Gemotions

The microphone felt heavy in Amelia's hand, almost vibrating. She adjusted it, a nervous tick she hadn't realized she still had. The ballroom shimmered with a golden light, reflecting off the champagne flutes and the overly cheerful faces of her parents' friends. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry, and scanned the crowd, searching for a friendly face. Finding none, she forced a smile. Her father, beaming from the dais, gave her a thumbs up. A bead of sweat traced a path down her temple.

Amelia cleared her throat, the sound magnified by the PA system. The clinking of silverware stopped. Silence descended. She glanced at the prepared notes in her trembling hand, then back up at the sea of expectant eyes. The paper felt like a burning coal.

“So… Dad,” she began, her voice a little too high, “and Mom. What a… momentous occasion.” She winced internally. Momentous? Really? She hated sounding so formal.