Page 17 of Four Aunties and a Wedding

“What teacher?” I say.

“Oh yes, we find teacher on Fiverr,” Second Aunt says proudly. “Such good deal. Five dollar one hour. We take many hour!”

Fourth Aunt snorts, obviously enjoying this entire exchange.

Before I can reply, Nathan and his mother come back in carrying platters of food. Ma and Chris follow, each carrying more plates of food, and before long, everything is out. We settle into our seats and admire the spread. All sorts of food, both Chinese and English. There’s the aforementioned ginseng chicken, a huge bowl of spicy sesame noodles, a huge cut of roast pork shoulder, a platter of warm Yorkshire pudding, and various other side dishes.

“Cor, that looking scrummy, dunnit?” Ma says.

“Oh yes, look like very good nosh, innit,” Second Aunt says.

“Yes,” Big Aunt says politely, “very dog’s bollocks.”

“Err, thank you?” Chris says.

Annie’s gaze flicks rapidly back and forth between my family and Nathan, who’s trying not to laugh.

“They’ve been taking British-slang lessons for this visit,” I quickly say apologetically.

“Oh? How... nice,” Annie says, and makes an obvious effort to smile. “Well, please help yourselves. I hope you enjoy the food.”

As we help ourselves to the feast, I catch sight of Big Aunt dipping into her handbag. Oh no. I already know what she’s going to get before she even takes it out. It’s like I’m moving in slow motion. I reach behind Second Aunt to grab Big Aunt’s hand, but I’m too late. The bottle of chili sauce is placed on the table with an earth-shatteringthunk.

Nathan’s parents stop mid-conversation and stare at it, then at Big Aunt.

“Is that—” Annie says.

“Is sambal,” Big Aunt says. “Indonesian chili sauce, best chili. Please, try some.”

Annie’s forehead creases into a frown. “I’m alright, thank you. So you carry around a bottle of chili sauce with you?”

“Oh yes, of course. Otherwise I not so enjoy the food.”

This is why I can never take my family to nice restaurants. I’ve tried explaining countless times why it’s rude to bring your own chili sauce to restaurants or other people’s homes, but they just don’t get it. “In Indonesia, everybody bring their own chili sauce everywhere,” Ma would say. “Why you call that rude? Is just practical. Everybody like different kind of chili, if host is good, host will provide all the different brands. But we be understanding, don’t put that kind of pressure on host. We bring our own.”

“Of course we would enjoy your food with or without the chili sauce,” I say. “Mmm, this is all so delicious.”

“It’s part of Indonesian culture,” Nathan says helpfully. “Lots of people there take their own chili sauces everywhere they go. I think it’s a great idea.”

“Yes, wonderful,” Annie says weakly as she watches Big Aunt cover her entire plate of food with the chili sauce. When everything is blanketed in the bright red sauce, Big Aunt passes it to Second Aunt, who also drowns her food in chili sauce. When she’s done with the now half-empty bottle, Second Aunt passes it to Ma, but to my surprise and relief, Ma refuses it. Thank god, finally, someone showing an ounce of respect—

“I think I get a bit food poisoning from plane, wah, my stomach so pain just now, I had to poop very bad in hotel. I better not eat spicy tonight,” Ma says.

Kill me now. Just end this.

Forks and spoons stop halfway to mouths. Nathan’s parents stare, openly aghast, at Ma. I want to explain that in Indonesian culture, discussing one’s digestion is a completely acceptable part of social interactions, but I don’t know how to even begin.

Nathan clears his throat and says, “Yeah, airplane food can be a bit tricky, can’t it? So Mum, how’s the garden coming along? I heard you planted a new lemon tree?”

Thank god for Nathan. Annie starts telling us about the fruits and vegetables they’re growing in the backyard.

“We’ve got some lovely tomatoes, really tasty,” Chris says, “but let me tell you, gardening is hell on my back.” He rubs his shoulder as he speaks, wincing.

“Ah, you must do the Tai Chi,” Second Aunt says. “Come, I teach you.”

“Second Aunt, no—” But she’s already out of her chair, marching over to Nathan’s dad, who’s looking at her like a terrified schoolboy. I can’t blame him in the least as Second Aunt orders him out of his chair.

“It’s okay,” Nathan murmurs, “it’ll be good for his back.”

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