My Wishful Thinking Read online

  Emily moves to put her pair back. “I wonder what went wrong.”

  “How would I know? You’re supposed to be the smart one.”

  “Maybe Eugene can tell us.”

  Doubtful. “Maybe,” I agree.

  We put the shoes back and when we head out the door, Eugene has disappeared.

  “Lo‌—‌”

  “Crap! You go that way and I’ll go‌—‌” Panicked, I head off in the opposite direction before finishing the sentence. Walking as fast as I can, sticking my head into each store’s entrance, I scan each one, hoping to catch him fascinated by a display. Onward. I look over my shoulder hoping like hell he’ll magically appear.

  Which could happen. It’s not simply wishful thinking. He is a genie, after all.

  After searching one leg of the mall, I’m nearing a state of panic. We didn’t give Eugene any instructions in case we got separated, He’s been living in a bag for over forty years and he’s never been to mall before. Did he ever have a mom explain what to do if you get lost? Probably not. I realize I don’t even know if genies have moms. Once again, I wish I knew more about him.

  I hope Em is having better luck. Quickly I pray, Please Lord, help us find him.

  And then I see him.

  He’s at a Dead Sea Minerals kiosk, and a beautiful blonde is rubbing some kind of cream into his face. Eugene has his eyes closed, looking pretty serene. He’s so incredibly different from the guys I’ve gone out with. There’s no way any of them would have sat in that massage chair.

  I cozy up to the display and can overhear her sale’s pitch. “Usually this cream is forty dollars, but today it’s on special for thirty and if you promise not to tell anyone else, I can give you my employee discount of two for twenty-five. Would your girlfriend like this?”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend.” He gives her his innocent, wide-eyed look.

  My heart has this little twinge.

  “You’re kidding,” the blonde bubbles and moves in closer for the kill.

  Eugene gets his mischievous look.

  The twinge increases to a thump. “Eugene!”

  He and the sales girl jump when I startle them.

  “Hiiiiiiii,” he says, smiling like he’s happy to see me and there is nothing‌—‌nothing at all‌—‌wrong. What could possibly be wrong? “Look, Logan! Dead Sea Minerals, and I’ve been there, so I know how good these are.”

  “So did you want two?” She slips two tubes of the cream into a bag, using the assumptive close. I know exactly what she’s doing because I use the same technique at Rags to Ritzy with wishy-washy customers who seem enthusiastic about a purchase but afraid to commit.

  “He doesn’t have any money,” I tell her. “Do you?” I say to Eugene, realizing I could be way off base. Maybe he can go poof and make it appear.

  Eugene gets a dopey look. “No, sorry.” He seems embarrassed, so I reach out to take his hand.

  The blonde arches one brow. “I thought you said no girlfriend.”

  He takes my hand. “This is just Logan.”

  My heart does the twinge thing again, but I’m not sure if it’s because he’s holding my hand or because he said just Logan.

  I pull my cell out of my purse and text Em: I’ve got him. Meet back at Sole Providers.

  On our way back, I explain to him how we were both so worried about him and then how the wish didn’t work.

  “You wished for the same thing?” Eugene asked.

  “Yes, shoes. Well not the same shoes, but‌—‌”

  A slow smile spreads across his face.

  “You think?” I ask.

  “It is worth a try.”

  Back at Sole Providers, Em and I settle on a pair of basic, pink ballerina flats. We say together, “I wish I had these shoes.”

  A bubble spreads out from Eugene’s hands while Em and I watch in awe. Everyone else, both customers and store employees, seem oblivious to the magic happening around them.

  Finally a guy appears from the stock room with two shopping bags. He hands one to Em, one to me and says, “Thank you. Come again.”

  In a semi-trance we move for the door.

  “Amazing,” is all Em says.

  “Un-effing-real,” I manage.

  We both sit on a bench, stunned into silence. What should I wish for next? I wish I had a better life. I wish my mom had her life together. That seems like too much to ask for. I wish I had a million bucks. That seems more likely and that’s crazy thinking.

