Chapter Nine
Athena
Something was off.
I couldn’t quite place it. The universe was being a little cryptic about the specifics, but something about Julien’s energy was... misaligned.
Not in a bad way. Not in a “this is wrong” way.
More in a “this person is wound so tight they might actually vibrate into another dimension” way.
Which, honestly, I could work with. The universe had sent me plenty of tightly wound people before.
Freyja said I had a gift for helping people unravel, in a good way, not in a psychological breakdown way, though there was that one time with the guy at the farmers’ market who’d had a spiritual awakening in the organic produce section and started crying into the heirloom tomatoes.
But that had turned out fine. He’d opened a meditation studio. The universe worked in mysterious ways.
Julien was sitting across from me at the hotel restaurant, which had excellent energy, very open, very flowing, lots of natural light, staring at his coffee as if it had personally offended him.
He’d been staring at things a lot this morning.
The ring on his finger. The menu. The waiter. Me. The ring again.
Mostly the ring.
He kept twisting it, trying to pull it off, then stopping himself as if he’d remembered something important. Then he’d start again. Twist, pull, stop. Twist, pull, stop.
It was very rhythmic. Almost meditative, if meditation involved looking like you were about to have a nervous breakdown.
“Are you okay?” I asked, reaching across the table to touch his hand.
He flinched.
Actually flinched, like I’d tried to touch him with a live wire instead of my hand.
“I’m fine,” he said.
He was not fine.
The universe was being very clear about that.
His aura, and for the record, I couldn’t see auras, not like Freyja could, but I could feel them, and his was all jagged and sharp, like broken glass. Very pointy. Very “please don’t come near me, I’m having a crisis.” But underneath that, there was something else.
Something softer. Something that felt like... loneliness? Exhaustion?
Like he’d been holding himself together for so long that he’d forgotten what it felt like to just... be.
Oh.
Oh, universe. I see what you’re doing.
This man, my husband—which still felt wild and wonderful and exactly right—didn’t just need someone to love him. He needed someone to take care of him. To remind him that life wasn’t just about control and precision and holding everything together.
He needed someone to help him breathe.
And the universe, in its infinite wisdom, had sent him to me.
“You seem tense,” I said gently. “Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes talking helps. My sister Phoebe says that unexpressed emotions get stuck in your throat chakra and can cause all sorts of problems: sore throats, thyroid issues, difficulty communicating. Not that I’m saying you have chakra throat blockage.
I’m just saying, if you want to talk, I’m here. I’m very good at listening.”
That was perhaps a tiny lie. I was better at talking than listening. But I was trying to be good at listening. The universe appreciated the effort.
“I’m fine,” he said again.
He picked up his coffee, took a sip, then set it down as if it had betrayed him too.
Everything was betraying him this morning, apparently.
Poor thing.
I wanted to hug him. Just wrap my arms around him and tell him everything was going to be okay, that the universe had a plan, that this was all unfolding exactly as it should. But I had a feeling that would make him flinch again, and I didn’t want to add to his stress.
So instead, I smiled and tried a different approach.
“So,” I said brightly, “I realized we don’t really know each other yet.
I mean, we’re married, which is amazing, but we skipped a lot of the traditional getting-to-know-you stuff.
Which is fine! The universe doesn’t really care about traditional timelines.
But I think we should probably... you know.
Learn about each other. Don’t you think? ”
He stared at me.
“Like, for example,” I continued, because silence made me nervous and when I got nervous, I talked more, which Freyja said was a Gemini thing, but I thought was more of an Athena thing, “I don’t even know what you do for a living.
I mean, I know you were giving a presentation yesterday, which was very impressive, by the way, very authoritative, very confident, but I don’t know what you actually do.
Are you a teacher? A researcher? A professional presentation-giver? ”
Something flickered across his face. It might have been amusement. Or pain. Or both.
“I’m a neurosurgeon,” he said quietly.
I blinked.
“You’re a what?”
“A neurosurgeon. I operate on brains.”
Oh my Goddess.
Oh my GODDESS!
The universe is SO CLEVER.
“You operate on brains?” I said, probably too loudly, because the couple at the next table looked over. “Like, actual human brains? You cut into people’s heads and fix things?”
“That’s... a simplified version, but yes.”
“That’s incredible.” I leaned forward, suddenly fascinated. “So you spend all day being precise and careful and making sure everything is perfect because if you make a mistake, someone could die?”
He looked uncomfortable. “I wouldn’t phrase it quite like that.”
“And you probably work really long hours and have a lot of responsibility, and everyone depends on you to be perfect all the time, and you can never make mistakes and you have to be in control constantly because lives are literally in your hands?”
“I... yes. That’s fairly accurate.”
Oh, universe. You beautiful, brilliant, cosmic genius.
It all made sense now.
Everything made sense.
The universe hadn’t just sent me a soulmate.
It had sent me someone who needed me. Someone who spent every single day of his life being responsible and controlled and perfect, who carried the weight of other people’s lives on his shoulders, who probably never let himself relax or make mistakes or just be.
And the universe had looked at him, at this brilliant, tense, wound-too-tight man who was probably one bad day away from snapping, and said, “You know what he needs? Athena. Athena, who believes in cosmic chaos and trusts the universe and doesn’t plan anything and walks around naked without caring what anyone thinks.
Athena, who will remind him that life isn’t just about control.
That sometimes you have to surrender to the flow. That it’s okay to not be perfect.”
That’s why we’re soulmates.
Not just because we were opposites, though we definitely were, like yin and yang, like sun and moon, like order and chaos, but because we balanced each other.
