Three Wishes (17 page)

“Boyfriend? Indeed,” she said under her breath, before saying to Matt, “I am Geneviève's mother, Jeanette. Welcome to our home.” She bowed.

Glancing at me for guidance, he responded in kind with his own bow and complimented the design of the house.

“Yes, well, thank you.”My mother was too self-controlled to show her surprise at my bombshell announcement, but I could tell from the slight frostiness to her voice she was not pleased at the situation.

I had planned on showing Matt more of the house, but given my mother's presence, I felt it wise to exit. Instead, I shuffled Matt out of the house and to a local patisserie for a treat.

He thanked me for taking him to my home, saying he was glad to know everything about me. I had no answer, since there was still a huge secret I was keeping from him. I gave him lots of kisses before separating for the rest of the day and resolved to tell him soon.

You recall, of course, I was promised to Guy Maroc, though my heart belonged to Matthew. Here it was, months into our relationship, and Matt knew all my secrets except this one. Somehow I hadn't yet screwed up the courage to tell him. He even knew about my need for a master — but I was frightened to tell him about Guy. I was worried my engagement, as it were, would be the detail that would scare him off for good.

I knew I had to break it off with Guy. And I'd have to tell my mother first.

Her reaction was even worse than I had expected. At first, she was dismissive about my feelings for Matthew. She could not even fathom I would want a true relationship with him. When she saw I was serious, she flew into a deep rage. For the first time, I felt afraid of her.

“This is not done,” she told me through gritted teeth. “No daughter of mine will choose a human over Guy Maroc, who is from one of the finest djinn families.” Pulling herself to her full height, she managed to look down her nose at me even though I was just as tall. “I forbid it,” she continued. “You won't see him. I wish it so.”

Wide-eyed, I pleaded with her to reconsider, and at last she agreed to limit the ban to one week. “That will give you time to remember who you are.”

But by the end of the week, I had instead finished with Guy and started my life with Matthew, ignoring what my mother said. She didn't like it, but I knew I couldn't live without Matt. We were happy together and were able to move to the United States together, to Matt's hometown. And, well, you know the rest.

I will be here as much as I can while you continue to grow and build your powers. I'm not sure what else I can tell you now, but you can try to reach me through the diary.

Though I don't know you as you are today, we share a special bond that transcends our circumstances. And remember always — I love you.

There it ends. I shake my head over the open book, wondering. Why does it feel like my mother is holding back on something? I mean, she has told me in such detail about everything else, but then her confrontation with Guy warrants half a sentence? And earlier she said I was kept in the dark about being a genie for my own safety — now she's leaving me hanging? I let out a frustrated sigh and start to toss the book back under the bed, but then have second thoughts. I focus again on the book's blank pages, and ask the questions out loud which had been running through my head. No dice. It remains stubbornly empty of words. At least that's how I'm interpreting it.
Fine.

I'm annoyed, frustrated, but sad, too. My parents' deep love and their terrible ending are only underscored by what my mother has told me. If only I had known them better.

“I love you, too, Mom,” I whisper and let a tear of self-pity drip onto the page before I close the diary and put it away. I'm glad I still have Dr. Morocco.

We cannot wish for that we know not. — Voltaire

Compounding my guilt, Pete seems to have decided to go into full
Operation Woo Genie
mode, and he's acting super-sweet to me. He must think I'm still mad about him standing me up, though my lack of enthusiasm about seeing him has more to do with my guilt. Whatever the case, he surprises me the morning after Valentine's Day with a dozen long-stemmed roses, showing up on my doorstep before I've even had a chance to eat breakfast.

When I mention that, he offers to take me out for a bite at the Downtown Diner in the next town over from us, well-known for its awesome coffee and irresistibly greasy food.

“You look great,” he says as we slide into the shiny red vinyl booth. The cushion under me has sprung and I shift in my seat.

“Thanks. So do you,” I answer automatically.

He orders us both coffee when the waitress comes by, and we study our menus. “What are you getting?”