  Finally I say, “I kinda wanted those Roxy sneakers. They would’ve looked really great with my jean shorts.”

  Em laughs.

  “We could just wish for one of each,” I suggest, waving my hand at the store front.

  “Yeah, right. Good thinking, Lo. And we’ll get them home how?”

  “Eugene would take care of that, wouldn’t you?”

  He nods once.

  “Sure. Fine. As long as I don’t have to go to your house to pick them up.” Emily pulls the box of shoes from her bag and opens it up to make sure the pink shoes are really there.

  We make the wish. Feel the energy wave. And wait. There’s nothing else.

  “That was probably a little too much to ask for,” Em says. “Anyway, the pink shoes are super cute.”

  “They are, but the Roxy’s were better.” Hearing myself say that makes me feel silly and selfish. I mean, Em and I both got a new pair of shoes and she’s really into them. And then there’s Eugene. All he got was a five-minute mall massage. A light bulb goes on.

  “Want to window shop? I have one more thing I definitely want to get.” We head in the direction of the Dead Sea Minerals kiosk, spending more time peeking into windows and oohing and aahing over cute sundresses. We wish for two. Shopping bags appear in our hands without even entering the store.

  At Pac Sun, I notice an old man staring at us. Something about him looks a little familiar. Then again, he probably just has that Chester the Molester look I’ve seen a million times before.

  As we reach the kiosk, I tell Em what we need to wish for. It’s spoken. The bubble energy spirals away from Eugene, and the blonde holds out a bag with two tubes of the cream, one for Em and one for me.

  I hand mine to Eugene. “It seemed like it made you happy.”

  His mouth drops. “No one has ever given me a gift. I shall cherish it.”

  I can’t believe how excited he is by something so meaningless. My face grows warm in embarrassment. “You don’t have to cherish it. Just enjoy it.” Over Em’s shoulder, I see Pervy-Guy watching us, and it gives me a shiver.

  Feeling a bit creeped out by all the wishes, I head toward the parking lot. What is it that’s bothering me about all this? I’ve always made wishes even if they’ve never been granted before.

  Bingo. That’s it. It feels like getting what I want might make something bad happen, because we don’t deserve them. Or rather: I don’t deserve them; Em will probably be okay. Maybe having a genie makes you superstitious or hyper-sensitive. Maybe it makes you scared that you’ll get what you want.

  I glance up again and Pervy-Guy has disappeared, like magic.

  CHAPTER 14

  IN MIDDLE SCHOOL WE TOOK a behind-the scenes field trip to one of the theme parks. The façades you see as a visitor are completely different from what’s real. It’s weird.

  From the outside my house looks almost exactly like the one on either side of it. Same Key West style, same pastel color scheme. Same tidy landscaping. The house‌—‌in fact, the whole neighborhood‌—‌feels artificial in the same way that mannequins have the same features and build.

  But then, Eugene and I open the front door of my house and immediately I’m hit with the smell. Wishbone! Apparently Mom didn’t change the litter box yesterday when I stayed at Em’s and she hasn’t gotten to it today either. Eugene wrinkles his nose in disgust.

  I say, “You’ll get used to it fast.”

  If Eugene were any other anyone else‌—‌like Dawson, for example
‌—‌I’d be embarrassed to have him at my house. But, c’mon, he lives inside a bag that’s thousands of years old. He’s not gonna judge me too harshly.

  Which is a good thing, because the list of what’s wrong with my house right now is endless. Unwashed dishes in the kitchen sink. Piles of dirty laundry mixed in with the clean. A faint smell of mildew drifting from the open washing machine. Ack! These clothes are mostly dry and will need to be rewashed.

  In the bathroom there’s too much of Mom’s makeup and shaving cream and mouthwash not put away. There’s a blob of toothpaste that didn’t get washed down the drain. Gross.

  The worst is the stench coming from the litter box. How can Mom stand it?

  It’s always horrible on Wednesdays after I spend the night with Em, because coming within ten feet of cat poop must set of some kind of internal alarm in Mom. Even Wishbone doesn’t like it like this.

