Meant to Be (2 page)

“I thought so too, but then I remembered a couple of things.” She leans back into the seat and sighs.

I glance at her. “You okay?”

She smiles. “Yes, I feel perfectly fine. I was just thinking what a beautiful day this is—so sunny and bright. Only it doesn't look like there's much chance of having a white Christmas this year.”

“You never know…” I say hopefully. I've always been
such a sucker for snow. I used to actually pray for snow every Christmas when I was little—before I gave up on God and turned to Buddha. I could pray for snow this year now that I'm a believer again, but then I have way more important things to pray for now. I don't plan on wasting God's time on something as silly as snow.

When we get to the mall, there is tinny sounding Christmas music playing a little too loudly, a long line of impatient-looking kids waiting to see Santa, and lots and lots of last-minute shoppers hurrying around. Mom isn't moving too fast, but she seems to know where she's going, and it looks like she's heading straight for Dolman's jewelry store. Now I think this is kind of strange, but I just go along with her.

“I wanted to get your dad something special,” she tells me as we go inside the formal-looking store where the music is quieter and more classical sounding.

We walk up to a long glass case. “What's that?”

“It's something he's always wanted, but I guess I never got around to finding one.”

“What?” I'm suddenly feeling pretty curious since Dad has never been the kind of guy who's into jewelry. I mean, I certainly can't imagine him wearing gold chains or any other form of bling-bling for that matter.

“A pocket watch.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She pauses at a watch counter and looks down at all the shiny wristwatches. “His father had one that his father had given him. But he lost it on a fishing
trip when Dad was a boy, and your father always felt like he missed out on something.”

“Interesting…” I lean over the counter and look too, but I don't see any pocket watches, and I'm actually wondering if people even make them anymore.

“Can I help you?” asks a tall redheaded saleswoman. I can't help but notice that this lady is dripping in diamonds: on her fingers, her wrist, around her neck. Even her ears are pierced several times, and each hole is sporting a diamond. I wonder if they're real and if they all belong to her or if she's just wearing them as an advertisement to entice shoppers. And if they do belong to her, why is she working as a salesclerk? Don't they just make minimum wage? Or maybe she owes her soul to the company store and will be working here to pay for her diamonds until she's an old lady.

“I'm looking for a pocket watch,” my mom says almost apologetically. “Do you have any?”

The diamond woman smiles. “Not many, but we do have a few. They're down this way.” She leads us to the end of the counter where she bends down and then pulls out a velvet-covered tray displaying about six different pocket watches.

I pick up a gold one with a red stone set in the center. “This one is cool,” I tell Mom. Then I flip it over to see the price tag and am pretty surprised at the cost. Mom is looking at a silver one that I'm guessing is less expensive.

“That's pretty,” I tell her as I carefully put the gold watch down.

“You have very good taste,” says the salesclerk. “That one is platinum.”

“Platinum?” I echo. “Isn't that even more expensive than gold?”

She nods. “It's a precious metal like gold but more rare. And it's stronger too. That's important for a pocket watch since it rubs around in a pocket.”

“Ill take it,” Mom says without even checking the price. I try not to blink or act too shocked. I can't see the price tag from where I'm standing, but I suspect that it must cost even more than the expensive one I just set down. Gulp.

“Can you have it engraved?” my mom asks.

“Certainly,” says the pleased salesclerk. “But it won't be ready until tomorrow. Our engraver is a little backed up with Christmas, you know.”

“That's all right.” Mom follows the woman to the register. Now I'm feeling kind of sick about this. Mom is spending way too much money on this watch, and although I'm not an expert on our family's finances, we're normally pretty frugal. I can't help but think that Mom's doing this because she's worried that this might be her last chance…and it's making me feel seriously freaked.

“Why don't you look around, honey, while I take care of this and fill out the engraving form.”

I wander around the jewelry store feeling like a robot that's pretending to look at things but not really seeing anything. Mostly I'm thinking about Mom, trying to figure this thing out.