I wait a moment while the waitress returns. “Special number five.” I grin at her. “I'm hungry.”

“Guess so.” She winks back.

Composed of a three-egg omelet with cheese, two slices of toast, hashbrowns, and a short-stack of pancakes, it should do. Pete raises his eyebrows into the stratosphere but manages not to comment.

“Uh, I'll have the same,” he says. “Why not?”

As I fuel up on coffee, I feel the brightness return to our conversation. Pete is on his best behavior and works hard to charm me with his wit. We spot a few kids we know and wave at them from across the restaurant. He even puts some money into the jukebox and plays some nineteen-fifties-era love songs, then takes me into his arms and dances with me in the middle of the restaurant, like I'm the most important person in the world. It feels like old times. Almost. But I can't get that kiss out of my head, no matter how much I try. And I can't tell Pete what happened, with his jealous streak a mile wide.

Afterward, Pete drops me back at home when I tell him I have work to get done, but instead of working, I laze around and try to avoid thinking too much. A few hours later, I decide I need a good purifying run, so I pound the pavement, avoiding ice patches for forty-five minutes, and work off some of my monstrous breakfast.

It doesn't help. Nothing helps.

I make dinner, a cheesy mushroom strata, for something to do, and then go to bed early. Pete texts me to make plans, but I tell him I'm not in the mood to go out. Instead, I lie in bed watching TV, alone with my chocolate.

There's this void I am trying to fill, but finally I fall asleep from sheer boredom. Of course, my dreams — nightmares, practically — are filled with kissing Joel. While I can't keep my mind off our electric kiss, each time I think about it I'm drowning in guilt.

Sunday morning, I even choose to go to an early mass with my grandparents before my swim meet. They look at me with unasked questions in their eyes.

I guess I'm not acting like myself, but I refuse to let it affect my swimming. Pete's at the meet, cheering me on from the stands, and I make a big show of kissing him in front of everyone when he arrives. From the outside, I am sure nobody would suspect a thing, and Joel is being careful not to make too much eye contact with me. We both do well in our events, not only winning, but also dropping a few hundredths off our times.

“We're cool, right?” Joel mutters in my ear at one point. I nod without meeting his eyes, patting him on the back when his time is posted.

After the meet, I again plead homework when Pete asks me to hang out. He doesn't want to let me go, but he brings me straight home anyway, giving me a sweet kiss when I open the car door. “I'm picking you up a little early tomorrow morning,” he tells me. “Be ready.”

I nod, wondering what he's up to, but I put it out of my mind when I get into the house.

It's mid-afternoon, and the hours stretch out in front of me. My grandparents are out for the rest of the day at some church retreat, so I'm alone. For a moment, I feel lonely, but realize I don't want company right now. I decide I need to keep my hands busy and pull out the art supplies I have barely touched since elementary school.
I used to love this
, I think, caressing the brushes and the watercolor trays.

I spend the next few hours absorbed by creating. I end up with an abstract pen and ink with watercolor painting, and add layers of different shapes and colors. It's meaningless, but satisfying nonetheless. And it worked to keep my mind off my cheating lips.

I put my art to the side to dry, and speed through my homework to get it off my to-do list. It's about seven o'clock when I reheat some leftovers from the fridge for my dinner. Pleased that I managed to fill the day, I settle down in bed to read
1,001 Arabian Nights
as my reward.

The next morning, Pete picks me up about fifteen minutes earlier than usual, and he looks like he's about to pop with excitement. He can barely talk to me.

When we arrive at school, I see his big surprise. Over the main doors to the school is a huge banner reading,
Genie Lowry, I Love You ~ Pete.

“Aww. That's so sweet. Thanks.” I give him a hug. “Love you too.”

When we walk in, all of the kids are smiling at me. I guess they all thought his banner was cute, too. But then I get to my locker and it's blinged out with crystals studding the exterior, spelling out my name.

