She was just putting the finishing touched on her own private toxic waste dump when she heard an excited yipyipyip and looked up. Nana’s yard was separated by a chain link fence from the nearest neighbor, an elderly gentleman named Mister Clausen who bred toy poodles. He usually had anywhere from ten to twenty animals on the premises, depending on their breeding cycles, so Phil wasn’t completely surprised to see six or seven little bundles of fluff with beady black eyes staring back at her from across the fence. Three or four of them—probably the males—were sniffing the air and pawing at the fence excitedly.
“No, guys—this isn’t for you,” Phil told the eager poodles. Maybe she should have found a better place to bury the potion. Then again, the flower garden was separated from the neighbor’s yard by a fence. For good measure she piled more dirt on the spot where the potion was buried and packed it down with the flat of the trowel. There.
“H’lo, Philomena. Long time no see, as I believe they say these days.”
Phil looked up to see Mister Clausen himself smiling down at her from across the chain link fence. He had kindly blue eyes surrounded by a net of wrinkles and a comical shock of hair as white as his poodles’ coats.
“Oh, hello, Mister Clausen.” Phil tried to smile. “Yes, in the past few years I haven’t gotten over here as much as I’d like to. Not since I moved in with my fiancé, actually.” She hoped he wasn’t able to smell the potion she’d just buried. She didn’t think she could handle it if Nana’s kindly old neighbor climbed the fence and started humping her leg. “You seem to have a good batch of puppies this time,” she said, indicating the fluffy, yipping poodles.
“Oh my lands yes, three litters at once, don’t ya know. I reckon if I let ‘em all out at the same time my back yard would be so full of landmines ya couldn’t see the grass.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at his lawn, already liberally dotted with poodle droppings.
“Looks like your lawn is already more brown than green,” she said before she could stop herself. “Those poodles are just little fluffy white crapping machines, aren’t they?” Oh God, she had done it again—said the first thing that came to mind. Phil wanted to sink into the ground with embarrassment but luckily, Mister Clausen just laughed.
“You about hit the nail on the head there, young lady,” he chortled, nodding his head until his fluff of white hair waved in the breeze like an oversized dandelion.
Phil decided she had better go before she said something more offensive. She made sure the saucepan was out of sight behind the zinnias. “Well, I better get going. I think that about does it for gardening today.” She put the gloves and trowel back on the bench where she had found them and dusted her hands together as though she’d just done a hard day’s work.
“Ya know, Philomena,” Mister Clausen said, still giving her that genial smile. “When I saw you out here I thought you looked like you could use a little refreshment. So I brought you this.” He reached over the waist high chain link fence and held something out to her. Phil walked closer, expecting a big glass of water or lemonade. Instead, she saw a familiar, but dreaded, sight—an éclair. It sat on the small china plate looking limp and withered. On the top of its cracked chocolate glaze sat a small curly clump of white poodle hair, like a bizarre garnish.
“Went down to the market day before yesterday and it looked so good I just had to have it,” Mister Clausen continued. “But don’t ya know, my diabetes is actin’ up just now so I can’t eat it. And when I saw you out here, somethin’ told me you’d want it.”
Phil hated éclairs anyway and this one had certainly seen better days. She made herself walk forward to take the plate, struggling to hold her tongue.
“Thank you. It looks horrible,” she blurted, before she could stop herself. “Horribly good, I mean,” she amended. “But I…I shouldn’t eat it all by myself. I should take it inside and share it with Cass and Rory.”
“Well, that’s fine then.” Mister Clausen winked at her. “You just tell that pretty little grandma of yours she can bring me back the plate whenever she’s a mind to. I’ll see ya later.” He nodded at her and called the toy poodles which bounced around his legs like animated cotton balls as he ambled back to his house.
Phil waited until the screen door had banged shut behind him and then grabbed the trowel and dug a new hole in the dirt, right beside the buried potion. She tipped the withered éclair into its grave and covered it decently, shivering in disgust as she did so. Thank goodness Mister Clausen hadn’t insisted that she take a bite. If he had, Phil honestly thought she might have been sick, right there in the zinnias.
