As You Wish

So continuing on the family tradition of ignoring things we didn't want to address, I swiped the brochure off the counter and put it in the pile of "important papers" I knew I'd never get around to filing and promptly forgot about it.

But that had been ages ago. So long ago that I'd still been receiving the fucking caregiver benefit that ran out way too soon.

And Ethan still wasn't better.

"Dad?" he murmured again, almost asleep. "I wanna go to Spain."

I nodded slowly, staring at the gold-tinged shadows on his bedroom wall.

"As you wish, bud."

3 - Noreen

Pushing the door open with my back, I walked into the office with coffee in one hand and a bag of Timbits in the other. The bag had two boxes of the deep fried bits of doughy hell. I had no idea why my colleagues craved them, but they did and today was definitely a day to get on their good side.

"Girl, what have you got for us?"

I tried not to just stare at her. That was definitely one thing I wouldn't miss. Kennedy always sounded as if she was part of a sitcom. A bad sitcom. And I knew for a fact that her birth name wasn't Kennedy. Sighing, I plopped the bag down on the desk.

"Brought in some Timbits. Enough for everyone. Can you tell Misha I need to grab her for about an hour today? Any time is fine."

"You know I will."

Shaking my head, I made my way to my office. I couldn't deal with Kennedy.

Putting my coffee down, I opened the laptop and looked around, taking an inventory and making snap judgements about what I'd take and what I'd leave. Diving into some spreadsheets, I started doing everything I'd been pushing off until the end of the month. I wasn't just keeping busy. I wasn't avoiding the file next to my coffee. Things legit needed to get done.

I worked for an hour before reaching for the coffee. It was tepid, which was fitting. Putting it down again, I glanced at the folder. Ignoring it wouldn't make it go away. Neatly written along the side was her name, date of birth, and gender. Carli Clarance was my last client. I know, client sounds so impersonal. They needed a better term, but what are you going to do? It didn't slip by me that I'd already started thinking of the foundation as 'they' instead of 'we'.

Pushing the laptop away, I grabbed the folder and indulged in some pain shopping. The top sheet was a checklist. We had a protocol when a client passes. Send one of our custom condolence cards. Send a fruit basket. Reach out to the designated family member with a list of resources. Note date of services. Arrange for representation at services. Note status of any ongoing projects. Start memorial package if appropriate.

It was all way too much. All of it was too much. The fucking office was too much.

"You will not believe what Misha is wearing today. That girl clearly shops--"

Looking up, I saw Kennedy at the door to my office. "Close the door."

She stepped in.

"With you on the outside, Kennedy."

"Look, if you don't want me here, just say so."

"I just did. Close the fucking door."

She stood there with her mouth open like that stupid singing trout people hung on their wall.

"Close. The. Door."

She did. I flipped to the next page of the file and saw a picture of me holding Carli's hand at the premier of an animated movie. Leaning back in the chair, I stared at the ceiling and hated the choked-off noise I made as my closed eyes refused to hold back the tears.

I couldn't go through this again. It was killing me and I just had nothing left.

Time was as thick and turgid as syrup in winter, and every minute took weeks to pass. Pulling myself together, I closed the file and got back to work on the spreadsheets. I usually had one client that I handled directly, several others that I oversaw, and I took care of training and everything needed by volunteers.

Double checking sizes, I put in an order for long sleeve t-shirts with our logo. My phone rang when I was about to move on to the next project on my checklist. It was Misha.

"I heard we need to talk. Want to grab lunch?"

"Sure. Give me ten minutes?"

"Fine. I'll meet you out front."

Hitting the bathroom, I dropped in some Visine, touched up my makeup and headed out. We took Misha's car.

"I heard a crazy story about some lunatic yelling at Kennedy this morning."

"Subtle, Misha. Very subtle. Yeah, I wasn't in a place to deal with Kennedy and everything she brings to the table."

"Problems at home?"

"Actually, no. Let's wait 'till we have some food."

We went to Mucho Burrito and both got a burrito salad bowl.

"Okay, Noreen. Spill. What's going on?"

I paused, searching for words. "You know how much I love the job and everyone at the office and I appreciate the opportunity... Um, so... I need to move on. I'm... Look, this is hard. Explaining it, I mean. I just can't do it anymore. It's destroying me. I have to get out while there's still some of me left. Am I making any sense? I put in my time. It's just too much."