“Whoa!” I say. “That's — something else.”

“Only the best for you. I love you so much.”

“Wow.” I'm kind of speechless. Then he grabs my arm and points at the ceiling. I look up, and somehow he's managed to print and hang little signs with one word each, reading:

Genie

you

are

my

wish

come

true.

Will

you

go

to

prom

with

me?

I clap my hands. “Yes,” I answer to the hoots and cheers of the kids gathered around. I throw my arms around him and let go of any residual anger and confusion.

“I know it's still months away, babe,” Pete says, “but I wanted you to know I want to be with you forever. Starting with a magical prom night. I promise I'm going to make it the best night of your life.”

I'm counting on it, and so is my genie power. Little does Pete know he's going to be my first master, and soon I'll be making more of his wishes come true.

What then is freedom? The power to live as one wishes. — Cicero

For our three-month anniversary, on March tenth, Pete promises he'll make up to me our disastrous Valentine's Day date. This time, he reveals what we'll be doing — not dinner and a movie, as I had expected, but
just dinner
. However, he makes a point of telling me I won't be home until late, which starts me wondering what kind of dinner could go on for so many hours.

I am delighted and surprised when we arrive at a dinner theater famous throughout our region, known for having yummy food as well as good performances. The theater is showing
Annie, Get Your Gun
— it's one of my favorites, which I first saw with my grandparents when I was a kid.

We are shown to our seats in the center of the theater, already crowded with an audience of older folks. The waitress takes our drink orders. When she leaves, I reach over and give Pete a hug. “This is awesome! You're so thoughtful.” I find it endearing that he would indulge my deep love of Broadway, although he is not a fan.

He again apologizes for Valentine's Day, leaning over to give me a kiss. “Don't you know, without ‘u' there's no us?”

I smile — it's a sweet thing to say, even if not original. He runs a finger along my cheek and traces my lips before giving me another kiss. “I love to see you smile, babe.”

“Aw, thanks.” I start examining my menu to select my entree, but Pete grabs and closes it.

“Let me order for you, mademoiselle
,
” he says.

“You're so old-fashioned,” I tell him, but I'm teasing. I kind of like having him take care of me.

When the waitress returns with our drinks, Pete is ready to place our order. “The steak tips and mashed potatoes for me, please, and a garden salad for the lady.”

“No way! I'm hungry!” I tell him.

He just gives me a look. “What else is there for a vegetarian? French fries?”

Well, there is a yummy-looking pasta alfredo on the menu, but I'm embarrassed in front of the waitress, and not ready to make a scene, so I acquiesce. After she leaves, though, I whisper, “I'm going to need more than a salad.”

“No, you don't. I can tell you've been hitting the post-Valentine's Day candy sales. Your clothes are fitting more tightly, right?” he counters.

I flush because he is right. The time I've been devoting to Pete has taken my attention away from my homework, and I've been staying up late to make up for it. Several empty red, white, and pink chocolate candy bags are sitting in my garbage can now — I've been plowing through my de facto
energy beans
when it's too late for coffee. I've always been athletic and able to eat pretty much whatever I wanted, and I hadn't been paying attention to any difference in my body. I'm ashamed to learn he could tell before I could.

Guilty, I change the subject to something innocuous. We talk about the last swim meet of the season, taking place tomorrow morning. It's the state finals, and I have qualified as the sixth-seed in the 200 Backstroke and the tenth-seed in the 200 Individual Medley, both my best placements in my swimming career. Pete has promised he'll come see me.

My smile stays on throughout the meal, though when the lights dim and the show begins, I feel my face drop and I blink hard to keep the tears away. In the back of my mind, I am miserable, replaying Pete's comment about my weight. I sit through the musical, so distracted I almost miss my favorite song of the show, “Anything You Can Do.” It cheers me slightly, but I find myself envying Annie's confidence and ability to stand up for herself. Anytime Pete glances over, I make sure to grin at him, so he doesn't suspect I'm not enjoying myself.