soothing. She was supposed to write a speech, but her computer remained stubbornly blank. She was good at it, but she just wasn’t going to do it.

A knot formed in her stomach. She knew what she *should* say, the platitudes, the accolades. But the words felt hollow in her mouth. She'd rather swallow glass.