Page 82 of Clinically Bewitched
They were being polite. They were being gracious. They were doing everything they could to make this work formebecause they loved me and they wanted me to be happy.
But they were hurting, and that made my chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with blocked chakras or cosmic energy.
“So, Athena,” Mrs. Darcy said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “Your parents are certainly... unique. It must have been quite an unconventional upbringing.”
The word “unconventional” landed like a slap.
“It was wonderful,” I said, keeping my voice warm even though my heart was pounding. “My parents taught me to see the beauty in everything, to trust the universe, to—”
“How charming,” Mrs. Darcy interrupted. “And did they also teach you about... practical matters? Financial planning? Career development? The importance of social connections?”
Oh.
Oh, she did not!
“My parents taught me about love,” I hissed. “And compassion. And the importance of seeing people for who they really are, not what they can do for you.”
Mrs. Darcy’s smile tightened.
Vivian, who had been watching this exchange with increasingly concerned eyes, reached for her wineglass.
Julien looked like he wanted to crawl under the table and die.
“Well,” Mr. Darcy said, his voice carrying that same condescending tone. “I’m sure that’s very... fulfilling. But in the real world, one needs more than love and compassion to succeed. One needs discipline. Structure. A proper education and career path.”
“My parents have both,” I said, my voice still calm but with a clear edge now. “They just choose to live differently.”
“Differently,” Mr. Darcy repeated, as if the word tasted bad. “Yes. I suppose that’s one way to put it.”
My dad’s jaw was clenched.
My mom’s hand found his under the table.
The energy was getting darker. Heavier. Like a storm building on the horizon.
Please,I thought desperately.Please, universe, don’t let this explode. Not here. Not now.
But the universe, apparently, had other plans.
“You know,” Mrs. Darcy continued, turning to my mother with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I find it fascinating that you practice... what did you call it? Energy healing? Reiki? It’s so... alternative. Have you ever considered pursuing something more... legitimate? Something with actual medical credentials?”
The air went still.
My mom’s smile froze.
My dad’s eyes went ice cold, and it was at that moment, I felt something shift in the cosmic fabric of the universe. Something that said, “Oh no, you shouldn’t have said that.”
“Mom,” I blurted. “It’s fine. She didn’t mean.”
“Actually,” my dad said, his voice quiet but carrying an edge I had only heard a handful of times in my life. “I think she meant exactly what she said.”
He set down his fork with deliberate precision.
Then he stood.
All six-foot-three of him, with his long grayish-blond hair and his handwoven poncho and his flip-flops, rising from the table like some kind of avenging hippie God.
“Woodlawn,” my mom started.
