Eden's Wish

by M. Tara Crowl

  Some wishers asked for fame, not knowing that fame brings hatred more often than love. Many wanted intelligence, athletic prowess, or musical talent. These were the wishes that ended up in the course guide. But eventually those wishers learned that running a world-record mile or producing a number-one album doesn’t guarantee happiness. Often it makes it more elusive.

  Another common request was love. Eden couldn’t think of anything more pathetic. There were over seven billion people on Earth. Anyone who couldn’t find love on her or his own must be either socially incompetent or totally lazy.

  Every now and then someone wished to help another person, but that was rare. In Eden’s experience, those wishes weren’t at the front of mortals’ minds. A boy who’d summoned her in Latvia had wished for his wheelchair-bound grandfather to walk, and the woman in Usson had wished for a cure for her baby’s colic. But those were the only ones she’d encountered. Almost without fail, mortals’ wishes were for themselves.

  “Where should we start?” Sasha said. “Eden, what do you think?” They’d left the beach, gone down the boardwalk past the roller coaster, and were strolling down a quiet sidewalk.

  “Think about what makes you happy,” Eden said distractedly. Her first sunset was tinting the sky with soft shades of magic, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

  “Winning,” Sasha said promptly. She kicked a stray soccer ball that had drifted their way from a nearby group of kids.

  “The ocean,” said Tyler.

  “Getting good grades. Succeeding.”

  “Surfing. Listening to music.”

  “New shoes.”

  “New boards. Hey,” Tyler said. “I never found my board. We could ask for a new one.”

  “We can’t just ask for a new board,” Sasha said. She shifted her bag to the other shoulder. “We can do way better than that.”

  “Are you guys seeing this sunset?” Eden said. “It’s unbelievable.”

  Tyler and Sasha looked toward the horizon like they’d never noticed it before.

  “Sure, I guess,” Sasha said. “If you like that kind of thing.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Tyler said. “We could wish to travel.”

  “Yes,” Sasha agreed.

  “How’s Sweden this time of year?”

  “Here is way better than Sweden,” Eden answered quickly.

  “Really?” He shrugged. “It’d be cool to see it, anyway.”

  “Anywhere that’s not here would be cool.” Sasha sighed. “I need a new scene.”

  “We could go somewhere with amazing beaches. Like Hawaii, or Bali.” Tyler grinned. “All I’d do is surf and lie on the sand. Nothing to worry about, nothing to get you down.”

  “Too secluded for me,” Sasha said. “I’d want to go to a city. Somewhere like London, or Paris, or New York, where I could meet lots of interesting new people. Here, everyone’s the same.”

  “Wait a second,” Eden interrupted. “You live in America, but you’ve never been to New York?”

  “We’ve never even left California,” Tyler said.

  “Why not?” This was the type of thing that frustrated her about mortals. Why did they take the world’s wideness and greatness for granted?

  “Can’t afford it.” Tyler smiled. Eden couldn’t think of a response. Now that he’d mentioned it, she supposed you would need money for food and shelter while traveling. She was starting to understand why mortals were so quick to wish for it.

  Abruptly, he stopped and turned around.

  “What are you doing?” Sasha asked.

  “I swear I keep hearing someone behind us, but every time I look there’s no one there.”

  “Spooky,” Sasha said sarcastically, rolling her eyes at Eden. “You know, we live in a free country. People are allowed to walk behind you.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Tyler rejoined them—but after a few steps he stopped again and held his hands out, palms to the sky. “You feel that?”

  “What are you imagining now?” Sasha teased.

  Tyler caught Eden’s eye and smiled. “This time it’s real.” His teeth were a little bit crooked, like they’d escaped from their places when no one was looking and then rushed to resume them.

  Eden shivered. She was starting to feel what he was feeling: fine drops of water landing on her head and shoulders. “Rain,” she said softly, smiling back. It was the first rainfall of her life.

  “Here we are,” Sasha announced.

  They’d arrived at a massive four-story stucco building. It was bigger than some of the mansions Eden had granted wishers. Her jaw dropped. “This is your house?”

