Joel
The animals are acting strange. Somehow, they’re always the first to know. They can sense her moods better than I can, and trust me, I’ve gotten pretty good. This seems to be one of her manic phases. Not my favorite of the moods; I’d rate it just slightly above the deep lows. Those are tough, but at least then, unlike now, she’s not making trouble.
“Smells amazing,” I tell her, strolling in to the kitchen like I own the place, because I do. I plant a kiss on her cheek.
I notice her hands shake, but for the most part, she pays me no mind. It’s the silent treatment again, but I’m used to it by now.
I’m well aware of her plan. We finally had it out last night, after nearly two months of petty arguments—little earthquakes, tremors, all that stuff that happens before the big one hits.