She was quiet and took a sip of her lemonade. "What about some time off? I know that Carli... Well, everything was difficult. You were more involved and we've been giving you too many of the rough cases for the past year. That wasn't fair to you. Why don't you take a couple of weeks off? We have a new case, a little boy. Get the ball rolling on that and then take some time for yourself."

Sighing, I looked down while shaking my head. "I'm sorry. This wasn't a negotiation or even a conversation. I'll have my resignation on your desk by four. I'm proud of what we've done, what you've taught me and the families we've helped, but it's changing who I am. Seven kids in four years. Seven funerals, Misha. I'm done."

She nodded sadly and raised her eyebrows. "So, what do I have? The traditional two-week notice? Can you stretch it to three? One week to bring someone in, two weeks to train them?"

I didn't have the heart to tell her I'd been hoping that I'd be gone by five that evening. "Let's call it two, but I'll see if I can stretch it a few days."

"Thanks. I'll get you the info on that little boy and we'll get the ball rolling. Michael can pick up the slack on the other stuff on your agenda. I'll take the wrap-up with Carli's family myself."

Letting out a slow breath, I felt lighter and free somehow. "Thanks. And I am sorry, really."

On the way out, I got another salad bowl for Kennedy. She was a little annoying, but she cared and was a hard worker. Getting back into the car, I thought about what I'd need to prep for the new child.

"Tell me about the little boy. How old is he? What does he like?"

"Seven, and he loves pirates. It's not... He's not terminal. He's going through chemo, but there's really only the father and son. The mother's side of the family is out of the picture and aside from the dad, there's only the boy's paternal grandparents. We're just basic support and putting a smile on his face. Maybe some toys, find something he'd love to do or experience, make it happen and we're out."

I smiled. "Okay, you can stop the hard-sell. Two weeks, maybe a little more."

4 - Jeremy

I'd been nervous all morning.

That was a lie. I'd been nervous since the day I'd asked Ethan's oncologist to submit a request to the Wish Mission, but it had worsened only a few days later when I got the call back that he'd been accepted.

Days.

Not weeks, like I'd thought. Not a month. Within days of submitting the request, I'd gotten a call from a woman named Misha to set up a meeting with one of their Wish-Granters. That kind of turnaround should have been impressive, but all it did was remind me they worked with kids on a time limit, so they probably had to be fast.

But the moment I saw her, those nerves disappeared.

"Well, look at you! You must be Ethan."

"Yes, Miss," Ethan said politely, extending his hand. "Nice to meet you. I like your shoes."

The woman looked pleasantly stunned as she crouched slightly to shake his hand, glancing at me with one of those looks that was meant to make me feel good about my parenting abilities and it absolutely, one hundred percent did. Though, some of that good feeling might have been because she was delightfully pretty. She seemed to be a few years younger than me, with perfectly styled curls that fell softly against her shoulders and an impeccably stylish outfit that wouldn't have been out of place on Sex and the City or something.

"What a charmer," she said, half-hiding a smile before turning back to Ethan. "Thank you, handsome. Welcome to the Wish Mission."

I almost laughed as that familiar bashful smirk crossed his face, the kind a guy gets after a pretty woman compliments him. Ethan had always been a charming kid, but I'd never seen him react like that. Just my luck that his first crush would be on the Wish Mission lady.

"And you must be Ethan's dad," she said, straightening back up. "Mr. Whitlock?"

"Just Jeremy, please," I said, taking my turn to shake her delightfully soft hand. My kid seemed to have good taste.

"Jeremy," she repeated. "It's fantastic to meet you."

"Thanks for getting us in so quickly," I said.

"Oh, it was no problem at all," she said cheerfully. "I know everyone was absolutely dying to meet our new friend Ethan here!"

She realized what she'd said before I did, her eyes widening and her mouth dropping open so that she looked like a fish, though she was still a pretty good-looking fish. Ethan didn't seem to notice the slip-up, thankfully, and I tried to pull the old family tradition of "pretending I hadn't heard that" by chuckling loudly.

"Well, I'm looking forward to working with you," I said. "Are you our, uh... Wish-Granter?"

"Oh, no, I'm--"

"That would be me."