She washed the sauce pan out with the garden hose (no way was she taking it back into the kitchen still coated in gunk) and walked back the way she had come. Cass and Rory had all the windows and the door wide open and the kitchen smelled almost normal again.
“There.” Phil dumped the pan and Mister Clausen’s éclair plate into the soapy water where Cass was washing dishes. “Mission accomplished. But don’t think that familial guilt is going to get me to do any of your other disgusting chores. Dumping that potion was bad enough to pay for missing the last four Thanksgivings and only spending half days on Christmas,” she said, washing her hands to get the last of the potion off them.
Her sisters exchanged a look. “Mouthy, isn’t she?” Cass asked Rory with a grin. “So when are you gonna get the FG to reverse that wish, Phil?”
Phil dried her hands and began digging in Nana’s ancient avocado green refrigerator for salad fixings. “I don’t know, but it has to be soon. I’ve already told everyone in my office off and earned myself an HR review for tomorrow. If I don’t get her to change it by tonight I’ll just shoot off my mouth all over again at the review and get myself fired.”
“Oh, no!” Rory put a hand to her mouth. “That’s terrible, Phil.”
“That’s not the worst, either.” Phil pulled out a head of lettuce, a cucumber, and some tomatoes. As she fixed the salad, she told her sisters about her fight with Mrs. Tessenbacker over the paper, her confrontation with the little blind pencil boy and her coworkers, and her argument with Christian.
“What?” Cass banged the pot she was scrubbing against the side of the sink. “Are you telling me that dirty rat bastard never intended to put you through law school in the first place?”
“He didn’t say that exactly.” Phil concentrated on dicing a cucumber. “He said…he said it would be a waste of money because…I wouldn’t be a good attorney.” She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “But it wasn’t so much what he said—it was the way he said it.”
“What—did he yell and scream at you?” Cass asked.
“No, he got really quiet. And he said that he was just trying to save me the pain of finding out…finding out that I don’t have what it takes.”
“What? Phil, that is so not true,” Rory objected. “You’d make a great civil rights attorney—you’re so smart. That’s just an excuse because he doesn’t want to spend the money.”
“Money he owes you,” Cass added indignantly. “You ought to sue him, Phil. Isn’t that breach of contract or something? Come on, you’re the one who wants to be a lawyer—help me out here.”
“Cass is right—you should.” Rory agreed, stirring the rice pilaf so vigorously half of it landed on the stove top.
“It’s not a matter of suing him, you guys.” Phil finished with the cucumber and grabbed a tomato. “In fact, just now on the phone he told me to apply to any law school I wanted and name the date for the wedding.” She sighed. “He just sounded so…angry when he said it. Like I was inconveniencing him, asking him to do what he’d promised. And then he got distracted again and promised that we would talk later. But that’s what he always says.”
“I never liked him.” Cass scrubbed viciously at a frying pan. She looked so mad Phil thought she would scrub a hole right through it. “He’s a controlling asshole, Phil. I say cut him loose.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been saying that fo
r the last four or five years,” Phil pointed out. “You two never got along—it’s one reason I haven’t been over here as much as I’d like to.”
“So dump him and find somebody who does get along with the family,” Rory said. “What about Josh? He’s funny and sweet and you told us he’s an IT guy so you know he’s smart.”
“And he doesn’t freak out if something a little weird happens. Like today at that retirement ranch, he was really cool, even when all those senior citizens were climbing all over Nana,” Cass pointed out.
“Josh is my best friend,” Phil said, slicing steadily. “And I don’t care how well he dealt with the Peaceful Beach situation—I still don’t want you guys freaking him out. So let’s not discuss family business at the table, all right?”
“Oh, right.” Rory nodded. “Because he can hear it.”
“Yeah, Phil, what gives?” Cass frowned and rinsed another pot. “How come he can hear us when we talk about the FG’s magic? Most non-fairies just hear buzzing or it completely escapes their attention and they start talking about something else. I didn’t feel a tingle when I shook his hand so I know he doesn’t have fairy blood.”
