Page 84 of Clinically Bewitched
“I practiced traditional medicine for fifteen years,” my mom continued, completely unbothered by the chaos. “I was a research physician. Published over forty papers. Pioneered several treatment protocols that are still in use today. And then I realized that Western medicine, for all its brilliance, was missing something fundamental. It was treating symptoms without addressing the whole person. The energy. The spirit. The connection between mind and body and soul.”
She smiled at Mrs. Darcy, who was dabbing at her wine-splattered face with a napkin, her expression caught somewhere between horror and disbelief.
“So I walked away from a very lucrative career to pursue something more meaningful. To help people heal on a deeper level. To combine my medical knowledge with spiritual practices that have existed for thousands of years. And I’ve never regretted it for a single moment.”
She sat back down, picked up her wineglass and took a delicate sip. “But please,” she said sweetly. “Do continue telling me about the importance of ‘legitimate’ medical credentials.”
The silence that followed was the kind of silence that existed after an explosion.
After the world had been fundamentally rearranged.
After everything you thought you knew had been proven catastrophically wrong.
I looked at Julien.
He was staring at my parents with an expression I couldn’t quite read. Shock, definitely. Disbelief. But also something else. Something that looked almost like... awe?
His mother was still frozen, wine dripping from her chin, her carefully composed mask completely shattered.
His father was staring at my dad’s business card like it was written in a language he didn’t understand.
Vivian was grinning so wide I thought her face might split in half.
And me?
I felt... everything.
Pride in my parents for standing up for themselves, for defending me, for refusing to be diminished by people who thought they were better.
Vindication that the universe had, once again, proven that appearances meant nothing, that judgment was foolish, that love and authenticity were worth more than any amount of money or status.
But also fear.
Because Julien’s parents had just been publicly humiliated by my parents.
Because the careful bridge I’d been trying to build between our two families had just been blown to smithereens.
Because I didn’t know if Julien would see this as his parents getting what they deserved, or as my parents causing a scene, or as proof that we were too different, too incompatible, too...
“I think,” Vivian said into the silence, her voice bright with barely suppressed laughter, “that we should probably order dessert.”
She raised her wineglass.
“To family,” she said. “In all its complicated, surprising, absolutely chaotic glory.”
My dad raised his glass.
My mom raised hers.
I raised mine, my hand shaking slightly.
And after a long, painful moment, Julien raised his too.
His parents didn’t move.
“To family,” Julien said quietly, his eyes meeting mine.
And in that look, I saw everything I needed to know.