The woman cringed visibly, glancing behind me. I turned to see another very pretty woman, this one with dark, pin-straight hair and a sharp-looking skirt-suit. Her heels clicked dully against the standard-issue grey carpet as she walked towards us. As she glanced at the first woman with a look that showed she very much had heard the slip-up about people dying to meet the dying kids, I felt all those nerves return.

"Thank you, Kennedy," she said flatly. "I'll take it from here."

"Sure," Kennedy said, so brightly that it was obviously fake. "It was very nice to meet you, Ethan. I'm sure we'll see you around!"

"I hope so," Ethan said, sounding almost disappointed.

Kennedy smiled encouragingly at me, then made her way towards the reception desk. The other woman ignored me, looking directly at Ethan.

"My name is Noreen. I'll be your Wish-Granter. Let's head to my office."

Without waiting for a response, she turned on one heel and started down the hallway, leaving me to take Ethan's hand and follow her.

The Wish Mission offices didn't look like traditional offices. The lighting was soft and warm, and there were plants and cheerful paintings everywhere. There were toys strewn across the waiting room and cozy chairs in both adult and children's sizes, not those standard waiting room chairs that made every minute feel like an hour. Kennedy's desk was tucked into a veritable jungle of plants. It was a welcoming place, a warm place, a place that did everything it could to feel calming and hopeful.

And then we walked into Noreen's office.

The fact that her office was chilly just added to the coldness of the room. The walls were bare and the shelves behind her desk were void of any personal touches, showcasing only a few unmarked binders and a file holder. No pictures sat on her desk and if it wasn't for the little gold nameplate, I would have thought maybe it was just a spare office that she was using temporarily.

She seemed to go through the motions automatically. There was a basket of goodies on her desk for Ethan that she handed to him: a t-shirt that was too big, a water bottle, a stuffed animal, and some other generic stuff he was way too excited about. I watched as she smiled robotically, helping him unpack the basket and adjust the baseball cap with Wish Mission branding on the front.

Something about her was off. I wasn't sure what it was, but it made it hard to look away. She was both intriguing and cut off, as interesting as she was guarded, which seemed strange for someone whose job was to make dreams come true. I mean, you'd think doing stuff like that would be fun. Or at least rewarding.

"So," she said after decking Ethan out in Wish Mission swag and we had settled in the standard-issue waiting room chairs in front of her desk. "Let's talk about your wish, Ethan. I heard you like pirates."

"Uh-huh. Pirates and horses. And Spain."

"Pirates and horses," she repeated, opening up a file in front of her. "That's pretty interesting. What do you like about horses?"

"Um, they're cool," he said. "Have you ever seen a horse?"

It surprised me to see that Noreen was capable of smiling genuinely.

"I have," she said. "They're very cool. Have you ever ridden a horse before?"

Ethan looked at me questioningly. I raised my eyebrows.

"Dad?" he asked.

"What, buddy?"

He glanced at Noreen, then back at me. "I... I dunno."

"I think you'd remember if you'd ridden a horse," Noreen said kindly.

He bit his lip. "Well... okay, yeah, I have."

"Have you?" I asked in surprise. I knew for a fact that he'd never been on a horse before, since I hated the damn things.

"Yeah," he said confidently. "At the mall."

"The mall?" Noreen repeated, frowning.

"Uh-huh. It was purple." He looked at me imploringly. "Dad, remember? It played that song you hate. The weasel one."

"Oh, right," I said. "But, uh, she means like an actual horse, buddy. Not the kiddie rides."

"Oh." He looked back at Noreen. "Nope. I only ride imaginary horses."

She looked amused. "I see. So is your wish to ride a real horse?"

"Um, maybe," he said uncertainly. "Do I still get to see the pirates?"

She made a note in her file. "I'm sure we can meet some pirates as well. Is there anyone other than your dad that you'd want to go horseback riding with?"

"Wait," I said. "His wish wasn't to go horseback riding."

She ignored me again, looking directly at Ethan. "It's not?"

"Well, sort of?" he said, confused. "I... I don't not want to go horseback riding. But I wanted to see where Spike is from."

"Who's Spike?" she asked.

Ethan lifted the toy dog he'd been clutching to his chest. "This is the Dread Pirate Spike."

Noreen smiled again. "I'm sure we could arrange a visit to a toy factory instead, if that's what you'd like."

"But he's from Spain," Ethan said.

