Page 86 of Four Aunties and a Wedding

The two women stare at each other for a tense second before Ama nods, and something in the atmosphere lifts. It’s like coming up for air after being underwater.

“Can we untie my uncles now?” Staph says.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” I say. “Wait, I mean, assuming we’re all okay here and you guys aren’t trying to frame us as drug-dealers-slash-kidnappers?”

Staph sighs and shakes her head. “We’re done.”

“Wait, we cannot trust them!” Ma says. “They mafia!”

Staph frowns at her. “Wow, you really bought into that, huh?”

“What?” We all stop and stare. I feel like we’ve been doing that a lot the past hour or so. “You’renotmafia?”

Staph grunts and looks over at her family. “See? I told you guys she believed me.” She rolls her eyes. “I only told you that to scare you into not calling off the wedding. I panicked when you overheard my phone call. I had to stop you from calling everything off somehow.”

“WHAT?” I didn’t think I had any breath left inside me after all the surprise reveals, but now I feel winded again. I’d spent so long thinking of Staph as a friend, and then suddenly I had to think of her as a mafia gangster and somehow I’d managed to buy into that so completely that readjusting to seeingher as a normal person once more is... really freaking weird. My mind grapples with it, stumbling over every memory of today.

When Second Uncle had arrived to do our hair and makeup and we’d been so scared of having him touch our hair because “MAFIA!” And then we’d gone ahead and kidnapped him because, of course, what else do you do with the mafia? And then—god—going through his phone to find the target they wanted to assassinate—

“The assassination?” I whisper.

Staph shrugs. “I told you, I had to think of something on the spot. That was the best I could come up with. I know it’s a bit far-fetched...”

Now that I’m seeing the truth for what it is, I’m like,Yes, of course it’s far-fetched!Why would the mafia try to take out a target at a wedding? It makes zero sense! There are so many witnesses, so many ways that it could go wrong. The very thought is laughable.

And the rest of my brain agrees because, suddenly, a laugh bubbles out of me. Everyone looks at me as if I’ve finally cracked, and I can’t stop laughing. I bend over with the force of it, clutching at my stomach.

“Are you okay?” Nathan says, and I try to tell him yes, but I’m laughing too hard to say anything coherent.

“—we thought—kill Lilian!” I gasp in between laughter.

Big Aunt snorts. “We kidnap Big Uncle and Second Uncle because we think they so dangerous!”

“And we spike champagne with Mary-Joanna,” Second Aunt joins in.

“And then we end up drug ourselves!” Ma cries.

“At least it felt good,” Fourth Aunt says. They all look at her and then, as one, they all lose it, doubling over with laughter.

I join them, putting my arm around Ma’s shaking shoulders and the other around Fourth Aunt and laughing until we’re all half-crying. I pull Nathan into the hug and he laughs and joins us, wrapping his arms around us all. Everyone else looks confused, but I don’t even care anymore. In this moment, I’ve found sharp-edged clarity that has cut away all of the strings of reservations, and it is this: I am exactly like my family.

I suppose a small part of me has always thought I was somehow better—more modern, more educated, more sensible. I’m not as flappy or showy or loud. In many ways, Iamdifferent. I speak flawless English. I don’t stew Chinese herbs into drinks that I force on others. I don’t guilt-trip my loved ones into doing things I want. I don’t shout unnecessarily. I speak in a normal tone of voice, and I strive to blend in instead of stand out.

But now I realize these are all just surface differences. Deep down in my core, I am precisely the product of my family. When skin and flesh are ripped away, I am an exact replica of them. Case in point: look how easily we all bought into the mafia story. Anyone else, anyone normal, would have poked so many holes into Staphanie’s cover that it wouldn’t have held up. Nathan would’ve figured it out, probably. Maybe. I’d have to ask him later. At the very least, he would’ve probably revealed the truth to me instead of hiding it this whole time and then he would’ve sacrificed himself and gone to the police. There are so many alternatives to how all of this could’ve worked out, but every one of my actions has shown me that I am my mother’s daughter. Minus the penchant she and her sisters have for playing down the seriousness of murder and chopping up bodies, that is.

And I love it. Some—okay, most—of our choices have been suspect, yet here we are, having worked everything out somehow. We’ve managed to survive. And that’s what my family hasalways taught me. Over the years, when the men in the family left, one by one, my mother and aunts have shown me what it means to pick up the broken pieces of your life and keep plodding along until everything’s okay again. Through everything, I’ve never once questioned whether or not they’ll be here for me. I just assumed they would be. Because of course they will. Even Fourth Aunt, despite her lifelong rivalry with Ma, has always been there when I needed her.

I hug them all tightly and tell them I love and adore them, and from the corner of my eye, I see that Staph and her uncles are holding Ama tight as she gently breaks in their arms, mourning the loss of her grandson once more. I look away to give them some privacy and meet Ma’s eye. She nods and gives me a smile, one that goes back in time and shows me her face from thirty years ago.

It looks exactly like mine.

•••

“So,” Nathan says, handing me a cold drink.

I take a sip and sigh happily. “This is delicious.”

“Elderflower and gin,” he says. “And it’s not delicious, it’s scrumptious.”

---