Make a Wish

By Rachel Habib

Lucy Nazari hasn't exactly had the greatest luck lately. She had to drop out of film school when her father's cancer diagnosis tied up the family finances; now, she spends her day's working on the family pistachio farm, but even that might be taken away from her after a pair of EPA agents show up to ensure that the (old, weathered) farm is up to code. At least she's got BluBird96, a sexy science nerd she's been chatting up on a dating app that forbids photos... or so she thinks. BluBird96 turns out to be the worst possible woman for Lucy to fall for. Now, all she can do is try with increasing difficulty to resist this bird's siren song... and hope there's some magic left in the farm's old wishing well.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: Nov 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781094436708

Book preview

1

Lucy Nazari was halfway home, driving through a particularly boring stretch of central California desert, when her phone rang.

Call from: Mom, the robotic voice announced, call from: Mom, call from: Mo—

Lucy sighed. Accept call.

Lulu? Her mother's voice sounded muffled, like she was holding the phone away from her face. Which she probably was; she believed that phones gave people brain cancer. What time will you be at home?

Ninety minutes, Lucy said. And hello to you too, Mom, she thought grumpily.

Ninety minutes? Noor’s voice got louder. Did you stop again at that Taco Bell? The food is not good for you, Lulu!

No, Mom, I’m coming straight from San Luis Obispo. Lucy eyed the wax wrapper from a 7-Layer Burrito. She’d hide that before she got home.

Good. You do not need to be adding any more weight; even these young women will not like such a chunky girl—

In the background, Lucy heard her father, Hassan, say in Farsi, "Leave her alone, my love. In English, he called, Lulu, you are always beautiful—"

Lucy rolled her eyes. You’re cutting out, Mom, I’ll be home soon—

Hurry up, Noor said. There is an inspector arriving, and I need your help.

What inspector? Lucy said, but her mother had already hung up. That was typical Noor: drop a conversation bomb or two, then run off to sow chaos elsewhere.

Lucy tried calling back but kept getting voicemail, so she turned the radio on. This truck was so old its stereo still had AM, FM, and a cassette player. The leather seats were cracked, the white paint peeling, the Toyota logo on the back had lost its latter three letters. But the Toymobile could carry a lot of stuff, and it ran great. Mostly, it carried Lucy on errands, like the one this afternoon: negotiations with a small supermarket chain on the coast to make Nazari Farms a promoted supplier of local pistachios and almonds. She’d negotiated and signed on the deal. Then she was exhausted. She’d deserved Taco Bell. She glanced at her phone, hoping to see a message from her dating app, but no messages had arrived.

The phone rang again, the robot voice announcing, Call from: Little Sis, call from—

Lucy accepted the call.

Who died? she said. Her sister, Petra, texted; she never phoned by choice.

Ha, ha, Petra said. My sanity, I guess. Mom’s freaking out.

I’m driving right now. I’ll be home as soon as I can. Did she say anything to you about an inspector, or was she just trying to psych me out?

Yeah, that’s what she’s all nervous about. It’s some EPA thing? She says they’re, like, almost at the house. And she needs you to be there because you know all the numbers or whatever. And basically, until you get there, she’ll low-key have a panic attack. Petra sounded annoyed but also a little worried. There was chill music in the background and people chatting. A study group? A party? Something college-y and nice, Lucy thought. Petra sighed. Is this just random Mom drama or…?

Lucy raised her hand to her mouth and bit at a thumbnail. She tried to sound unbothered. No, no, I’m sure it’s fine. You know Mom, always catastrophizing.

"Of course she is. And she always calls you first to tell you about the end of the world."

Lucy grinned. Petra always pretended to be jealous that their parents asked Lucy for help, but they both knew Petra would hate it if they swapped places. She was much happier a half-day’s drive away, taking philosophy and biology classes at Stanford.

Look, Lucy said, it’s fine. I’ll be there soon, and I can deal with whatever this is. She raised her thumb to her mouth and chewed on the nail, frowning at the road ahead.

Cool, thanks. Heeeey. Petra’s voice suddenly sounded more excited. Did you hear from your lady love?

Lucy sighed. I wish. She said she was coming to Fresno County and wanted to meet up. But now she’s ghosted me for like a whole day.

Nooo, Petra said, I ship you guys!

We’re not guys.

Gals. Ladies. Queers. Whatever. You seem cute together. Although obviously, if she hurts you, I’ll punch her in the face!

Lucy tried to sound unbothered. I don’t even know what she looks like. She could be a catfish. Or just… suck.

No! Petra said. She’d better not be a catfish! You two are just, like, huge nerds together. It’s perfect. That’s exactly what you need, some huge dork—

"Okay, a hot dork would be nice. Let’s not forget that."

