“It’s a terrific opportunity for you, Paige,” Dad says as we eat dinner later that night. Our kitchen smells like mashed potatoes and meatloaf. But I burned the edges of the meatloaf (as usual), and the cream I used for the potatoes was starting to go off, so there’s a charred, slightly sour undertone to the air.
“Dad’s right.” Mom enthusiastically digs into the salad I made. She loves my salads. Everybody loves my salads. It’s because they don’t go near heat or dairy.
“It is. I know.” Since Carly and Hunter told me the news, I’ve been experiencing a totally rare state called paniness. It’s a cross between panic and happiness. Or maybe it’s called happnic. Either way, it’s so overwhelming I could puke from it.
“I told her the same thing,” Grandpa says. “I am so proud of you, my little Paige note.”
I push a forkful of mashed potatoes across my plate and manage a smile. Grandpa comes for dinner on Fridays when I cook and Brooke works the dinner shift at Pizza Pieman. This afternoon I showed him the email I got from the ITCF, and we spent the entire time before Mom and Dad got home talking about what a great opportunity it is. Thank God Brooke wasn’t around. I don’t need my sister throwing doubts at me. I’m scared enough already.
“Our Paige is going to be as famous as Kathy Griffin. Only without all the swearing and Anderson Cooper.”
“Thanks, Grandpa.” He has more confidence in me than I have in myself. It’s touching.
“With only two weeks to prepare, you’ve got your work cut out for you,” Mom says. “At least the pool is closed, so you don’t have work on top of everything else.”
One of the few physical activities I’m good at is swimming. I was hired at the community center last year to help with preschool swimming classes, but when the roof on the building started to leak in December, the whole complex was shut down for construction. I was bummed for a while—it was fun and the money was nice—but I can use the extra time now.
“You’ll have to make sure your schoolwork doesn’t suffer,” Mom adds. “Coming up with the videos and those stand-up routines will take time.”
“I do the vlogs every week, so they’re no biggie.” But the stand-up? Another wave of nausea grips me. Oh man. Why does that have to be part of it? “I forgot to tell you. The school drama department gets ten thousand dollars too if I win.”
Dad lets out a low whistle.
“So not only is this a huge deal for me, but it’s a huge deal for the school.” No wonder the drama teacher was so quick to get behind it and arrange a bus. He’s always complaining about being short of funds.
“Don’t even think about winning,” Mom says. “Just focus on doing the best job you can.”
Grandpa drops his fork. It hits his plate with a loud clatter. “Oh for heaven’s sake, Dina, of course she should think about winning. There’s no point in entering a contest like this if you aren’t in it to win.”
“Yes, there is,” Dad says. “In this house, we focus on enjoying the process.” They are mirror images of each other: balding heads, pointy chins, bulbous brown eyes. They even frown in sync. Like they’re doing right now. “It’s about the experience,” Dad says. “Not about the win.”
“Experience, my ass,” Grandpa mutters.
My parents exchange glances before Dad looks back at Grandpa. “The fact that Paige was shortlisted is an honor,” he says. “She’s worked hard at her comedy, and she should be proud of herself.” He turns to me and smiles. “We’re proud of you, kiddo. No matter what happens with the competition.”
Grandpa rolls his eyes. “Of course we’re proud of her. That goes without saying. But let’s call a spade a spade. Paige is either in it to win or she’s in it to lose. There’s no point in investing all her time and energy to go down in flames.”
It’s a variation on Grandpa’s Life is either preparation for success or preparation for failure line.
“I don’t think—” Dad starts to say, but Grandpa is on a roll.
“Quit coddling her. If it were Brooke sitting here, you wouldn’t be talking like this. You’d be telling her to go for the gold. But because it’s Paige, you act like she can’t walk out onstage and tell her jokes. It’s as plain as the nose on your face.”
Trust Grandpa to get to the point. I love that about him. I try to be like him. Only without the clichés.
“And it’s just because she limps.”
Mom turns the color of a radish.
Dad glares. “That’s not—”
“She limps!” Grandpa repeats loudly. The words bounce off the kitchen walls. I fight an irrational urge to giggle. “Get over yourselves,” he says. “And get behind your daughter!”
My parents look shocked. I almost feel sorry for them. I push back my chair. “Dessert anyone? I made a strawberry fool.”
Later, when Mom and I are at the sink doing dishes, she says, “Dad and I believe in you, Paige. I hope you know that.” She’s up to her elbows in soap suds. I’m waiting for her to finish scrubbing the meat-loaf pan so I can dry it.
“I know. But Grandpa’s right. You do coddle me.” They always have. Because I was born with a clubfoot.
“We don’t want you to get your hopes up and be disappointed.”
“Yeah.” They think I’ve faced so many disappointments in my life. I heard them talking about it when I was twelve. I couldn’t sleep one night and I’d gotten up to get a glass of water, and they were talking about me. Feeling bad about the multiple surgeries they’d put me through when I was a toddler, the brace I’d had to wear as I grew, and the fact that the surgeries and brace hadn’t worked as well as the doctors had hoped.
“No matter what happens, you’ll do a wonderful job.” Mom attacks a stubborn piece of burned-on meat with a scouring pad. “Dad and I can’t wait to see you up on that stage.”
“You can’t come.”
She shoots me an incredulous look. “What are you talking about? Of course we’ll come.”
Heat hits my cheeks. I guess I could have been more tactful about it. “This’ll be the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It’s bad enough that a pile of kids from school will see me walk out on that stage. I don’t want you and Dad seeing me too.” Or Brooke. Especially Brooke.
My limp was never an issue for her when we were really little. But everything changed when we ended up in a split class together in elementary school. Instead of sticking up for me when some of the grade-five boys teased me, Brooke was embarrassed. She told me to quit walking around so much. By the end of the year she was laughing right along with them. I never knew you could love someone and hate them at the same time. But you can. I’ve felt that way about my sister since I was ten.
“Oh, Paige.” Mom bites her lip. “I wish you didn’t feel that way. I’m so sorry, honey.”
There’s a trace of guilt in her blue eyes. It’s a look I’m familiar with. My disability isn’t anything genetic. It’s because Mom was low on amniotic fluid when she carried me and I hardly moved while I was in utero. Clearly my life goal to nap whenever possible was also problematic for my right foot, because I apparently squished the crap out of it for the entire nine months, and it never developed properly. Mom shouldn’t feel guilty about that. I was the one sleeping on the job.
“You don’t have to accept this,” Mom adds. “Just because it’s a terrific opportunity doesn’t mean it’s the right opportunity for you.” She gives the pan a final rinse and hands it to me. “I’ll support you whatever you decide. Whether you opt in or opt out. You know that, right?”
“I do. But I can’t say no to this. I live for comedy. You know that.”
I wait for her to give me the comedy isn’t a reliable way to make a living speech, but instead she simply nods and pulls the plug from the sink.
“Winning for video comedy at the ITCF will get me agency representation,” I tell her. “It’ll open doors for me that I’d never be able to open myself.”
“Just as long as you’re sure,” she says.
“I’m sure.” I’m already thinking about what I’ll do for my two new video bits.
She reaches for the towel. “Don’t worry so much about walking out onto that stage. Concentrate on your material. Make it the best it can be. And have fun spending the money Grandpa gave you too.”
“I will.” He’s given me three hundred dollars for clothes and to get my hair cut. “Don’t worry about me, Mom. I’m going to win. And thanks to Grandpa, I’ll be a winner who looks good too.”