Three Wishes (23 page)

Trying again, it still doesn't work. I feel my anger building and decide I'll turn on the lights, instead. Maybe it will help if I am physically nearby, so I grope my way back over to the door. I place one hand over the light switch, the other still holding my tet, and concentrate on the wires inside. Better. My power and the electrical power seem to be attracted to one another, and in no time I've given the lights a little surge and turned them on.

Two more steps to go. With increasing confidence, I place my hand on the lock mechanism and visualize it clicking together. Like butter, it slides left and unlocks.

This is getting easier, I think to myself, and, with a sniff, I imagine my voice back. “No problem,” I say out loud. With the lights on, the door unlocked, and able to speak, I glance at the clock on the wall. Only five minutes have passed since Dr. Morocco left me, though it felt like an eternity.

I feel less drained than in our previous session; in fact, I feel pumped, like I do after a good swim. Tired, but pleased. I gather my backpack and open the door, surprised to see Dr. Morocco standing right on the threshold.

I take a step back, intimidated by her close presence, but then rethink it and step forward. I'm almost as tall as she and can look her right in the eye. “I think I'm ready,” I say.

Can it be fear I now see in her face, or respect? I still have not figured this woman — genie — out. Are we enemies or allies? It doesn't matter anymore. Though she's still a mystery, I feel like I've proven myself her equal. With a nod, she seems to agree and steps aside to let me pass.

I march off, ready to find Pete, but before heading around the corner, I peek over my shoulder. She's still standing in the doorway, but her mind is obviously far away, and she doesn't see my final glance.
Goodbye
.

We all have our own life to pursue, our own kind of dream to be weaving, and we all have the power to make wishes come true, as long as we keep believing. — Louisa May Alcott

The moment I open my eyes in the morning I am filled with dread, peppered with a degree of euphoria. I've awoken a full hour earlier than normal, and on a morning when I can sleep in. But it's my eighteenth birthday, and my life is completely unresolved. My finals are finished, yes; I've received my college acceptance letters, and I'll be attending Wellesley in the fall; graduation is next week. To an outsider, it would seem like I've got my life all wrapped up. But by midnight tonight I have to resolve the looming issue of my impending full genie-hood. Already I can feel my power surging, like an adrenaline rush, and I'm aching to grant a wish for someone. It feels like a cross between heartburn and falling in love.

Oh, yes. And tonight is prom night. In stereotypical fashion, Pete has been pressuring me to make it an
extra-special
night so I can prove my love and commitment to him — as he calls it. It couldn't be any more cliché.

I'm not sure I'm ready to grant that particular wish. But I'm also wavering over asking him to be my master.

Lying in bed, I'm re-reviewing my options, none of which are totally appealing. I could choose not to find a master, give up being a genie, lose this new body, and live the rest of my life as a normal human. Or, I could ask Pete to be my first master, thereby gaining my full powers and making him happy. Somehow, though I do love Pete, I'm not so keen to make his three greatest wishes come true. Of course, I could find another master altogether, but there's no one in the running at this point. Sure, it's my own fault for not following my mother's directions to search far and wide for my first master. But I feel disloyal to Pete any time I contemplate taking anyone else as my first master.

Sighing, I swing myself out of bed and into the shower, hoping the hot water will provide me with some clarity. I skip washing my hair, since I'll be having it done later at the salon. Even after I turn on the shower radio, the music can't keep my mind from racing. I'm starting to believe, even with all of my mental preparation, that I'm going to have to wing it tonight and go with what feels right in the moment.

I go downstairs, where my grandparents are still preparing my birthday breakfast. It's our traditional French spread with coffee and French toast with the works.

“Hey — you're up early!” my grandfather comments. “We're not quite ready for you, honey. Marianne, why don't you and the birthday girl relax in the living room while I finish making breakfast? I'll call you both when it's ready.”

We both acquiesce, and I flop down on the sofa while Mamère sits in the armchair. “Oh, sweetie, it's such a big day for you. How are you feeling?”

“Totally — what's the word? — otherworldly. I mean — nothing seems real. Even though I know I'm legally an adult, and I'm on the cusp of getting, you know, my powers” —
I feel awkward talking with her about this part
— “it doesn't seem possible.”

“I know what you mean. I am pinching myself — our little baby granddaughter is eighteen!
Not
that you're a grown-up yet.” She laughs. “But seriously, would you like to talk about your, uh, powers? We haven't had much of a chance to discuss anything for so long, you've been so involved with school and Pete. And — has anything changed with you and Leia yet?”

“No, Mamère. Everything's fine. I'm focused on prom right now, anyway.”

I can tell she's relieved to have the conversation turn toward a more mundane, less-loaded subject. As much as my grandmother wants to be supportive of my choices, I can tell she'd rather I choose to be human. And I don't want to give her the details about my fight with Leia. We chat for a little while about my schedule for the day, the hairstyle I've chosen, and what the other girls in the group will be wearing, before Papa interrupts us to say, “
Le petit déjeuner
is served.”

We take our time over breakfast, and I insist on helping with cleaning up.

“That was… delish,” I tell them, patting my belly. I give a great big yawn and offer to start with the dishes.

“It's your birthday, silly. No, thank you,” Papa says.

“I'm an adult now — shouldn't I prove it by helping around the house?” They look at each other.

“Hard to argue with that,” my grandmother says.

The mindlessness of cleaning helps steady my nerves, and I even vacuum the first floor while I'm at it. It's mid-morning by the time everything is done. I decide to go upstairs to read my mother's diary, searching for more insight to help me with my choice. She gets right to it.

Eugénie, being your mother is the best wish I've ever been granted. But it did come with a price.

