Page 2 of Dial A for Aunties

Big Aunt shoots me a stern look, and I wilt. “No, Meddy. You mustn’t help. If Second Aunt can’t find the app tomorrow when she’s with the bride, we will lose face for sure. We’re supposed to be professionals,” she says. Or at least I think that’s what she says. She’s speaking so fast I find it hard to follow, but I definitely caught the Mandarin words for “lose face”—a favorite phrase of hers.

Second Aunt’s mouth purses, and her left cheek twitches a little. Just as Fourth Aunt irritates the crap out of Ma, Second Aunt and Big Aunt have a lot of friction between them. Don’t ask me why; maybe it has to do with being the two oldest. Maybe it’s something in their complicated pasts. There’s been a lot of drama with my mom’s family, especially back in Jakarta. I’ve heard bits and pieces over the years, mostly from Ma.

“Ha!” Second Aunt crows, brandishing Pinterest on her phone as if it’s a sword she’s just managed to pull out of a stone. “I got it. This is the style that the bride chose. I practiced on Meddy’s hair and it looked wonderful.” She turns to me and switches to English. “Meddy, you got photo I take of your hair?”

“I do,” I say, quickly taking out my phone. I call up the pictureand Second Aunt holds it side by side with her phone, showing off the two pictures to everyone.

“Wah,” Ma says. “It’s so similar to the model’s! Very good, Er Jie.”

Second Aunt gives her a warm smile.

Fourth Aunt nods and replies in English, “Yes, they’re nearly identical. How impressive.” Her English is the best of all of theirs, yet another thing Ma will never forgive her for, even though Ma’s English is better than her older sisters’. Ma insists that Fourth Aunt has a penchant for using big words (i.e., anything with more than two syllables) just to needle Ma. I think Ma might have a point there, but it’s just one of the many truths we will never know.

“The curl not show up well with Asian hair,” Big Aunt says. The fact that she’s speaking English means she’s half-directing the admonishment at me. My insides writhe with guilt, even though this is very definitely not my fault. “Why you choose blonde hairstyle?”

Second Aunt glowers. “I didn’t choose. The bride choose. Customer always right, remember?” She stabs her har gow and bites it angrily.

“Hmm.” Big Aunt sighs. “Should have tell her it look different on Asian hair than on blonde hair. But,” she adds, when Second Aunt looks about ready to burst, “never mind. Too late now. Moving in—”

“On,” Fourth Aunt says.

“Eh?” Big Aunt says.

“On. It’s moving on, not moving in. Moving in is what you do when you move houses.”

“Moving on. Okay.” Big Aunt smiles at Fourth Aunt, and Fourth Aunt beams back so hard she might as well be a kid again. Ma says Fourth Aunt is Big Aunt’s favorite because she’s the babyof the family, and she was such a needy baby that she stole Big Aunt’s heart right out of her chest.

“She snatch it right out,” Ma has grumbled many times. I didn’t bother asking if Ma, as the second-youngest sister, had been Big Aunt’s favorite right up until Fourth Aunt was born.

“Flowers?” Big Aunt says in Mandarin once more. I relax a little.

Ma’s back straightens. “All taken care of. Lilies, roses, peonies. Ah Guan will take everything to the island in the morning.”

The island she’s talking about is Santa Lucia, a large, privately owned island off the coast of Southern California that boasts pristine golden beaches, dramatic cliffs, and, as of a month ago, one of the most luxurious, exclusive resorts in the world—the Ayana Lucia. Tomorrow is the start of a two-day wedding weekend extravaganza for Jacqueline Wijaya, daughter of Indonesia’s largest textiles company, and—I kid you not—Tom Cruise.

Sutopo, that is. Yeah, the groom’s name really is Tom Cruise Sutopo. I checked. It’s exactly the kind of thing Chinese-Indonesians love naming their kids after—famous people and/or brand names (I have a cousin named Gucci, who moved very far away as soon as he was legally able to), or some form of misspelling of a popular Western name. Also case in point: Meddelin. My parents were aiming for Madeleine. Growing up, my cousins called me Meddlin’ Meddelin, which is why I never, ever meddle in anyone’s business, ever. Well, that and also the fact that my mother and aunts meddle enough for the whole family.

Anyway, Tom Cruise Sutopo’s parents own... something. Something large. Palm oil plantations, coal mines, that kind of thing. So it’s a wedding between two billionaire families in a newly built resort, which is why Big Aunt and all the rest of us are understandably nervous. How we managed to land these people as clients, I have no idea. Well, I do. Fourth Aunt’s husbandis—let me get this straight—Jacqueline’s cousin’s father-in-law’s brother. So we’re practically relatives. Everything in Chinese-Indo culture is like that; everybody is somehow related to everybody else, and deals happen because somebody’s in-law knows someone else’s friend’s cousin.

I thought that our cheesy-as-hell company motto, which Big Aunt is supremely proud of—Don’t leave your big day to chance, leave it to the Chans!—would’ve scared away the bride and groom, but they actually found it funny. Said it made them even more certain that they wanted to hire us to cater their big day.

Ma rattles on about how she’s managed to get the rarest flowers. “The arrangements are going to look—what do you say in English, Meddy? Exsqueezed?”

“You mean exquisite?” Fourth Aunt says, and Ma gives her the deadliest side-eye in the history of all side-eyes.

“Very good,” Big Aunt says hurriedly, breaking the radioactive glares between Ma and Fourth Aunt. “And last one, songs, all okay?”

Fourth Aunt’s face goes from icy glare to satisfied smirk. “Of course, the band and I have been practicing night and day. People keep coming by the studio to listen to me sing, you know.” There are two versions of Fourth Aunt’s life story. Version one has to do with her being a celebrated child prodigy with a voice that newspapers described as “angelic” and “a national treasure.” She was well on her way to stardom, but chose to leave it all behind when all her sisters decided to move to California. Version two has her as a so-so singer who cunningly convinced her entire family to uproot themselves and move to California so she could pursue her pipe dreams of breaking out in Hollywood. One version is Fourth Aunt’s; the other is Ma’s.

“And the cake?” Second Aunt says, side-eyeing Big Aunt. “Our centerpiece needs to be perfect, unlike that unfortunate thing youmade for Mochtar Halim’s daughter’s wedding.” She gives a dramatic sigh. “Nobody has a face anymore.” Hmm, that can’t be right. I parse the words slowly in my head. I think she’s saying Big Aunt has made all of us lose face. I really need to brush up on my Mandarin.

Anyway, the point is, Second Aunt has made a really low blow. Cheriss Halim’s wedding is her favorite topic, because Cheriss had requested a fiendishly tricky cake—a five-layer upside-down tower, with the bottom layer as the smallest one and the top as the biggest. Big Aunt, with years and years under her belt as head pastry chef for Ritz-Carlton Jakarta, was confident she could do it. But something went wrong. I don’t know what, maybe she didn’t build enough structural support, or maybe it was just an impossible task for a beach wedding in the middle of a SoCal summer. Whatever it was, amid the guests’ horrified gasps, the humongous tower had leaned over in slow motion before collapsing on one of the flower girls. It was the only time we’d ever gone viral, and Second Aunt hasn’t let Big Aunt forget about the incident since.

Big Aunt’s nostrils flare. “I’m just here to buy soy sauce.”

Okay, that definitely can’t be right. I lean toward Ma and whisper, “Why’s Big Aunt talking about buying soy sauce?”

“Tch,” Ma says. “This is why I always say to you: pay attention in Chinese class! Big Aunt is saying to Second Aunt to mind her own business.”

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