Page 60 of The Good, the Bad, and the Aunties

The noise outside of Kristofer’s bedroom has reached a fever pitch. Shouts and thumps can be heard vaguely even from all the way up here. My pulse leaps into a gallop and I race down the stairs. The noise becomes even louder as I approach the ground floor, and my stomach plummets when I finally catch sight of the front door. The crowd of guests are crammed in and around the doorway. I run up to them and try to slip through the crush of bodies, but no one is budging. They’re all riveted on what’s going on outside, many of them hooting and cheering.

“Get them!”

“Show that gangster who’s boss!”

Oh god. Of course, Kristofer’s guests are thugs, just like him.

“Excuse me,” I shout, “I need to go through—” Nobody pays me any attention.

I try to pry in between two people, and the one on my left, a woman in a ruby-red gown, actually snarls at me. Good grief.

And the noises coming from outside. More thumps, followed by breaking glass, people shouting and chanting, and for the love of god, what is happening? I would scream, except that nobody would hear me above the din. Are Nathan, Ma, Second Aunt, and Fourth Aunt okay? And Big Aunt? Big Aunt!

I turn away from the crowd and sprint toward the kitchen. Surely, she’s not still in there. Surely, she would’ve heard all the noise and chaos by now and gone out to see what was—

Nope. Big Aunt is indeed still in the kitchen, a KitchenAid mixer on full blast, pots and pans bubbling and sizzling on the stoves, and she is moving like a demon through the mess. She’s deep in her own world, completely oblivious to the outside world.

“Big Aunt,” I call out. She doesn’t hear me. “Big Aunt!” Still nothing.“Big Aunt!”This time, I stride to the giant KitchenAid mixer and yank the plug out of the electric socket. It dies with a sad whir.

“Wha?” Big Aunt whirls around, her mouth halfway open. When she sees me, she goes, “Aduh, Meddy, quick, fix the mixer. Otherwise later my meringue not set. Ayo, cepat.”

“No, listen, Big Aunt, stop. Stop!”

She puts down the whisk she’s using to whip something on the stovetop and gapes at me. My tone had been so sharp it cut like a knife, slicing through the layers of propriety, going straight to the bone.

“What happen?” Her voice is quiet, somber. She’s prepared for the worst possible news.

“They’re outside, and it sounds like they’re fighting.”

“Second Aunt?” Her face is so lined with worry it resembles a walnut.

“She’s fine. Well, she was fine. Kristofer has them all. Nathan, Ma, Second Aunt, and Fourth Aunt, and I saw him take them outside. Abi’s arrived with all these men and it sounds like—god, I don’t even know. Like some sort of fight is going on, and our family’s out there on the front lines and I can’t get through the crowd.”

Big Aunt groans. “Aduh, Meddy, how many time your ma and we all teach you how to get through crowd at dim sum restaurant? You have to be firm. ‘I have reservation. My family already waiting inside!’ and then just go in.” Her hand slices down firmly, like a cleaver. “Cut through the crowd, like a shark.”

“Okay, this is slightly different from a dim sum crowd.” But is it, really? The crowds at the San Gabriel Valley dim sum places have been known to get very territorial, especially when they sense that the lunch carts are running out of the good stuff.

Big Aunt tuts and wipes her hands down on a kitchen towel briskly. “Come, follow me. I show you how to do.” At the last minute, she grabs a large wooden spoon from the counter and marches out of the kitchen, with me hot on her heels.

“These people are probably really dangerous, Big Aunt.” I don’t know why I feel the need to remind her of this. It’s clear they’re dangerous; they kidnapped Second Aunt, for crying out loud. But still, I feel like I need to tell Big Aunt not to scold them like naughty kids.

“Hah!” Big Aunt slaps her palm with the wooden spoon. “If only I have feather duster, then I really show these boys their place.”

Ah, the feather duster. It’s like every Chinese parent’s go-toweapon. When I was little, Ma told me that when Chinese people have babies, the hospitals bestow upon them a feather duster and tell them to use it liberally. Ma never used one on me, but I’ve seen my aunties use it on their sons, chasing them around the house with it as my cousins grab their butts with both hands and dart around, squealing.

I’m about to beg Big Aunt not to spank Kristofer or his men when we get to the crowd. Somehow, it seems even bigger than before, swelling and replicating in numbers. The noise is deafening, everyone cheering or booing or generally shouting. My steps falter, but Big Aunt charges ahead without pause. The wooden spoon moves in a blur, rapping someone’s shoulder one second, whacking into another’s elbow the next.

“Awas!” she shouts, as she thwacks her way into the crowd with deadly precision. “Minggir!” It shouldn’t work as well as it does. The wooden spoon is merciless, sure, but a crowd this enthusiastic and tightly packed shouldn’t move apart so easily under Big Aunt’s assault, but somehow, as though everyone’s survival instincts kick in, sensing a greater danger behind them, the crowd splits apart.

I scurry after Big Aunt, sticking as close to her as possible, terrified that the warm bodies around me will close in, separating me from Big Aunt and, worse, trapping me in the midst of this half-rabid group. As we scythe our way deeper into the crowd, the noise becomes so loud that I feel it in my veins, pounding like war drums. The heat becomes unbearable, the energy of over a hundred people crushing up against one another hot on my skin. I hate this, god, I hate every moment of this, but I have to keep going, keep my eyes locked on Big Aunt’s back. One foot after the other. One step, then another, and another.

And somehow, we do it. We break out of the yelling throng in a sudden burst of cool air. I suck in a desperate breath. It’s all I have time for before my brain digests the scene in front of me. The fight.

No, the fights. Six, seven, eight men are struggling with each other on the ground, throwing savage punches and kicks, grunting, roaring like beasts. Abi and Kristofer stand on either side of the ring, shouting at the men. And a few paces away stand my family members, each of them with a guard holding on to their elbows, their faces tight with horror. Well, except for Fourth Aunt, who’s cheering along with the crowd.

“Hit him in the neck!” she cries. “The neck, I said. Oh for—are you even trying?”

I follow her gaze to the man she’s cheering on and oh god. All of my insides plummet. My heart forgets to beat, my lungs forget to take in air. Because the man that Fourth Aunt is cheering on is none other than Nathan.

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