"Well, it wouldn't necessarily be the same toy factory, but--"

"I think there's been a miscommunication," I interrupted loudly. "Ethan's wish was to--"

"We like to discuss the options for wishes with the child, Mr. Whitlock," Noreen said, finally looking at me.

"It's Jeremy," I said steadily. "And this doesn't seem to be much of a discussion. You haven't asked him what his wish is. You're assuming that's what he wants."

"And you know what they say about when you assume," Ethan said excitedly.

Oh, fuck.

"Uh, bud, now's not the best--"

"It makes an ass out of 'you' and 'me'!" he finished, giggling with the loud-and-proud delight that a seven-year-old takes from being able to say a curse word.

Noreen did not giggle.

"I see," she said. "I appreciate your concern, but my job is to make sure Ethan gets the wish he wants. Not what he thinks other people want him to want."

I resented the implication. I understood it, sure. There were assholes everywhere and there were for sure people who had used their sick kid to take advantage of places like the Wish Mission so Mom and Dad could get a free trip to Hawaii or something.

But I wasn't one of those assholes.

"So maybe you should ask him what he wants," I said carefully. "Instead of trying to tell him what he wants."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop again as Noreen stared at me coldly. "Maybe you should let me do my job, Mr. Whitlock."

"You're trying to tell him he wants to go horseback riding when he wants to go to Spain and see pirates."

"Yeah!" Ethan said enthusiastically. "And the Six-Fingered Llama!"

She froze, then glanced down at the file. "A trip?"

"Um, yeah," I said. "To Spain. That's what... that's what was on his request form."

She was silent, flipping from one page to the next as she studied the file.

"No one said anything about arranging a trip," she muttered.

I felt my son's dejection before he even spoke.

"Oh," he said. "Okay. Well, we don't have to go to Spain. I mean, the horses... the horses might still be cool."

And that fucking killed me, hearing him say that. A kid--my kid--going through the worst shit of his life, who was supposed to be getting a wish that made that shit just a tiny bit more bearable, saying he'd settle for what would make life easier for some lady from a foundation whose job it was to make that shit happen.

Horseback riding. I didn't need the Wish Mission to do that.

"I think this has been a mistake," I said, standing up. "Come on, Ethan. We're gonna go. I'll take you horseback riding myself."

5 - Noreen

"No, wait..."

I kept flipping through pages, looking at both sides of the paper as he took his son's hand and walked out. Anger at Kennedy worked. It was easier to blame her than myself. She had almost no responsibility and all she truly had to do, aside from being a glorified gofer, was to fill out the paperwork for initial meetings. Not only did I not have anything about Spain, but our insurance was beyond slow for approving anything out of the country.

But that wasn't entirely reasonable. The fact was that I should have been more invested, more professional. It was another reason I had to leave. I'd been sleeping ten or eleven hours a night, my mind kept missing details and irrational anger had been creeping into my life. I was burnt out.

But the core truth remained that regardless of what was going on, it wasn't Ethan's fault.

Hearing the 'ding' of the front door, I jumped out of my chair, glaring at Kennedy as I passed her. Finding them heading to their car, I called out.

"Ethan! Have you heard of Andalusian horses?"

His father turned with a look that almost put me on my heels, but I concentrated on the little boy.

"What?"

"Andalusian horses. I think I know where I can find some. Do you know where they're from? Spain. They're fast and strong and perfect for..." Squatting down, I almost whispered. "Pirates."

"Pirates have ships."

"True, but they have to land, right? And, I don't know, get food? Get together with other pirates in secret meetings? Spend time with their girlfriends? Bury treasure?"

He looked to the side. I got the distinct impression that he was humouring me. "I guess."

"Can you do me a big favour? Can you wait in the car for two seconds while I talk to your dad?"

"Okay. Thanks for the hat."

Forcing a smile, I looked at the baseball cap with our logo that he was wearing. "You're more than welcome, Ethan. It'll just be two minutes."

Taking a deep breath, I stood and looked at Mr. Whitlock. He had a strained smile and gently clasped Ethan's shoulder.

"Go ahead, bud. It's unlocked. I'll be right there."

We both watched him get into the nearby truck. When I'd started here years ago, I'd lost weight I couldn't afford to lose just from the guilt I'd feel seeing children that were too thin. That was gone, and I desperately needed it back. When the children became an accumulation of boxes to check, when I stopped being affected by their weight or how wan they looked, it was time to go.