Gemotions

Liam had spent the entire morning perfecting his signature cocktail, the "Crimson Comet," for the party. He’d even bought tiny cocktail umbrellas. He’d been anticipating this for weeks, the warm glow of anticipated companionship the only thing keeping him afloat after a tough work project.

The news landed like a physical blow. A text, a terse message from his best friend: “Can’t happen. My bad.” Liam felt his stomach clench, a cold knot forming in his gut. The Crimson Comets sat, useless and lonely, on the counter. His gaze drifted to the unopened gift he'd gotten, a leather-bound journal he’d envisioned using to write down the memories of the night.

He went to the window and stared at the park across the street, the swingsets still and empty. The city seemed too loud, the laughter of distant children too jarring.