Page 73 of Four Aunties and a Wedding

Ma helps Big Aunt up, Fourth Aunt helps Second Aunt to her feet, and together, they all come hurrying down the stage. To my surprise, they’re all smiling proudly.

“We do it!” Ma says.

“What?”

“We save Lilian!” Second Aunt crows. “You see how fast I move? Like striking predator. Ooh, that should be Tai Chi move, ya? Striking Predator. Maybe I can submit move to Tai Chi organization.”

“You didn’t save her.”

“What you mean?” Big Aunt says, frowning. “We all hear gun shoot, so we all shield her, wah, so brave.” Tears shine in her eyes. “We all almost die, lho, Meddy.”

“Er, yeah, about that...” I cock my head toward the floor, at the struggling form of Third Uncle. “That wasn’t a gunshot; it was Third Uncle crashing into the dessert table.” A noise that is completely unlike a gunshot, I want to add, but I decide not to push them. “Speaking of Third Uncle, we need to get him out of here, fast.”

They seem to notice him for the first time.

“Aduh,” Ma says. “Why he lying there like that?”

“I think he has a concussion? I don’t know. Doesn’t matter, let’s get him out of here.”

“Ih, he get our dress dirty, then how?” Second Aunt says.

I want to snap something mean at her but realize I’m being a hypocrite because, well, wasn’t that the whole reason why I didn’t grab him in the first place?Snap out of it, Meddy, I scold myself. Moving Third Uncle > clean dress. Yes. Okay. I reach down and flip over the blanket that’s around him so the clean side is facing up. “Okay, now we can move him without getting our clothes dirty.”

“Wah, very good idea, Meddy,” Ma says, smiling proudly. Again, the things she’s proud of me for really need work.

Lifting Third Uncle requires a bit of coordination, but by now, my family and I are disturbingly adept at carrying unconscious men. We each automatically get to our stations—Fourth Aunt taking the left armpit, Second Aunt taking the right, Big Aunt at the head, and me and Ma each taking a leg. We heave, he comes up off the floor, and we slowly move him onto the wheelchair.

Thank god we’re so efficient about moving bodies now, because just as we finish tucking in the blankets, the doors to the dining room burst open and a pair of security guards come striding in. Oh my god. They’re here to detain us, they’ll take us away and then call the cops and—

“Ma’am, you need to vacate the premises now,” one of them says.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re just about to leave; don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Fourth Aunt mutters, winking at us as she pushes the wheelchair toward the exit.

My heart whines a supersonic beat as we hurry out. Unbelievable. We’re walking past security guards with a kidnapped man. As we go past them, one of the guards gives me a small nod and says, “I’m sorry about your wedding day.” Emotions bubble up in my chest and I have to swallow a lump in my throat. I nod back at him and then rush through the doors.

Outside, I close my eyes and release my breath. That was way too fucking close. “Let’s get him back to the, uh—” I falter. Where should we put him? We can’t take him back to the Randolph, not after all the commotion and fuss with Dan from the reception desk. It’ll attract way too much attention. “The bedroom here,” I say finally. We’ve already got two kidnapped men in there. What’s one more?

And oh god, what are we going to do with them? The pit in my stomach widens. I feel sick at the realization. We can’t just let them go, because who knows what they’ll do? Report us to the police for kidnapping, probably. Or put out a hit on us. But if we don’t let them go, well... what the hell are we going to do with them? We can’t keep them with us forever. Can’t do this, can’t do that. Maybe Second Aunt is right, maybe we should chop them all up into little bits and—

Okay, clearly all neurons in my brain are misfiring. We turn to go down the hallway toward the antechamber when someone shouts, “Stop!”

I freeze, then turn. What I see is worse than guards—it’s Nathan and his parents.

Annie looks furious. Even Chris looks stern. And Nathan looks disappointed, which is somehow worse.

“What is going on?” Annie cries. “What the hell was that? You all almost killed poor Lilian.”

“Go to the bedroom first,” I whisper to Fourth Aunt, who nods and pushes the wheelchair along as Nathan’s parents descend upon us.

“No, no,” Ma says patiently, “we save Lilian.”

“I told you, Ma, it wasn’t a gunshot,” I mutter.

Annie shakes her head. “You have all been quite—quite—” She struggles for the right word, her eyes flashing as she gestures at my family. “I mean, these outfits, those hats—”

“What wrong with hat?” Big Aunt says, and suddenly she’s back in full Big Aunt mode, exuding towering authority and intimidation.

Annie sputters. “Oh for goodness’ sake, look at them! They are ridiculous! You’re a laughingstock!”

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