  Sasha laughed. “This is an apartment complex. We live in one of these apartments.”

  Eden felt her cheeks flush. “Right,” she muttered. She followed them through the parking lot. They reached one of the doors, and Tyler pulled a key out from under the welcome mat.

  “Home sweet home,” Sasha said as the door swung open.

  The room they stepped into was dull, dreary, and full of junk. A dust-colored sofa and recliner were home to a collection of unopened mail, surf magazines, catalogs, and clothes. Empty glasses and plastic bottles crowded next to one another on a coffee table. There was no art on the bland white walls, no décor, no other furniture in the room except a large flat-screen TV. Eden thought of the lamp’s sitting room, with its polished hardwood floor and plush armchairs. In terms of style and comfort, she had to admit it was a step up from this. Still, the mellow hues of twilight streamed through a glass pane on the front wall. You couldn’t beat the view through a bona fide window.

  “Sorry it’s such a mess,” Tyler said. “It’s not usually like this.”

  “Yes it is!” Sasha laughed. She walked through a door into the kitchen. It was a disaster too. The tile floor was dingy, the sink overflowed with dirty dishes, and the trash can was so stuffed with rubbish, its lid was propped open, its contents on display.

  At the square kitchen table sat a thin, mournful man with sloppy salt-and-pepper hair. He didn’t even look up from the newspaper in his hands.

  “What’s up, Dad?” Sasha said. The man’s eyes, weighed down by enormous bags, flitted up at them momentarily. “This is Eden,” she continued. “She’s going to spend the night.”

  The man murmured in acknowledgment but offered nothing more. Sasha motioned with her head for Eden to follow her out.

  “Sorry about him,” she said as she led Eden down a short hall. “He’s—”

  “He’s fine,” said Tyler defensively. “Just tired and overworked.”

  “Anyway,” Sasha said, “our room.” She opened a door at the end of the hall to a bedroom bisected by a thick white curtain. Unlike the other rooms in the apartment, this one had personality—rather, two personalities.

  On the right side, a rumpled blue-and-red plaid cover was splayed across the unmade bed. Above it was a poster of a girl on a surfboard with a perfect wave arching above her. Sneakers and clothes were scattered all over the floor.

  On the other wall were framed photos of girls in matching uniforms that Eden supposed were for sports teams. Trophies competed for space on a high wooden dresser, but in front of them all was a framed photo of a pretty woman with high cheekbones holding a baby in one arm, with a toddler-size Tyler on her lap. The photographer had captured her mid-laugh, so lines of happiness creased the corners of her eyes.

  On the other side of the curtain, the left half of the room was immaculate. The precisely made bed was covered with a wrinkle-free slate-gray comforter. A black-and-white poster of a rock star hung over it. Eden recognized him; he was a prominent figure in American pop culture who’d found the lamp and summoned Cadence in 1988. Unfortunately, he was the victim of a foolishly worded wish. He’d gotten his place in history, but had died before the age of thirty. His name was Kurt Cobain.

  Hanging on the wall across from the bed were four wooden boards, about thirty inches long by eight inches wide, covered in hand-painted designs. Another board, just li
ke them but fitted with four small wheels on the bottom, leaned against the corner.

  On the wall alongside the bed hung two framed photos. One was of Sasha, barefoot and radiant, sitting on a car trunk eating an ice cream cone. The other was of Tyler, Cameron, and Devin, standing on a bench on the boardwalk with their hands on their hips.

  Including both sides of the curtain, the room was smaller than Eden’s closet. Her wardrobe wouldn’t even have fit inside.

  Sasha pulled the lamp out of her beach bag and dropped the bag on the floor. She handed Eden a T-shirt and shorts. “Put these on,” she instructed. “We’ll go make dinner.”

  In the kitchen, Tyler and Sasha assembled a smorgasbord of junk food extracted from colorful packages. They cleared space to sprawl on the sofa and shoved aside cups on the coffee table to make room for their feast. Sasha set the lamp atop a tall stack of magazines. Their dad had retreated to his room, so they were free to discuss things openly, though Eden wondered if he’d even have noticed if he were still there.

