Page 31 of Clinically Bewitched
I sat there, frozen, my hands still shaking, my heart still racing, my brain still refusing to process any of this.
She’s showering. In my hotel room. Because we’re married. Because I got drunk and married a woman whose name I don’t even know.
Oh God.
I don’t know her name.
I was married to someone whose name I didn’t know.
This was it. This was rock bottom. This was the lowest point a human being could reach. There was nowhere to go from here except possibly actual Hell, and even that seemed preferable to my current situation.
The shower shut off.
She emerged a few minutes later, still naked, water dripping from her hair, looking refreshed and energized and completely at peace with the universe.
She smiled at me again.
“You look stressed,” she observed. “You should try meditation. Or yoga. Or both. The universe responds really well to mindful movement and intentional breathing. It helps align your chakras and—”
“What’s your name?” I blurted out.
She blinked. “What?”
“Your name.” My voice was getting higher. Tighter. “I don’t know your name. We’re married and I don’t know your name.”
“Oh!” She laughed. Actually laughed, like this was delightful rather than horrifying. “I’m Athena. Athena Imogene Malpas. Well, I guess I’m Athena Darcy now, right? Or are you taking my name? I’m totally open to that. The patriarchal tradition of women taking men’s names is kind of outdated anyway. We could hyphenate! Darcy-Malpas. Or Malpas-Darcy. Both sound good. Very cosmic.”
Athena.
Her name is Athena.
I married someone named after a Greek goddess.
Of course I did. Of course, the universe, her universe, would do this to me.
She started getting dressed, pulling on underwear and the wrinkled dress with the same casual ease she’d shown while walking around naked. “So,” she said, running her fingers through her wet hair, “I was thinking about our future. I know this probably seems really sudden, but the universe doesn’t really do things on human timelines, right? And I think we should probably talk about where we’re going to live. I mean, I have my apartment in—well, I guess it doesn’t matter where, because obviously we’ll need to find a place together. Somewhere with good energy. Maybe near water? Water is very cleansing. Very healing. And we should probably talk about kids. I’ve always wanted three, but I’m open to however many the universe sends us. And names! We should start thinking about names. I really like celestial names. Luna, Stella, Orion. Oh wait! I can’t have Orion. That’s my nephew’s name.”
Something inside me snapped.
Not a gentle snap. Not a controlled, measured breaking point.
A full, catastrophic structural failure.
“STOP.”
She stopped mid-sentence, looking at me with wide, curious eyes.
I stood up. My legs were shaking, but I stood up anyway because sitting down felt like surrender and I was not surrendering to this insanity. “I need you,” I said, very carefully, very precisely, “to tell me exactly what happened last night. How we got married. Where we got married. When we got married. Every single detail. Right now.”
She smiled.
Oh God, she smiled.
That bright, radiant, absolutely delighted smile that I was rapidly learning meant I was about to regret every decision that had led to this moment.
“Oh, you want to hear our story! That’s so sweet. Most people remember their wedding night, but I think it’s actually more romantic that you don’t because now I get to tell you and it’ll be like experiencing it for the first time all over again, which is very special, very cosmic—”
No.
