My Wishful Thinking (6 page)

I laugh. “That’s okay, Eugenie. I don’t understand true love.”

CHAPTER 13

YOU’D THINK IT SHOULDN’T have taken this long to figure out retail therapy and having your own personal genie go together like coffee and cream.

After Emily gets off work at Perks, we stop by her house so she can change out of her uniform. I pull clothes for Eugene and me from the trunk, then call first dibs on Em’s bathroom, putting on my old standby‌—‌short red dress, chocolate brown tights and tan lace-up wedge boots. Em calls me Zooey when I wear this and that’s cool with me because Zooey Deschanel is about as hip as they come.

Eugene’s next and he picks pieces to create the most mismatched ensemble ever: red tee with a plaid shirt layered over it, brown pants, and baby blue Vans.

He looks pretty cool for a change. Almost like a guy I could hang out with.

Finally, Em puts on a little ruffled skirt, a tank and some wedge sandals. Millenium Mall, here we come.

It’s not super busy, and we get a decent parking space for a change. When we walk through the entrance, Em elbows me and nods toward Eugene. His face is lit up like the fourth of July.

“Haven’t you ever been to the mall before?”

“No, but I can tell this is a place for wishing. What do you want?”

I shrug and look at Em.

Em mentions Sole Providers, a fabulous shoe store. Yep, that’s a good start.

The store is near the center of the mall, but Eugene keeps stopping to window shop, and if he keeps this up, the mall will close before we make one stinkin’ wish. I take Eugene’s hand to drag him along so we can get to the good part.

“Logan?” he asks.

I glance over my shoulder at him. He’s staring at our linked hands with a blush on his cheeks.

“Logan?” he asks again.

I drop his hand. “C’mon Eugene. Just keep up.”

And because I might be his master he honors my request, walking quickly alongside of us. I feel like crap for being bossy with him. Stopping as we reach Sole Providers, Eugene asks, “Is this where I will be granting?”

Emily says, “You know, it might be better if you give us a little time to look around first.” I point to one of the massage chairs directly across from the entrance of the store, indicating that Eugene should take a seat, then fish around the bottom of my bag for change. I feed the coins in and the chair starts its slow roll, pushing out Eugene’s belly, midriff, chest and shoulders. “Good?” I ask.

Eugene grins. “It is better than good.”

“Okay, we’ll be back soon, so stay put,” I tell him and then say to Em, “Find something quick-like.”

Inside Sole Providers, I head for a display of Roxy sneaks. Em’s checking out beach sandals. It takes less than two minutes
and
we’ve both picked a favorite pair. We stand near the entrance with our shoes, to get as close as we can to Eugene without leaving the store. The chair has entered the compression phase and he’s jiggling from side to side with his eyes closed, blissed out.

Clutching our finds, we say together, “I wish I had these shoes,” and then‌—‌

Nothing.

No pulse. No arc of energy. What’s more – no shoes.

“Can I help you ladies? Did you want to buy those?” the sales guy asks us.

“Oh, no. Just looking,” I say.

Whatever the guy thinks we’re really up to, it’s clear we’re not looking. I’m sure we look suspicious standing this close to the entrance.

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.