Page 81 of Clinically Bewitched
“Are you sure? Because in the cosmic sense—”
“I’m quite sure.”
Woody leaned forward, his ice-blue eyes fixed on my father. “So, brother. What do you do for fun?”
“Golf,” my father said stiffly.
“Golf! Interesting. Very structured. Very controlled. Do you ever feel like you’re trying to impose order on the chaos of the universe through the medium of a small white ball?”
“No.”
“You should think about it. Might be enlightening.”
“I don’t need enlightenment. I need a lower handicap.”
“Same thing, man. Same thing.”
I finished my wine.
Poured more.
Athena was chatting happily with both sets of parents, completely oblivious to the fact that this dinner was a social apocalypse. She was asking my mother about her charity work, complimenting Stevie’s jewelry, laughing at something Woody said about “the sacred geometry of golf courses.”
She was the bridge between two worlds that should never have met.
And somehow,somehow... she was making it work.
Not well.
But work.
Until it wasn’t.
Chapter Seventeen
Athena
The energy in the room was suffocating.
I’d been trying to ignore it. Trying to focus on the positive, on the fact that both sets of parents were at leasttalkingto each other, that Vivian, who ran in shortly before dinner was served, out of breath, claiming she was sorry for being late, was now being wonderful and warm, enjoying the floor show.
Yet the universe was screaming at me now, and I couldn’t pretend anymore.
The air around Julien’s parents was thick and dark, like smoke from a fire that wouldn’t quite catch. Blocked energy. Rigid energy. The kind of energy that came from years of judgment and condescension and the absolute certainty that they were better than everyone else.
And it was directed at my parents.
Atme.
Mrs. Darcy’s smile was polite, but her aura was practically vibrating with disapproval. Every time my mom mentioned crystals or energy work, I could see Mrs. Darcy’s jaw tighten just slightly. Every time my dad talked about spiritual practices or vision quests, Mr. Darcy’s eyes would glaze over with barely concealed contempt.
They thought we were ridiculous.
Worse, they thought we werebeneaththem.
And my parents felt it too.
I could see it in the way my mom’s smile had become just a little too bright, a little too forced. In the way my dad’s shoulders had tensed, his ice-blue eyes sharpening with something that wasn’t quite anger yet but was getting close.
