Page 11 of Clinically Bewitched
“Jules, listen to me. You’re going to Las Vegas. You’re going to give your boring brain talk—”
“It’s not boring. It’s about revolutionary advances in—”
“—and then you’re going to do something wild. Something spontaneous. Something that doesn’t involve a color-coded schedule or a peer-reviewed journal.”
I stared at her. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re thirty-three years old and you’ve never done anything spontaneous in your entire life!”
“I bought orange juice with pulp last week.”
“That doesn’t count!”
“It was very spontaneous. I usually buy pulp-free.”
Vivian threw a pillow at me. I caught it reflexively and placed it back on the bed, adjusting it so it aligned with the other pillows.
“You’re impossible,” she said.
“I’m consistent.”
“You’re boring.”
“I’m focused.”
“You’re going to die alone surrounded by perfectly organized medical journals.”
“That sounds peaceful, actually.”
She groaned and flopped backward on my bed, her dark hair spreading across my duvet in a way that was definitely going to leave wrinkles. “I give up. I officially give up on you.”
“Good. Can you give up somewhere else? I need to pack my toiletries.”
“Pack your toiletries,” she mimicked in what I assumed was supposed to be my voice, but sounded nothing like me. “I need to arrange my toothbrush at a forty-five-degree angle.”
“Ninety degrees, actually. Forty-five would be inefficient.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
She sighed. “No, I don’t. But I should.”
I moved to my bathroom and began gathering my toiletries. Travel-sized shampoo, conditioner, bodywash—all the samebrand I used at home because switching products could cause unnecessary skin irritation. Toothbrush, toothpaste, floss, mouthwash. Razor, shaving cream. Deodorant. Everything had its place in my toiletry bag, organized by frequency of use.
“Oh!” Vivian called from the bedroom. “I almost forgot. Mom and Dad are coming into town next weekend.”
My hand froze halfway to the medicine cabinet. “What?”
“Next weekend. They want to have dinner. All of us.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
“I have plans.”
“No, you don’t.”