  She reached into the red bag and pulled out one of the chips. “Wow,” she said as she chewed it. “These are really cheesy.”

  “You don’t have Doritos in Sweden?” Tyler asked.

  “Duh. They eat meatballs,” Sasha said. “Right?”

  “Among other things.” Eden took a sip from the red can they’d handed her. Coca-Cola, the side read in cursive. The sweet, fizzy drink burned her throat when she swallowed. She blinked back tears, and her eyes landed on the flat-screen. “Can we turn on the TV?”

  Tyler pushed a button on the remote control and the screen lit up. A middle-aged woman with teased hair and shiny skin was ballroom dancing with a man half her age. He leaned her into a low dip.

  “Nope,” Tyler said, pressing another button.

  Sasha reached across Eden to try to take the remote from him. “I like that show!”

  “No chance,” he said. Eden watched, transfixed, as the screen flitted from the dancers to a close-up of a blue macaw to a bride in a wedding gown sprinting across a grass lawn. What were all these programs? Xavier had covered television briefly and dismissively, calling it “the ultimate showcase of human depravity.” Eden had only snatched glances of it on a couple grantings. She hadn’t realized it provided so many options.

  “What do you want to watch, Eden?” Sasha asked. Eden shook her head, dumbfounded by the number of images flickering across the screen. “Do you like dancing?” she went on hopefully.

  “What’s this?” Tyler had stopped on a shot of a shlubby man in a grease-stained T-shirt. He was gesturing toward a team of men shoveling hot chips down a spiral staircase.

  On a blue bar that ran across the bottom of the screen read the words Australian man cleans up ‘hot mess.’

  “What on Earth!” Sasha leaned forward on the couch.

  Darryl Dolan looked into the camera. “I’m not surprised this happened,” he said. “All my life I’ve been an unlucky man.” He picked up a handful of hot chips and shoved them in his mouth.

  Eden giggled. She wished she could tell Sasha and Tyler the whole story.

  “And now, a breaking story for those of us right here in San Diego County.” The shot changed to a man and a woman sitting behind a large desk in front of a cityscape. “President Porter has announced an unexpected trip to Southern California.” A photo of a woman with neat white hair wearing a pressed navy suit appeared on the screen. She couldn’t have been any younger than seventy, but there was still a bright spark in her eyes.

  “No way!” Sasha said. “She’s coming here?”

  Eden remembered learning about this female president. Her election was a milestone in American history.

  “After the final day of the UN Climate Summit tomorrow, the president will fly from New York to San Diego. The reason for her visit has not yet been announced.”

  “Cool,” Tyler said.

  “Cool?” Sasha repeated. “It’s amazing.” She turned to Eden. “Do you know much about President Porter?”

  “A little.”

  “In less than two years, she’s accomplished more than most presidents do in a whole term—or two.”

  “Chill out,” Tyler said, settling back with a chocolate chip cookie. He turned to Eden. “Sasha wants to be the second female president.”

  “Maybe that should be one of our wishes,” Sasha said dreamily.

  Beep!

  The noise was loud and electronic-sounding, and it was followed by a quick rustle.

  “Did you hear that?” Tyler said. He muted the TV, but no other sound followed.

  “I heard it too,” Sasha admitted. On the sofa, she hugged her legs closer.

  “It came from outside,” Tyler said, getting up and going to the window. “Not far away.”

  Eden got up too. The two of them peered through the blinds of the window.

  In the darkness, all she could make out was the hedge directly below. Besides that, nothing.

  Eden pondered that. Tyler had thought he’d heard someone before. But obviously it wasn’t Xavier—and who else would follow them?

  “Must be nothing,” Tyler said—but he didn’t sound convinced.

  “Oh my gosh.” Sasha’s eyes had grown big. “Tyler. How did we not think of this before?”

  “Think of what?” Tyler said without turning around. He was peeking through the blinds again, still preoccupied by whatever was outside the window.

  “What we can wish for! Tyler, think about it!”