When I found out I was pregnant, I was so frightened. It was hard enough to tell my mother I was in love with a human; now I had to tell her I was going to have a baby.

My mother's face was full of such sorrow and regret. She choked out her response, “Geneviève, you cannot have this baby.”

Defiant, I informed her I planned to keep the baby and to marry Matthew.

“No, no,” she shook her head. “You cannot carry this baby to term while you turn eighteen. The surge of power you will get when you become a full genie could harm you or the child irrevocably.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” I asked, taken aback.

“We have ways to deal with this issue, Geneviève. You are not the first to have this — problem — at an inopportune time.”

“I'm keeping this baby, Maman.”

She sighed to the bottom of her soul. “If it were a full genie child, perhaps… But since it is not” — a hard look at me — “there is nothing to be done.” She explained our rules forbade us from wishing bodily harm to others. “So you must wish it away, yourself.”

Stony silence was my response, but tears began rolling down my cheeks and dripping onto my sweater, one lent to me by Matthew and filled with his scent. There must be a way around this, I thought. I was already in love with my baby, and with Matt. I didn't want to give up either. I left my mother without another word and went for a walk.

“Geneviève, there is no way around it—” she shouted after me, but I continued out, slamming the door behind me.

I retraced the route Matt and I had taken together only a few months earlier and stood on the same beach, watching the waves crash over and over. There is no other option, I kept thinking, heartbroken.

Then, out of the blue, I knew what to do.

I found Matt and explained to him what my mother had told me and then laid out the details of my plan. At first, he protested, but soon saw I was determined and stopped arguing. I think he knew this was for the best.

We laid low over the next few weeks. Christmas was coming, and Matt had already planned to return to his family for the holiday. Now I would be going with him. He made arrangements to finish his degree at the nearby university so we could stay in his hometown.

My family was gathering for our annual winter solstice celebration, one of the infrequent occasions that brought together the men and women and included the Marocs. I insisted on bringing Matt to the event and asked one of my cousins to help me keep Guy at bay.

The shocked stares and whispers from my family when they saw me with Matt gave me a small taste of what was about to come. Our tradition included an acknowledgement of any genies that would be coming into their full powers in the upcoming year. We were expected to make a short speech, expressing gratitude to our family and our plans for what we would do with our new powers. There were typically only a few of us each year; this year, I was the only one.

When I got up to make my speech, I paused to study everyone around the large room, which had held these family gatherings for hundreds of years. At the heart of the house, this room was circular and domed; in the daytime, the only natural light came in through the skylights above. At night, as it was then, low mood lighting created intimate nooks throughout the room. Still, it was bright enough to see the sad eyes of my mother gazing back at me, while Guy's alternated between mocking and enraged. Matt's eyes were full of hope. Fixating on him, I took a deep breath and told myself I could do it.

“Thank you all for your support. I could not ask for a better lineage. I am so proud to be a
de la Bouteille.
And yet—” I faltered then gathered myself again. “Some of you may know I have, uh, news.” Was it my imagination, or did the room turn frigid? “I am going to have a baby.” I flushed with heat, and the murmurs started, objecting, denying. “I know what my full powers could do to this child,” I continued. “And so, I will not seek a master. I am choosing a human life for me and for my baby.”

The sudden uproar was cacophonous. I heard the clatter of glasses being dropped, shouts, stamping feet. I covered my face with my hands and then felt a strong arm surrounding me, pulling me toward him for support. Lowering my hands, I was greeted by Matthew's grim face. Everywhere there were judgmental people shaking their fingers at me. It was so loud I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I knew it wasn't congratulations.

Guy marched out of the crowd, stepped before the two of us, and swiveled to face the family. “Listen!” he called out. The noise lowered enough to where he could make himself heard to the group. “Geneviève has made her choice. The wrong choice.” He glared over his shoulder. “And now it is time for us to choose. If she so wishes to be human, let her leave us now.” He smiled. “And never return.”

“No,” said a faint voice to his right. It was my cousin Jenelle, standing up for me for a brief moment, until she shrank back in fear or intimidation.

“Anyone else feel otherwise? I suggest we finish this — I'll take care of it.” Guy had turned twenty-one a month previously, and even now you could almost see the power coming off him in waves. He was gleeful to have found some way to use it against me, and I was more afraid than ever. Even though I had chosen a human life and was already planning to leave my family in France for a life with Matt in New England, I hadn't counted on being banished forever.

There were murmurs building up again, though, and I saw a number of the women step forward, including my mother. “No,” they were saying, quietly, but forcefully.

Guy, however, was determined and put his back to the crowd, ignoring the women's objections. “Geneviève, I wish you, and your human, to go—”

In a flash, one of the elder women stepped forward and shook her head. Before Matt and I disappeared from my family's and a genie's life forever, I had just enough time to register who it was.

It was Guy's mother.

When I hear the doorbell ring, I'm so overwrought and confused that I have trouble controlling my emotions. My mother chose me over her powers and lost her whole family in the process. I hear Leia talking to my grandmother at the door and am flooded with an immediate sense of relief. “Leia!” I call out in a choking voice. “Please, come up!”

With quick steps on the creaky stairs, I hear Leia's voice floating up from below. “My mom asked me to stop by to give your grandmother—” Leia makes her way into my room, bored and detached, but her expression changes when she sees me shaking out of control. “What is it? Are you all right?”

Sitting on my bed, my arms wrapped around my knees, I can't help myself and burst into tears. Leia closes the door and rushes over to me, taking me into her arms for a warm embrace. “Oh, Genie, I'm so, so sorry. I miss you so much. I don't care who was right or wrong anymore. I just want you back.”