The Pearl Inside of Anything

Sunday, 9 p.m.

Sunday, 9 p.m.

Mum delegates eye drop duty to Dad and settles beside me on the couch. "Want to see if Happy Days is on?" I ask her.

"Maybe later, sweetie. We should have a little chat first," she says, sounding serious. Oh no, it's the pink eye. I am a bad sittersister. I will never know freedom again...

"That call this afternoon? It was from your hairdresser."

"Tommy, Tommy called?"

"He did. He said something about how he needs you for a hair show in Texas?"

"MUUUUuuuuum!" I groan. "That was before we lost at Hair Expo. Remember Eiffel Tower? She's going. Not me. I just want to forget the whole thing."

Mum exchanges looks with Dad. They are trying not to laugh, I can tell. Like was I so bad that even my parents think it was funny?

"What? What is it?" I huff at them.

"There's been a change of plans," says Dad.

"He's right, honey! The girl who won, she's actually in Paris. Something about a runway job? And her hairdresser is doing hair for another show. Or something like that... Anyway, Tommy says a space opened up in the competition, and he'd like you to go with him to Dallas."

I can hardly believe it. Suzanne to Paris. Me to Texas.

"Me? Are you sure?"

Mum and Dad nod eagerly. I just sit there. There's no sense getting excited. Because of course, there has to be a catch.

"There's just one little thing honey," Mum says, biting the corner of her lower lip. Dad looks solemnly down at his hands.

Hah! I knew it! I so knew it. I recross my arms tighter and wait.

"There is a place for you in the competition," says Mum. "But... the travel isn't free. Tommy says because you two didn't technically win here at home, they'll let you replace the other team, but they won't pay your way."

"Oh. Well, that's that then," I say and look up at the ceiling. I study the sparkles in the white paint. My eyes are tearing up and now I'm a bit mad. I mean, why even talk to me about a chance I can't have?

"So what your mother and I want to know is, do you really want to go?" asks Dad. "You know, give it another try? A bit of a lone star adventure? Trip to the Big D?" he chuckles.

I sigh, exasperated with both of them. Don't they understand? I was over it! The modeling thing. So over it, and now they go and bring it up again? I have better things to do. I could be watching Laverne and Shirley right now.

"Dad, what difference does it make if the space is free, if I can't go anyway?"

"Who said you can't go?" says Dad, looking slightly confused.

"Of course I can't go! We don't have the money!" I glance at Mum. Her mouth is twitching like a rubber band. She doesn't say anything just reaches out and tries to hold my hand. But I'm locked in tight. Hands in pits. This is not funny.

Dad clears his throat. "Uh, Lorna? Do you want to tell her, or should I?"

Mum tilts her head Dad's way. He clears his throat.

"A lesser-known fact about your mother," says Dad, sounding startlingly professorial for a second. "She isn't just cheap, she saves." He looks over at Mum proudly and pats her knee. She blushes. I am so glad they found each other; it's so obvious they are each other's dream. Besides, who else would camp in the rain with Dad, and actually like it? Well, Patrick, but he's five, and that's a pretty good excuse for liking anything to do with mud.

"It's true, honey!" beams Mum. "Ever since you were born, I've been putting a little aside for your future. Just a smidge here and there, never dipped into the grocery money but you know, a bit every month."

"But Mum... um," and my curiosity gets the better me, "How much is a smidge?"

"Well, let's see, I think we're up to $14,480 now."

I have never known Mum to quote a number that didn't have a .99 at the end. As I think this, her face clouds. "Oh wait, no, that's not quite right, sorry, I forgot, $14,023, after the plane ticket. And then of course there is your stock portfolio...what is that at now, let me see..."

My Mum, who never finished high school, rifles through a stack of papers on her lap with the expert speed of a poker player shuffling cards.

"Oh yes, that's right, your shares are worth over $20,000 now. But you know we don't count stocks, although we hope they'll help you out when the time comes."

"You never know what can happen to the markets," chimes in Dad. "Up one day, down the next!"

I am flabbergasted. Utterly stumped. I don't know what to say. My parents are the last people I would ever think would turn my world around.

When in doubt, my inner protester kicks in.

"You can't do this! You should spend it on yourselves! You've never even been to Seattle or stayed in a real hotel or gone across the border to buy cheap cheese!"

"Plenty of time for that!" says Mum happily. "Your father and I like to think our cheap cheese days are all ahead of us. Wendy, we've saved it so there it is. You've never asked for a thing in your life. You used to sit on Santa's knee at Christmas and just say 'nuffing.' Don't think I don't remember," Mum says. "Santa always had to talk you into something."

"Is that why I got all those Barbies?"

"Sorry!" says Dad, eyeing the open door to where Patrick is supposed to be sleeping. He lowers his voice and whispers, "Santa couldn't think of anything else."

"Honey, we just want to do this one thing for you," says Mum. "You've always been such a good girl. We know you have to share a room with your brother."

"You've noticed?"

"Of course!" says Mum. "And we appreciate it!"

"Me too!" Patrick hollers from our room.

"But why this?" I sigh dramatically, "It's just hair. It's stupid."

"Now listen," says Dad. "Your mother says there's no such thing as just hair. And we would like you to have a little fun for once. We'd like to do this for you. We really would."

I frown at them. I ball my hands into fists and shut my eyes. But I can't hold it. Something inside me shifts and I sigh.

"Well, if you really ..."

"We do!" Mum and Dad say in unison. They slap each other and start bouncing up and down on the couch.

"Okay, now we only have a couple days. We have to go to a travel agent, pack, buy you new underwear ...oh, and Tommy wants to see us both tomorrow morning at his salon."

"Tomorrow? Morning? Monday morning?"

"10 a.m."

Oh.

No.