“Can I help you?” asks a gray-haired salesman.

“Huh?” I attempt to focus.

“Are you shopping for anything specific?”

“Oh, no…I'm just looking.”

He smiles. “I know just what you need, young lady.”

Now I'm curious. “What?” I ask him, almost as a challenge. “What is it you think I need?”

“Come over here.” He leads me to a glass-covered case full of glistening diamonds—pendants and rings and bracelets and earrings. “After all,” he says, “diamonds are a girl's best friend.”

I sort of roll my eyes as I lean over and look more closely at the sparkling jewelry. And although I've never considered myself a material girl, I am slightly fascinated by all that glitter. I'm trying to imagine what it must all be worth. “That's a lot of diamonds.”

“I see that your ears are pierced. You'd look lovely in diamonds.”

I kind of laugh. “Yeah, right. I'm only sixteen. Well, almost seventeen. I don't really have the budget for diamonds yet.”

“So you haven't considered diamond studs earrings yet? Lots of girls your age wear them.”

“I guess I'm waiting until I become rich and famous.”

Now my mom comes and stands by me. “Oh my, look at all those pretty diamonds.” She bends down to see better.

“We're having a holiday sale,” entices the older man,
turning his attention from me to her. ‘Twenty percent off until Christmas Eve.”

She nods and continues looking. This is kind of odd since my mom's not exactly the expensive jewelry type. At least I never thought she was. But maybe I wasn't paying attention.

“I didn't know you were into diamonds,” I say to my mom.

“Oh, you two are together,” the man says with a surprised look. Of course, I'm used to this reaction— people see the Asian girl with the Caucasian woman and wonder how or if we're related. Anyone out there ever hear of international adoption? Okay, don't get me going.

But Mom just smiles at him and proudly says, “Yes, this is my daughter.”

“In that case, I might be tempted to offer an even bigger discount if you both find something you like.”

My mom actually giggles, which is really kind of cute. “Oh, no, I'm not a diamond sort of person. Well, other than my engagement ring.” She looks fondly at her left hand. “But Kim, how about you? Do you like diamonds?”

“I, uh—”

“I was just telling the young lady that she should consider some earrings,” says the fast-thinking salesman.

“Yes, diamond earrings! That would be perfect!”

“Mom?” I look at her as if I'm looking at a stranger. “You don't need to—”

“Can we look at that tray?” My mom points to a display of earrings and ignores me.

He pulls out the tray while I protest to my mom about the extravagance of diamond earrings for a girl my age.

“Please, Kim,” she finally says. “Just indulge me.”

This makes the man laugh. “Yes, Kim, just indulge her.”

Before I know it I am trying on diamond earrings, and despite myself I am having fun. And as much as I hate to admit it, it does feel rather glamorous.

“Okay,” Mom says after I've looked at several pairs. “You go out into the mall while I make up my mind.”

“Mom? I thought we were just having fun.”

She looks at me then smiles. “I thought that's what we were doing too. Now, you scoot.”

Okay, I have no doubts that she's getting me diamond earrings for Christmas, and as exciting and fun as that sounds, it also makes me seriously uncomfortable. Like why is she doing this? Why is she spending so much money when she usually clips coupons and buys us practical gifts for Christmas? But I know I can't make too big of a deal about it—not without the risk of spoiling her fun anyway. And I don't want to do that.

She emerges with a big grin, and I pretend like I have no idea what just transpired in there.

We do a bit more shopping, but I can tell Mom's getting tired, so I ask her if she's ready to eat lunch yet.

“Yes. Let's go to Rafael's.”

“Rafael's? What? Did you win the lottery or something?”

“Oh, Kimmy. It's okay to indulge ourselves occasionally.”

“But you don't have to do this for—”

“I want to, Kim. Can't you see that I'm having a good time? I just want to enjoy this day, sweetheart. Do you mind?”