  He turned around and faced her. It was almost as if Eden could see their minds align.

  “Mom,” he said in a whisper.

  Sasha nodded emphatically.

  “Oh my God. Okay.” He sat on the couch next to her, grabbed the lamp, and closed his eyes.

  “Wait,” Eden said, still standing in front of them. She was desperate to delay him. Her time on Earth was slipping away as quickly as sand through fingers. “Don’t you think—”

  “I wish our mom was still alive!” Tyler said breathlessly.

  Eden’s heart sank like a stone in water. It was not a wish she’d expected.

  Tyler opened his eyes, and both of them stared at the lamp in anticipation. Sasha was squeezing Tyler’s forearm so tightly her fingertips were white.

  Eden swallowed. The second rule had saved her. Tyler had made an ungrantable wish. But of course, they didn’t know that. As Eden’s heart rate returned to normal, Tyler and Sasha waited in tense silence for about thirty seconds.

  Finally, Sasha spoke softly. “Ty, I don’t think it worked.”

  “I should have known!” Tyler punched the sofa cushion beside him. He blinked several times, and his jaw muscle pulsed.

  Sasha watched him worriedly. “Ty—” she began, but he jumped up and bolted down the hall. Sasha got up and ran after him.

  Eden had denied wishes of resurrecting loved ones before, but she’d never known the wishers well enough to wonder what the people had meant to them. She’d never had a reason to care. As she sat alone on the dust-colored couch, she realized that in the past few hours, that had changed. The emotion that had flashed across Tyler’s face was a lot like Sasha’s when her ankle was sprained. But this time Eden couldn’t fix it.

  Eden could hear murmurs of them talking from the bedroom. She’d been hit by a strange affliction of her own: she was jealous. Whatever they were feeling, they were feeling it together. They shared a bond she’d never known—and never could know as long as she was a genie.

  Eden looked at the lamp, sitting on a stack of magazines. Xavier and Goldie would have seen the whole exchange through the telescope. They were probably livid. As a genie, it was her duty to tell Tyler his wish hadn’t come true because of the second rule’s restriction. But she hadn’t told them about the rules. They didn’t even know she was one with the power to grant their wishes.

  She was violating more and more of the lamp’s rules. If she ever went back, she was going to get an epic scolding—and Xavier would probably make her w
rite a book about all the things she’d done wrong.

  Sasha crept back into the living room.

  “Sorry about that,” she said, sitting next to Eden. Her eyes were pink and puffy.

  “That’s okay,” Eden said.

  They sat in silence for a moment. Then:

  “She died eight months ago. Last year on Christmas Eve.”

  Goose bumps rose on Eden’s arms. That wasn’t long ago at all.

  “She wasn’t sick when we were little. They only diagnosed it a year before that.” She shook her head. “She used to tell us stories,” she said. “Fairy tales. With monsters, mermaids, fairies, wizards. Genies.” Eden had to look away.

  “I guess she’d make them up as she went. I never heard those stories anywhere else.” Sasha frowned. “But all that changed when she got sick. She got…mean. Tired. She didn’t want to see us. She looked different. She got treatments, and her hair fell out…” Her voice broke, and she stopped talking.

  Eden opened her mouth to say something…but she didn’t know what, or even where to begin.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get into all this,” Sasha said, rubbing her eyes. “I never talk about it. We never do. Me and Tyler. Dad. I mean, you met my dad. He’s so out of it, it’s almost like we lost him too.”

  It was true: Mr. Rockwell seemed…well, sort of half-there. In the kitchen he’d had the energy of a statue. It was almost like he wasn’t sure he wanted to be alive. She wondered what he would have wished for if they’d met under normal circumstances.

  Eden had never been around people who’d dealt with this death stuff before. Before coming to Earth, she’d never expected to. Mortality was a messy mystery she did not care to explore.

  But when she thought about it, she supposed a lot of mortals would know other mortals who had stopped living. She thought about her wishers. Had the Frenchwoman on the farm ever known someone who’d died? The Brazilian girl, Jade? The old man in Jamaica? Hot chips–loving Darryl?