“I’m as surprised as you,” Phil admitted. “But that’s even more reason to watch our mouths. No mention of magic at dinner, okay?”
Rory shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”
Cass frowned. “I still say he could handle it.”
“Well what if he couldn’t?” Phil demanded. “I like him a lot. I don’t want you guys scaring him off the way you did Christian. He makes a big deal about not getting along with Cass but I’m pretty sure that’s not the only reason he refuses to come over here any more.”
“Like that time Nana wanted to make mock turtle soup but she couldn’t figure out what a mock turtle was?” Cass said, her violet eyes dancing with mischief.
“Oh, right! So she tried to conjure one up,” Rory added, beginning to grin. “But she got the recipe wrong and doubled it or something and the entire house was full of those tiny little turtles the size of your palm, crawling everywhere?”
“And Christian was sitting at the table when it happened and suddenly there was a…a turtle right on top of…of his head,” Phil gasped, beginning to laugh along with her sisters.
“And it…it…it crapped right in his hair.” Cass was laughing so hard, her pale face was flushed red. “And he started yelling and shouting and throwing turtles everywhere…”
“And there was turtle crap running down his cheek…” Rory was laughing so hard she was crying. “And he kept…kept on saying, ‘What the hell is all this?’ And…and Nana came out and said, ‘Christian, language please. It’s only mock turtle soup and it will pass.’” She imitated their grandmother’s prim tone of voice so well that Phil laughed until her stomach hurt.
“God, what a mess.” Cass blotted her eyes on the hem of her black T-shirt. “It took days to get rid of them all. For about a week afterwards I was still finding them at the bottom of my closet and swimming in the bathtub.”
“I took a bunch of them to the pet store and sold them. Kept me in fun money for a month.” Rory sounded smug.
“As I recall, that was the last family dinner Christian ever came to,” Phil said, sobering up. “He’s never admitted it but I think part of the reason he doesn’t want to come over is that he’s afraid something weird might happen at any time.”
“Well, it might,” Cass agreed. “You never can tell with this family. And that’s the point, Phil. You need to find someone who can deal with the weirdness.”
“Look.” Phil put down the knife she’d been using to chop tomatoes with a thunk. “You two act like I’m auditioning new fiancés just because Christian and I had a fight or two. But we’ve been together too long just to throw it all away. We’ve had a lot of good times—we’re just going through a rough patch right now.” Deep down she knew she wasn’t really being honest with her sisters—or herself for that matter. But she just didn’t feel like facing the truth—not after the horrendous day she’d had. “I’m telling you once and for all,” she said, pointing at Cass and Rory warningly with one finger. “Josh is just my friend and that’s all he is.”
“No, he’s also a hell of a good chef.” Josh walked into the kitchen, still wearing Nana’s frilly apron and carrying a platter of delicious looking grilled chicken breasts. “Dinner is served.” He presented Phil with the platter, making a low, comical bow but when he straightened up, she could see the hurt in his deep brown eyes.
“Josh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Hey, it’s all right.” He grinned at her, making light of the situation. “You’re perfectly right—we are just friends. And it’s not like I was about to declare my undying love or anything, Swann. Unless it’s my love of this beautiful apron.” He turned to Cass and Rory, modeling the apron with a smile. “What do you think, ladies? Could your nana be persuaded to part with this fabulous piece of clothing? ‘Cause I have to tell you, I’m thinking it’s just the thing to wear next casual Friday at the office. I’ll be the envy of the entire IT department.”
Phil watched her two sisters laughing while Josh clowned around but she had seen the expression on his face before he masked it. More than any other thing she had said since her birthday wish had come true, she wished she could take her last statement back. The last thing she’d ever want to do was hurt Josh. She felt tears rising to her eyes and choked them back down with an effort. She had to get this stupid birthday wish reversed so that every damn thing that entered her head didn’t come flying out of her mouth.
Inwardly she resolved that she wouldn’t go to bed that night before contacting her fairy godmother.