Well, if you want a hot dork, you shouldn’t have signed up for an app without pictures. Petra sighed. I think it’s kinda romantic, like falling for someone’s personality without even seeing them—

Ugh, Lucy said, is that what straights think passes for romance these days? It’s not real until I can smell her. She has to smell good.

Oh my god, Petra said. Smell her? Seriously?! Nice one, Joe Goldberg. And I’ll have you know I’m probably, almost definitely, maybe pansexual. Anyway. Tell me when you hear from your new boo. I want every detail. If you see something, say something!

Go to class, young whippersnapper! Lucy said.

No class on Mondays. I’m just chilling, which means I can’t talk to you anymore. Byyyyeeeee. Petra hung up.

Lucy glanced at the dark phone screen before turning her eyes back to the road and the monotonous landscape: highway, brown grass, hills, oak tree, sky, repeat ad nauseum. The uniformity of the landscape was beautiful but a little weird, like being stuck inside a wallpaper pattern. No relief for the eye. She reminded herself not to get her hopes up about the dating app. Sure, she loved talking to BluBird96. But she’d had her share of dating disappointments. Besides being ghosted, she’d been told she was too thick, too femme, and, her favorite, too dark. Then there were the people who fetishized her for those same traits. That was all bad, but the worst were the awkward dates where people bored the crap out of her. Since moving back to Kings County, boredom had been her number-one dating problem. Not only were lesbians and enbies in short supply, but most people wanted to talk about farming or medicine or reality TV. Not that she had an issue with reality TV. She just wanted to go a little deeper than a right swipe.

Against her own better judgment, Lucy had gotten her hopes up about BluBird96, who described herself as a proud brown Chicana who liked science, animals, hiking, reading, and femmes. Early in their conversation, she’d said she could eat up a curvy femme like Lucy with a spoon.

So you’re a feeder? Lucy had typed.

More like an eater, BluBird wrote back.

Which part of me would you eat first? Lucy said.

BluBird’s reply had made her blush.

That flirting was hot. But what Lucy fell for was BluBird’s nerdiness. She’d write things like:

bet you’re cuter than a coyote pup

spotted one today in the foothills

it was making little moans and barks that I never heard a coyote make before

they have dozens of different kinds of calls

so cool

Another time, BluBird called Lucy my clever li’l raven. Lucy had to ask about that one; it turned out ravens were some of the smartest birds. BluBird had made friends with some that lived near her house by leaving peanut shells out for them every day. They loved the shells and, over time, began to bring her small, strange gifts: a beautiful leaf, a squidgy green monster finger puppet, a yo-yo.

When Lucy told BluBird that her abandoned documentary project had been about California droughts, they’d spent an hour messaging back and forth about water tables, dry winters, towns abandoned for lack of water. BluBird knew even more about it than Lucy did.

Most people think I’m boring when I talk about the drought, Lucy wrote.

BluBird wrote back:

no theyre boring

youre brilliant

why did you stop making the doc

Lucy had written back briefly explaining about how, after her dad got sick, she’d dropped out of college to help her parents. She glazed over the more painful details: how she had a full-tuition scholarship with a stipend to attend the best film program in New York; how she’d put all her savings, the money she was going to use to kickstart her film career, straight into her parents’ farm to keep it afloat, which she’d managed to do but which hadn’t saved the farm from going into the red.

thats a shitty thing to go through

my mom was sick so I know it sucks

like being in limbo

Lucy had typed out, It’s easier to be here and feel like I’m doing something. Even if things aren’t great. Not easy, just better than missing it, I guess.

youre brave af 🔥

braver than me

its hot

Lucy had felt a pulse between her legs when she read that; she’d had to remind herself that she hadn’t even met this person, didn’t know her real name, much less what she looked like.

aaaanyway, BlueBird resumed.

when can I watch one of your movies

Lucy wrote, When I have enough ammo to blackmail you into total admiration. I don’t want you to laugh at me!

better start collecting evidence cuz Im dying to see what you do. BluBird added a skull emoji.

A few weeks later, BluBird mentioned that she was traveling for work to Fresno, and Lucy suggested they meet. And BluBird replied, HELL YES, I’ll DM you when I get there.Then Lucy had asked what dates BluBird was in town, when to meet… and gotten nothing but silence back for a full day.

Lucy was tempted to check her phone, to send a message even. But she was entering the windy part of 41, where the road’s monotony was broken by curves and switchbacks for ten miles or more. Lucy slowed the truck, taking the turns at a gentle glide. Around every other bend, white wooden crosses stood up on the roadside like vertebrae. Some had faded cloth flowers draped around them and dirty stuffed animals on the ground underneath. Sometimes a photograph of the dead, a prom picture. The colors faded and ran. Her cousin Shahram didn’t even have that roadside, since their family wasn’t Christian. His car had been struck head-on by a distracted driver and he’d died, just over a year before. Lucy had always been a good driver, but after Shahram’s death, she became an incredibly