New Fic-Wishful thinking -9

I had just dumped the entire ice cream, syrup and whipped-cream mess in the industrial-depth sink when my father came back to the kitchen. I tried to pretend that I wasn't crying, but he knew me too well.

Silently, he tore off a length of paper towel and passed it to me. I continued lying to myself, pretending that the sound of running water could drown out my sobs. Ever the good father, Dad didn't contradict me. Instead, he waited until I was ready to wipe my eyes, to blow my nose, to return to some semblance of normalcy.

"Dad?" I croaked like a dying frog.

"Hmm?" He busied himself with setting up his cooking station, laying out plates, checking the temperature of the fat in the fryer.

"What did you use your wishes for?"

Aha! Jaze's magic didn't keep me from asking my father about the genie. He was already in on the secret.

Dad topped off a massive pepper grinder, taking a long time to screw the gadget back together. When he finally looked at me, his jaw was set, stubborn with the same determination I'd often seen in my own mirror. "Some things should be kept private, Kelly."

I thought about my mother, halfway across the country after she'd discovered that she preferred living on an Oregon commune to raising four girls in Minnesota. I thought about my younger sisters, making their own ways through the jungle of the Twin Cities theater scene.

When had Dad made his wishes? How long had he kept Jaze's lamp a secret, waiting to pass it on to me? Years? Months? Only a few days?

I sighed and fished my notepad out of my apron. I might as well see if we had any customers. Dad wasn't going to say anything more about our genie.

But I was wrong.

"If I had one wish left…" He sighed.

I whirled to face him before he could let the thought drift away. "Yes?" I prompted.

"I didn't get around to asking for help with the restaurant. Business was fine, back when I was making wishes—I never thought about asking Jaze for help here. But now, with the economy the way it is… I worry about staying open. And I worry about keeping jobs available for all you actors around town."

"Oh, Dad," I said, giving him a quick hug. He'd always had a soft spot for us idiots foolish enough to pursue theater as a career. Nearly all of my acting friends had survived on a Mephisto paycheck at one point or another.

He sighed and flashed me his famous devilish grin. "So, how many wishes do you have left?" He obviously wanted to change the subject.

I glanced at the door to the dining room, knowing that Rob was waiting out there. Rob, who had taken the brunt of my first ill-planned wish.

"Three," I said with firm resolve. "But I think I know what to ask for next."