Page 30 of Four Aunties and a Wedding

“That makes sense,” Selena says. “Let’s do this, Uncle Hendry!”

I’m about to stop her when Staph shoots me a look. I swallow my protest and watch with bile in my throat as my best friend sits down and Second Uncle starts combing her hair. I can’t bear it. I turn away and close my eyes, reminding myself that Selena will come to no harm. He’s not going to do anything to her. She’s not part of their plot.

Someone touches my hand, and I open my eyes to see Ma standing next to me. “More tea. You have more. I put ginseng in it so you have energy for wedding, okay?” She pats my shoulder gently. “It be okay, Meddy. I know you nervous, but is okay.”

Tears prick my eyes and I blink them away. How does she do it? How is she able to take the worst situations and have such faith that they’ll turn out okay? I sip the tea gratefully as Second Aunt massages some product into my hair. Taking a deep breath, I watch the entire room in the mirror. My family is here. My two best friends are here. I’m about to marry the man I’ve loved the whole of my adult life. I’m going to be okay.

Then another click attracts my attention. Staph is going around taking pictures of everything, and another awful realization sinks in: Does she even know anything about photography? I know that it’s nothing compared to the whole “mafia is blackmailing us into letting them kill a wedding guest” thing, but WOW, the thought hits me hard.

I mean, not to toot my own horn, but the photographer is one of the most important people at a wedding. Get a shitty one and couples will live to regret it for many years to come. I belong to at least half a dozen wedding forums, and in terms of vendor hire, this is by far the thing that couples most often regret skimping on. If the food’s bad, they tend to forget it after a week or so. If the cake is awful, they usually have fun posting photos of it on Twitter, #NailedIt and so on. But if the photography is bad, they come to these sites and lament how they will never have good images of their special day to show future generations, and my heart always aches for them.

And now I’m about to be one of these brides who will have shitty pictures because my freaking wedding photographer is a shitty fuckingfake. My hands tighten into fists and I have to stop myself from launching out of the chair and punching the ever-living crap out of Staph. Okay, I guess my priorities, like Ma’s, need work.

“Can I take look at your camera?” I call out, making sure my voice comes out all pleasant.

Seb groans. “Uh-oh, it begins.”

“You owe me five bucks,” Selena says, laughing.

I frown at them. “What?”

“We had a little bet to see how long it’ll take for you to try and take over the photography,” Seb says. “I said an hour; Selena said pretty much right as soon as it starts.”

Ah. Well. I’m annoyed by this for two seconds before I realize that I might as well lean into the role of a bridezilla so I can exert some form of control over Staph. I stretch my mouth into a grin. “Yep, guilty as charged. C’mere, Staph. Let me see those photos.”

I’m rewarded by a scowl from Staph, but she catches herself and smiles through gritted teeth. “Of course.” She marches over and places her camera in my outstretched hand.

I turn it over critically. As promised, she really does have a 5D Mark III, which makes me wonder if she’s had one all along or if she bought one just to pass as a photographer. Big investment, if it’s the latter. My gut sours with fear. The camera’s just another reminder of how far they’re willing to go to carry out their plan. I shake it off and go into the menu, scrolling through the photos she’s taken so far. There are only about five, and they’re all mediocre. I want to smash this fucking thing in her face.

“Did you even bother to learn how to use it?” I hiss. Or try to, anyway. Second Aunt, without any regard for the tension between me and Staph, has started painting my lips.

Staph leans over with a sardonic smile. “I didn’t think you’d want to be reminded of today.”

Good point. Yes, please regain some perspective, self. But still, this brings tears to my eyes. It’s embarrassing how incredibly selfish and silly I’m being, but damn, this is what really drives home the fact that my wedding is being turned into asham. I might as well try and be proactive somehow. “Take lots of pictures.” I can barely get the words out, I’m so spitting mad.

Staphanie arches a brow.

“Pictures mean everything to me.” And also, the more photos she takes, the more chances I have of her capturing something incriminating.

“You go away now,” Second Aunt hisses quietly at Staphanie. “Here.” She grabs the camera roughly out of my hands and shoves it at Staphanie. “You go pretend to photo-photo, okay? Go.”

With a shrug, Staphanie walks away. Second Aunt crouches so she’s face-to-face with me. “Meddy, you be strong, okay? So what, she not know how to use camera? My wedding, I only get less than ten photo, but all the good memory intact inside my head. And you and Nathan will surely get many good memory.”

For her sake, I force a smile. “Thanks, Second Aunt.” Though if Staphanie’s family carries out the plan and really does kill someone at our wedding, I find it hard to believe that Nathan and I will have many positive memories of today.

11

Once my makeup and hair are done, Second Uncle and Seb are shooed into the living room so that my family can help put me in my wedding dress.

“You do realize I’m gay, right?” Seb protests.

“I no care,” Big Aunt declares. “You gay or not gay, no boy seeing my niece naked!”

Second Aunt and Ma nod and make shooing motions at him. Selena grins and waves at Seb as he stalks out.

I can’t help but get all emotional again as Big Aunt and Ma lift the fluffy dress off the mannequin. My dress, like most Indonesian-designed wedding dresses, has so many layers of tulle that even without the mannequin, it’s able to stand up on its own. I hold on to Ma’s hand as I step into it, and then comes the arduous process of hooking the corset in tight. It takes Ma and all three of my aunts to get it done. Then they do up thedozens of buttons and Second Aunt attaches the long lace veil to the back of my hair.

“Done,” Second Aunt says, her voice as gentle as I have ever heard it. Ma and the other aunties crowd around me as I turn to face the mirror.

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