Page 5 of The Good, the Bad, and the Aunties

“Don’t worry, I made sure it’s legit TCM,” Fourth Aunt says with a roll of her eyes.

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Fourth Aunt.”

“I substituted the THC with Ambien. We all slept through the entire flight.”

“What? Ambien? Isn’t that prescription only?” My mind spins, trying to keep up with my mom and aunts and their drug use.

“Yeah, we all got a prescription for it,” Fourth Aunt says so simply, like she’s talking about the weather.

“Big Aunt talk in her sleep the whole time,” Second Aunt snickers. “Keep on shouting orders at the flight attendants in her sleep.”

Big Aunt harrumphs. “I think you making that up.”

“I’ll show you video later,” Second Aunt says to me. I give her a weak smile.

“Enough of that. Come, Nathan, you have to meet the rest of the family!” Ma grabs my arm and Nathan’s and pulls us toward the group of aunties and uncles, who are all smiling and staring openly at us. “This is Auntie Yuli, she is our cousin from Nainai’s side, and this one her brother, you call him Uncle Ping, okay, and this one Uncle Mochtar, he is our second cousin from...”

I glance at Nathan as Ma presents each aunt and uncle to him. I still remember the first time that Ma took me back to Jakarta, when I was a kid, and how overwhelming it was. It took me two more visits to remember every aunt’s, uncle’s, and cousin’s name. Poor Nathan. He must be so overwhelmed.

“Auntie Yuli, Uncle Ping, Uncle Mochtar, Auntie Wati, Auntie Sheren, and Uncle Ong,” Nathan says, nodding at each one with a warm, open smile.

What the hell? Did he seriously memorize all of their names just like that?

The crowd of aunties and uncles erupts into huge grins. The uncles reach out and slap Nathan fondly on the back, and the aunties grab his arms, yammering the whole time about how handsome and well-mannered he is. Together, the throng leads him toward the exit, leaving me behind. Nathan turns his head and gives me a wide-eyed, helpless look, but beneath it is warm amusement. He’s totally enjoying this, the ham. With a laugh, I jog after them, catching up with Ma and linking my arm through hers. Maybe Nathan’s right. Maybe we’ll actually have fun in Jakarta.

The family home is a huge, ostentatious mansion in Pantai Indah Kapuk, north Jakarta. Like many of the other towering mansions in PIK, when the aunties and uncles renovated the house five years ago, they chose to go baroque, the most over-the-top architecture that has ever been architectured. I’m talking about a literal giant crown built atop the roof of the house, like that’s going to fool anyone into thinking we’re actual royalty.

“Wow,” Nathan breathes as we get out of the car and tilt our heads back, and back, and back to take in the behemoth of a house in front of us.

I grimace. “I know. But this house has like, four different families living in it.”

It’s the Chinese-Indonesian way; traditionally, most children live with their parents, even after they get married, so you’d often get three whole generations living in a single house. Most Chinese-Indonesian families are huge, comprising more than six children, so usually some of the children would move out after they got married, but more often than not, at least one or two of them would remain in the family home. Our family home is no different; though Ma and the aunties long ago emigrated to the States, Auntie Sheren and Auntie Wati, their cousins from their mother’s side, have remained in the family house with their respective families.

“Wow, four different families?” Nathan raises his eyebrows.

“There’s Auntie Sheren and her husband, Uncle Ping and his wife, and then there’s Auntie Sheren’s son and his wife, and Uncle Ping’s daughter and her husband, and all their kids. So... I think there are fourteen people living here? Plus their live-in helpers.” I hate having to explain this stuff to non-Indonesians, who always seem to be horrified by the concept. I can’t help but feel judged whenever I tell them that no, it’s not actually part of our culture to move out of our parents’ house, because nine out of ten times, people would react with shock/horror and make comments about how infantilizing our culture is.

But Nathan nods slowly before grinning. “Sounds like a blast. Can you imagine how much fun the kids must have? I was always so lonely growing up as an only child. I would’ve killed to live in one single house with my cousins.”

My chest loosens. I hadn’t even noticed it tightening.

“Ayo, masuk!” Uncle Ping gestures jovially, ushering us through the massive double doors.

Nathan and I go inside and are almost blinded by the crystal chandelier cascading from the foyer ceiling. It must be about a thousand watts of light and is a total showstopper. Grecian statues flank the foyer, staring down at us impassively while wrestling dolphins. Next to them are Ming vases as tall as Nathan. My insides squirm at how ostentatious everything in here must look to Nathan. I mean, it’s as though my family raided the British Museum.

“Masuk, masuk!” Auntie Wati pushes us along, deeper into the house, and suddenly, there are shouts and stampeding feet and we’re attacked. Well, by hugs.

The kids jump around us like little pups, and I laugh and hug them all.

“Cici Meddy!” they shout, throwing their little arms around my shoulders and tugging affectionately at my hair and telling me how pretty I look (aww) and how bad my breath smells after my long flight. Then they look at Nathan and gasp. “Is he a movie star?” my five-year-old niece, Jeassyka, wonders aloud, her eyes wide.

“No,” I laugh.

“But he can be,” Ma adds loyally, patting Nathan’s arm and beaming up at him with fondness. “He is as handsome as Thor, ya?”

The kids nod, their eyes never leaving Nathan’s face, which has turned an interesting shade of red.

“But better,” Big Aunt sniffs. “Because he is Chinese. Chinese Thor better than American Thor.”

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