I shake my head. “Of course not. I'd love to go to Rafael's. I've heard it's awesome. But do you think we need reservations or anything?”

“I doubt it. At least not during the day.”

So we head back out to the parking lot, and I drive us over to the other side of the mall where you can only get into this restaurant from an outside entrance. “This is really cool, Mom.” I hold the door open for her.

The restaurant has soft music playing and small tables with pristine white cloths, as well as candles and fresh flowers on each one. Very elegant.

Soon we are seated, and I must admit that I'm feeling pretty special. I mean, diamond earrings and Rafael's all in one day. But even though this is fun, I can't help but feel that its all overshadowed by Mom's recent diagnosis. I'm certain we wouldn't be doing this if everything was just fine. And the truth is, I would gladly trade diamonds and Rafael's for “just fine” any day.

After the waiter takes our orders, my mom tells me that she “wants to talk.” And I can tell by the way she
says this that this is somewhat serious. And suddenly I feel as if there's a brick in the pit of my stomach, and I doubt that I'll be able to eat a single bite.

“Sure, Mom,” I say, trying to sound casual. “What about?”

“About us.” She takes a sip of water. “I just want to set some things straight, Kim. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I realize that you're worried about me and, well, the cancer. But I really wish that you could just push it out of your mind.”

“Push it out of my mind?”

She nods. “That's what I'm trying to do. I'm focusing on health and Wellness. I'm doing everything I can, and I want to just enjoy life. Whether I live to be a hundred or buy the farm next week. Can you understand that?”

“Well, yeah, I guess.

“And that's how I want you to live too. I don't want you to change anything because of me. Do you understand what I mean?”

“I'm not sure.”

“I want you to go about your life as if everything is normal, Kim. And for all we know, it is. Right?”

I remember what Natalie told me about how I need to take the step of faith with my mom in order to encourage her. So I say, “Right.”

“like you've been saying, Kim, God can heal me. Don't you believe that?”

“Yes,” I say with a bit more enthusiasm. “I do believe
that He can. And I'm praying, and lots of people are praying.”

She smiles now. “See that's just what I mean. We need to believe that Gods in control of our lives and not to worry so much.”

“I know…”

“And I want you to make me a promise, Kim.”

“What?”

“Promise me that you'll keep doing all your normal things—whether it's spending time with Nat or your music or your column or even spending time with Matthew. Promise me that everything will continue to be ‘life as normal.’ Can you do that for me?”

I slowly nod. “Okay.”

“Because that's what will make me the most happy. Do you believe me?”

I nod again, holding back tears. And I really do believe her. But for the first time I realize that I must have been bringing her down by moping around these past few weeks. I thought I was concealing it pretty well, but I guess she saw right through my little charade. From now on, I will put on a happy and faithful face. And I'll pray and pray and pray. Maybe this is what Nat meant by taking that first step. I can do this. I force myself to eat, as if everything is perfectly normal and I'm not worried about a thing.

We have a good lunch, and Mom actually begins to open up and tell me about things that happened when she was my age. It's the first time I've ever heard her talk
about stuff like that, and I must admit that its pretty interesting. I mean, I guess I never thought about Mom being a teenager. It's like I think she's always been this rather conservative middle-aged woman I've taken pretty much for granted. But as she tells me about the time she participated in an antiwar protest at her coflege, I can see that I really don't know her as well as I thought.

“Seriously?” I say as we indulge in calorie-laden desserts. “You were a war protester?”

She smiles and nods. “I never thought we should've been in Vietnam.”

“Wow, that's pretty cool. Did you get arrested?”

She laughs now. “No, but I was willing to go to jail and was actually kind of disappointed that I didn't.”

So, go figure!

Later on that evening, after I'd talked to Matthew, assured him that I still wanted to go skating, and promised that we'd do it tomorrow, I decided that I'd better crank out another “Christmas” letter for the column. After going through the pile I found this.