He needed someone to take care of him the way he took care of his patients.
And I was very qualified for that job.
I’d been taking care of people my whole life.
My sisters, when they got too deep into their spiritual practices and forgot to eat.
The motorcycle club, when they needed someone to remind them they were more than their leather jackets and road names.
Random strangers who looked sad and needed someone to tell them that the universe loved them.
Taking care of people was what I did.
It was my gift.
And the universe had just handed me the person who needed it most.
“That’s amazing,” I said, and I meant it. “You must be so smart. Like, incredibly smart. Brain surgery smart. Which is the smartest kind of smart.”
He looked at me like he wasn’t sure if I was making fun of him.
I wasn’t. I was genuinely in awe.
“And you probably went to school for, like, a million years, right? Medical school and residency, and all that stuff? And you probably never had time to just... live. To be spontaneous. To do something without planning it first.”
“I—” He paused. “I suppose that’s true.”
“See?” I reached across the table and took his hand before he could flinch away.
“The universe knew exactly what it was doing. You spend all your time taking care of other people, being responsible, being perfect. You need someone to take care of you. Someone to remind you that it’s okay to not have everything figured out.
That chaos isn’t scary; it’s just life happening. ”
He was staring at our joined hands as if he’d never seen hands before.
“And I know this probably seems really sudden,” I continued, because now that I understood the universe’s plan, I couldn’t stop talking about it, “and I know you’re probably stressed because everything happened so fast and you like to plan things and this definitely wasn’t planned.
But that’s exactly the point. The universe doesn’t work on schedules.
It doesn’t care about your color-coded calendar or your five-year plan.
It just... happens. And sometimes the best things in life are the things we don’t plan. ”
“Athena.”
“Like us! We didn’t plan this. Well, I kind of planned it.
I mean, I came to Vegas because the universe told me to, so that’s sort of planning, but not really because I didn’t know what was going to happen.
I just trusted that something would. And something did!
You did! We did! And now we’re married, and it’s perfect, and the universe is probably so pleased with itself right now—”
“Athena.”
I stopped talking.
He was looking at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t fear. It was something else. Something that looked almost like... wonder? Confusion? Terror?
Maybe all three.
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” he said carefully. “But I think you’re misunderstanding the situation.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean...” He took a deep breath. “I mean, I don’t remember getting married.
I don’t remember most of last night. I woke up this morning with a ring on my finger and a stranger in my bed and no memory of how either of those things happened.
And while I’m sure the universe has a plan—your universe, not mine, because I don’t believe in that—I’m fairly certain that plan doesn’t involve me being married to someone I met yesterday. ”
Oh.
Oh.
He thought this was a mistake.
He thought the universe had made an error.
Poor thing. He really didn’t understand how this worked.
“But that’s exactly why it’s perfect,” I whispered.
“You would never have done this if you’d been thinking clearly.
You would have talked yourself out of it.
Made a list of pros and cons. Decided it was too risky or too spontaneous, or too chaotic.
The universe knew that. So it waited until you weren’t thinking clearly.
Until you’d had enough whiskey to quiet that part of your brain that’s always in control.
And then it gave you exactly what you needed. ”
“What I needed,” he said slowly, “was to not get drunk-married to a stranger in Las Vegas.”
“See, you think that’s what you needed. But the universe knows better. The universe always knows better.”
He closed his eyes.
I could feel his hand trembling slightly under mine.
He really was stressed. More stressed than I’d realized.
It’s okay, I wanted to tell him. I’ve got you.
I’m going to take care of you. That’s what I’m here for.
That’s what the universe sent me to do. But I had a feeling that would make him more stressed, not less.
So instead, I squeezed his hand gently and said, “How about we just... take it one day at a time? No pressure. No expectations. Just... see what happens. The universe will guide us.”
He opened his eyes.
“One day at a time,” he repeated.
“Exactly.”
“And what happens after that one day?”
“Another day. And then another. Until eventually, you’ll look back and realize that everything worked out exactly as it was supposed to.”
He stared at me for a long moment.
Then he pulled his hand away, gently, but firmly, and picked up his coffee again.
“I need to call my lawyer,” he said.
Oh.
That... wasn’t quite the response I’d been hoping for.
But that was okay. The universe worked in mysterious ways. Sometimes people needed time to adjust to their destiny. Sometimes they needed to fight it a little before they could surrender to it.
Julien was clearly a fighter. Which made sense. He was a brain surgeon. Fighting was probably in his nature. But eventually, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually, he’d understand. He’d see what I saw.
That we were meant for this.
That the universe had brought us together for a reason.
That he needed someone to take care of him, and I needed someone to take care of.
That we were soulmates.
The waiter appeared with our food. I’d ordered the cosmic energy bowl, which was basically acai and granola and good intentions; Julien had ordered dry toast, which felt very sad and very on-brand—and I smiled at him.
“Thank you,” I said. “The universe appreciates your service.”
The waiter looked confused but smiled back.
Julien put his head in his hands.
I took a bite of my acai bowl and sent a silent thank-you to the universe.
I know he doesn’t see it yet, I thought. But I do. I see exactly what you’re doing. And I promise I’ll take care of him. I promise I’ll help him learn to breathe. To let go. To trust.
That’s what I’m here for.
That’s what you sent me to do.
The universe didn’t respond. It rarely did, not in words anyway, but I felt a warmth in my chest that I chose to interpret as approval.
Everything was unfolding exactly as it should.
Even if my husband was currently calling his lawyer to figure out how to undo our cosmic union.
The universe had a plan.
And I trusted it completely.