Athena smiled. “Perfect! I’m sure the universe guided them to grow those grapes with love.”
Silence.
The kind of silence that suggested the universe had made a terrible mistake.
“So,” my mother said, folding her hands on the table with the precision of someone about to conduct an interrogation. “Athena. Tell us about yourself. What do you do?”
“Oh, I’m a spiritual guide and energy healer,” Athena said, as if this were the most normal profession in the world. “I help people connect with their higher selves, release blocked energy, and find alignment with their true purpose. It’s very fulfilling work.”
My father’s expression suggested he had just been told she was a professional unicorn trainer.
“How... alternative,” my mother said.
“It is!” Athena agreed, missing the insult entirely. “I’ve always believed that traditional paths aren’t for everyone, you know? Some of us are called to walk a different road, to follow the whispers of the universe, to—”
“And your family?” my father interrupted. “What do they do?”
“Oh, my parents are wonderful! My dad is a woodworker and a part-time shaman, and my mom is a herbalist and a Reiki master, and they’re both just so connected to the Earth and to the spiritual realm and—”
“A shaman,” my mother repeated.
“Part-time,” Athena clarified, as if this made it better.
My father reached for his water glass.
I reached for my wineglass.
It was going to be a long dinner.
And then, because the universe apparently hated me, I heard a voice from across the restaurant.
“ATHENA!”
No.
No.
Please, God,no!
I turned.
And there, weaving through the tables of Le Bernardin like a bohemian tornado, were Athena’s parents. I would know them anywhere. Woodlawn “Woody” was impossible to miss. Tall, easily six-foot-three with long grayish-blond hair pulled back in a loose ponytail and piercing ice-blue eyes that seemed to see directly into your soul. He was wearing a traditional handwoven poncho made of what appeared to be hemp or some other “earthly fiber,” khaki shorts that had seen better days, and flip-flops.
Flip-flops!
At Le Bernardin.
Behind him, moving with the kind of ethereal grace that suggested she was floating rather than walking, was Stephanie, “Stevie.” She had long, wild, curly black hair that cascaded down her back in untamed waves, a flowy multi-colored skirt that looked like it had been tie-dyed by the universe itself, and a bohemian-style baby-doll shirt that jingled with every step.
Actually jingled.
She was wearing so many necklaces, bracelets, and anklets that she sounded like a wind chime in a hurricane. She was also, and I had to admit this, objectively, stunningly beautiful. High cheekbones, luminous skin, dark eyes that sparkled with warmth and mischief. It was immediately obvious where Athena had gotten her looks.
That, and her complete disregard for social conventions.
“Mom! Dad!” Athena jumped up from her seat, nearly knocking over her wineglass. “What are you doing here?”
“The universe told us you needed us,” Stevie said, pulling Athena into a hug that involved a lot of jingling. “We were meditating this morning, and I had the strongest vision. You, surrounded by rigid energy, needing support and love and—”
