To say I was jittery would be an understatement of the century. All morning I’d been on edge. So much so that I’d already spilt my coffee twice, a dead giveaway that something was off but no one seemed to notice. Or if they did, they didn’t overanalyze it like I was and had yet to blatantly confront me about it. The first time was when Ben came up behind me in the kitchen. I thought I was alone and had just finished pouring my cup. The unexpectedness of his mere presence made me jump a little, and the rest of our family followed in shortly after him. Both of my parents, having returned from their weekend getaway early this morning, still had bright smiles on their faces, no clue of the events that had come to pass last night, or so I assumed.
The second spill came as I sat at the kitchen