Chapter Twenty
“Fairy Godmother come for my need is dire! Fairy Godmother come for my need is dire!” Phil yanked on her earlobe for what felt like the nine millionth time and shouted the words into the cool, dark interior of her car. She was parked outside her apartment, in the same spot she’d been for the last hour.
Dinner at Nana’s house had run long, mostly because Josh had kept everybody talking. He had asked each of her sisters and her grandmother to relate their most fascinating and embarrassing ‘Phil stories,’ despite Phil’s vigorous protests. One story had led to many until her friend knew far more about her than Phil had ever wanted him to.
Cass and Rory had kept their word and only related non-magical incidents, like the time she’d stuffed her bra for school pictures in seventh grade and the tissue could be seen sticking out of the neck of her shirt in the photo. Or the time she’d tried to dye her hated sunshine blond hair red and it had turned out bright pink instead. “Bright pink and sparkly,” Rory had explained with a giggle. “Cause Phil’s hair always sparkles no matter what she does to it.”
“I’ve noticed.” Josh had said softly, smiling at her. “Not that it’s easy to see—she keeps it up all the time in that roll at the back of her neck. I keep telling her she should go with a new look—like maybe the Princess Leah cinnamon buns on the sides of the head thing. Now that’s sexy.”
“Sexy,” Cass scoffed. “Phil wouldn’t know sexy if it bit her on the ass.”
“Language, Cass,” Nana admonished.
Josh had said, “Oh, I don’t know about that.” His warm smile across the table had made Phil blush and drop her eyes, remembering the X-rated dream and the discussion they’d had earlier.
But on the whole, it had been one of the most enjoyable nights Phil could ever remember having with her family. Her nana couldn’t be prevented from telling magical stories, of course, but Josh just smiled and nodded politely. Phil got the impression that he thought her grandmother was sweet but a little eccentric, which was basically the truth.
At the end of the night, Nana had kissed Josh on the cheek and invited him back any time. Phil was glad that her best friend was such a big hit with her family but she couldn’t help wishing that her fiancé could be as well. But, she acknowledged to herself, it was probably too late for t
hat. If Christian hadn’t warmed up to her sisters and Nana by now, he probably never would. It was a shame because being with them at dinner that night reminded her how much she missed her family and she wished she could spend more time with them.
Josh had given her a ride back to the BB&D parking lot where her blue VW bug was still parked. Phil had half expected him to bring up their earlier conversation again or even try to kiss her. The look was back in his eyes—the look she couldn’t define—and he was quiet for a long time after he pulled into the empty spot by her bug. Her heart was pounding and she was wondering what to do if he leaned in. But in the end he only wished her luck on the HR review and reminded her of her promise to go swimsuit shopping with him after work. He waited to see that her car started and followed her part of the way home to make sure she was okay. And that was it.
Phil felt empty somehow—unsatisfied. As though now that they had chosen to go past the invisible line they had set for themselves, she wanted more from her friend. Not that I could have it anyway, Phil reminded herself. After all, no matter how attractive she found Josh (and she had to admit she was finding him pretty damn attractive lately) she was still engaged.
Now she was sitting in front of the apartment complex she and Christian had moved into earlier that year, yanking on her earlobe and trying to get her fairy godmother’s attention. She was determined not to go back up to the apartment until she had her birthday wish reversed. Fighting with Christian, shouting at her boss and telling off her coworkers and neighbors was one thing, but she had also made Nana cry and hurt her best friend’s feelings. Enough was enough. And there was no way she could do her HR review tomorrow if she was still like this.
Taking a deep breath, Phil yanked on her earlobe and shouted at the top of her lungs, “Fairy Godmother come, for my need is dire!”
“All right, all right. I was getting ready for my yearly vacation to Patagonia but no, you couldn’t wait. You had to call me now. So for heaven’s sake, whatever are you caterwauling about?” There was a puff of pink, choking smoke and her fairy godmother was suddenly sitting in the passenger side seat of the VW bug looking bored. “And why do you keep summoning me to this miserable, smelly little vehicle?” She passed one anorexicly thin hand over her coifed blond hair.
Wishful Thinking Page 17