  When I walk back into the laundry room the odor smacks me. I glance over my shoulder at Eugene; he’s rubbing his nose, holding one finger under it like he’s trying to hold back a sneeze.

  My crazy calico threads herself between my ankles, and I freshen her box. I glance at her dish. No water, no food. So I go about fixing that situation. When I put the kibble in front of her, she turns her nose up at it and strolls over to Eugene, sitting at his feet.

  “Sorry. I’ll pick up some Fancy Feast later today, Wishbone.”

  “What does that mean‌—‌wishbone?. Does she have a special bone?” Eugene smiles as he tickles behind her ears, and she purrs loudly.

  “Wishbone is her name,” I explain, but his empty return stare makes me think he’s still confused. “Every year after Thanksgiving, my mom saves the turkey wishbone.” I steeple my index fingers to show him what it looks like. “After it dries out, you pull it apart and whoever gets the bigger piece gets to make a wish. It’s like a genie, but without all the bells and whistles.”

  “I do not have bells and whistles,” Eugene says in all sincerity.

  I laugh. “Oh, but you do, Eugene. That whole shimmery light-wave thing is big-time bells and whistles.”

  He smiles. “Really?”

  “Really, really,” I tell him. “Anyway, last Thanksgiving I got the biggest piece for the first time in a couple years and when Mom asked what I wanted, I told her I’d always wanted a pet cat. Well, she didn’t, which is why she refuses to help out with the litter box, but she let me get ole Wishbone here. We picked her out from the other kittens at the shelter.” I turn to my cat. “You still have a little kitten in you, don’t you?” I toe a ball in her direction, and she bats it around and chases after it.

  After taking care of my pet, I busy around fixing the easiest of the mess. Low-hanging fruit. That’s what Marcia calls it when we have a lot to tackle in a short amount of time.

  Turning my back to Eugene, I run hot water into the kitchen sink, squeezing detergent under the stream and sudsing it up.

  “What are you doing?” Eugene asks with an edge in his voice. When I turn to look at him he’s backing away from me, both palms out. The expression on his face is in horrified.

  CHAPTER 15

  “WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE THAT?” My hands shake as I pull them, dripping, from the sink. He’s been so easygoing and the face he’s making frightens me.

  “It’s the water,” Eugene responds.

  The water? I look at it carefully to see how ours might be different from other places. Believe me, I know it’s possible, maybe even likely. This house is a mess. But it looks like water anywhere to me. More genie weirdness.

  I shrug and grab a glass with the remnants of some kind of aperitif. I sniff. Best guess: probably Ouzo, from the licorice smell. It gets dumped down the drain into the other side-by-side sink. Eugene cringes and takes another step back when I turn on the faucet to rinse the glass.

  “What’s wrong? Are you gonna be okay?”

  “Water is a terror to genies. We were made from smokeless fire, and water can extinguish us.” Eugene plants himself into a chair on the far side of the kitchen table. “This is why we originated in arid lands. Desert conditions are much more suitable to our disposition. It is strange and curious phenomenon that I now reside in Florida.”

  “Is that why you freaked out when we were leaving Rags to Ritzy?”

  “On the day Richard left me, I begged him to wait until the storm had passed. If the bag, my home, had leaked, I would have been destroyed. It was the only time I asked Richard to consider me. He did not.”

  That’s so cruel. But somehow it doesn’t surprise me to learn this. His whole vibe was chilling that day and I can see where he would have ignored Eugene.

  A feeling of peace washes over me. “And then, Em and I wished for it to stop raining.” I smile as I remembered this.

  Eugene gives me a little kid’s sunshiny-day smile. “Yes. That is when I knew my situation had improved.”

  He could say that again. Even a dirty litter box is better than old Dick the Magician.

  “Look, I don’t want you to be afraid of this water. It’s not going anywhere other than in the sink and down the drain.”

  But he doesn’t believe me or it doesn’t matter, because his butt remains glued to the chair while I finish washing and drying. After, when the water is gone and the sink is wiped down, while I put dishes away, I ask, “Have most of your masters been like Richard?”

  “This is not a very interesting subject,” Eugene says.

