Page 78 of Clinically Bewitched
“We were in the neighborhood,” Woody piped up, which seemed unlikely given that we were in downtown New Haven and from my understanding, they lived in New York City.
“This is amazing!” Athena turned to my parents, who looked like they had been flash-frozen. “Mom, Dad, these are Julien’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. And this is my mom, Stevie, and my dad, Woody!”
“Woodlawn,” Woody corrected, extending his hand to my father. “But everyone calls me Woody. It’s a pleasure to meet you, brother.”
My father stared at Woody’s hand like it might be contaminated.
He shook it anyway.
Barely.
“Charmed,” he said, in a tone that suggested he was anything but.
“Oh, I can feel your energy!” Stevie said, moving toward my mother with her arms outstretched. “You have such a strong aura. Very blue, very structured, very... oh, you’re holding a lotof tension in your shoulders. Have you considered acupuncture? Or perhaps some energy work? I could do a quick session right now if you—”
“That won’t be necessary,” my mother said, taking a very deliberate step backward.
“Are you sure? Because I’m sensing some blocked chakras, and—”
“Quite sure.”
“Well, if you change your mind!” Stevie smiled, completely unbothered. “The offer stands. I always travel with my crystals.”
Of course she did.
“Please,” Athena said, gesturing to the table. “Join us! We have plenty of room, and—”
“We couldn’t possibly intrude,” my mother said quickly.
“It’s no intrusion!” Athena insisted. “Right, Julien?”
Everyone turned to look at me.
My parents, who were silently begging me to say no.
Athena’s parents, who were already pulling up chairs.
Athena, smiling like this was the best thing that had ever happened.
Me, experiencing what could only be described as a complete psychological break.
“Of course,” I heard myself say. “Please. Join us.”
My mother’s eyes twitched again.
My father reached for his wine.
Woody sat down, his poncho spreading across the chair like a textile statement of rebellion against everything Le Bernardin stood for. Stevie settled in next to my mother, her jewelry creating a symphony of tinkling sounds that made the waiter visibly flinch.
“So!” Woody said, leaning back in his chair with the casual confidence of someone who had never experienced social anxiety. “Julien. Athena tells us you’re a brain surgeon.”
“Neurosurgeon,” I corrected automatically.
“Right, right. Same thing. You cut into people’s heads.”
“It’s slightly more complicated than—”
“Must be intense, man. All that pressure. All that responsibility. Do you ever feel like the weight of it is crushing your spirit? Because I’ve got some breathing exercises that might help. Really opens up the third eye.”