  “It is to me. I’d like to know more about you.”

  Eugene blushes and then says, “Most masters only last a few days. They wish for unimportant things and then feel guilty that they haven’t earned them. I’m a reminder of that guilt.” He pauses. “The others, the ones that keep me around longer, like Richard, never feel guilty. Those masters are not nice people, but they are never satisfied. Not even when they have a genie.”

  “Is that what happened with Richard? He wasn’t satisfied?”

  Eugene nods.

  What kind of master will I be? I look at the bag with the pink ballerina shoes by the door. They’re so awesome, but I really, really wanted the Roxy’s. Does that make me ungrateful? Like Richard?

  A prickly smile skims across Eugene’s face. “The truly important things‌—‌the things they should wish for‌—‌like health or better relationships, well, most feel unworthy. Otherwise they would have come to have those without me.”

  I think about this, not sure I believe him. I’d like my mom to be more involved. I’d like my dad to have stayed here. But because Emily and I have to wish together, the wishes can’t be made. Her mom is already involved. Her dad is already there. I won’t have the chance to wish for a happy family.

  Besides, it seems like the kind of wish that breaks the rules by being too vague.

  “You and Emily are very, very different from my other masters. It is nice that both of you girls have a basic goodness about yourselves. I hope the wishes do not change that.”

  I don’t believe him on this either. Yes, Emily is good, he got that right. But me? “Thanks, but you don’t know me well enough to call me good.”

  “You are the first master who gave me anything.”

  “That doesn’t make me good.”

  His face screws up in frustration. “I hope you’ll forgive me for disagreeing, but you are wrong, Logan. It makes you good. Very good.”

  I’d like to think he’s right, but everything about my life contradicts that. If I were good, like Em, wouldn’t that show up in my surroundings? My family? I hate thinking about it.

  “C’mon, my genie friend.” I stroll out of the kitchen, heading to my room. “I have to work on my wish list or else Em will be pissed at me.” We’d decided on the car ride home from the mall to write down our wishes so that we could discuss them and agree on a plan.

  I grab a spiral notebook and open it to a fresh page, tapping the pencil against my lip, trying to think of a wish to make. Funny. I’ve been wishing all my life and now that they ca
n be granted, I’m not sure what I want. “What would you wish for?” I ask him.

  Eugene basically ignores me, looking over everything in my room. He picks up a tarnished silver frame that holds an old picture of Mom and me after an honors ceremony in middle school. “Is that your mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s pretty. She looks exactly like you.”

  Lots of guys have told me I’m pretty, but it’s usually said under empty bleachers or behind a building, moments before a hookup. I eye Eugene suspiciously. What’s he up to? But he’s moved on, replacing the photo and sliding out an old scrapbook. He flips through the pages like what he just said to me is no big deal. Like he’s not waiting for me to react. “Yeah, everyone always says how much we look alike. She loves it when people think we’re sisters.”

  “What’s this?” Eugene points to a recipe written in a childish, elementary scrawl.

  “It’s how you make banana bread. My Aunt Marcia’s recipe. That’s from the day my mom taught me how to make it.”

  “I’ve never had it.”

  I smile at him. “Well, I’ll make it for you someday.”

  He settles into my bean bag chair, and I grab my pillow from my bed, clutching it to my stomach as he turns the pages. “Is that Emily? And you! Look how little you are!” The delight in his voice surprises me. Why would he care about those old pictures?

  In the photo, Em and I are dressed as princesses for Halloween. We’re seven, and this is right after we met in second grade. Mom signed me up for car pool, and it turned out that Mrs. Rhodes was one of the moms who did the driving. There have been a ton of times since then that I’ve wondered why Mom didn’t drive.

  “Yeah. I love that picture, we’ve been friends forever.” I flip over the next page. It’s a picture of me and Mom and Dad on vacation at the Grand Canyon. “That’s my dad,” I tell Eugene, pointing at the picture. “He left us.”

  Eugene’s eyes look so sad. Bassett Hound sad. “He died?” he asks in a whisper.

  “No. They divorced.”