Page 40 of I Did Something Bad
“Are you into fashion?”
“I—” I stammer. I’m trying to compose myself but the noise and screaming children aren’t helping; neither is the fact that Su is still gripping my arms. I settle on a straightforward “I like fashion.”
“Oh great!” she says, squeezing me. “You’lllovemy older sister. She’s a tailor!”
Her enthusiasm takes the corners of my courteous smile and effortlessly stretches it out into a genuine grin. Despite being parents, my parents aren’t really “children people,” and growing up, I always had the suspicion that having to pay attention to one biological child was more than enough hassle for them, so I never really invited friends over to my house. I knew my mom and dad would pretend to care only to forget their name ten seconds later, and even at a young age, I knew that was a small but acute heartbreak that I didn’t want to bear, the idea that I could try and try to integrate them into other parts of my life, but they simply didn’t have the time and energy towantto on their end.
Su, though, seems like the kind of mom who happily chaperoned field trips and took great pride in embarrassing her teenage children with an incessant stream of hugs and kisses out in public, and who whipped up homemade snacks for every sleepover while being aware of each of Tyler’s friends’ dietary allergies and restrictions. The kind of mom whowantsto be a mom, to her children but also to any child, including, right now, me.
“Hey, where’s…” I turn to Tyler just in time to catch him glancing at me before redirecting his full attention to Su. “Jess?”
“Didn’t you see the family group chat this morning? She left for Bangkok.”
Tyler’s shoulders tense, and the side of his mouth pulls; I’m sure to anyone else, it’d be interpreted as a subtle half smile, but I know what it is. Something’s up. “She left for Bangkok? Are you serious?” he says, the words stilted like someone made a last-minute change in the script and thrust it to him while the cameras were still rolling. “So she’s not here?”
“Her boyfriend surprised her last night with concert tickets to… what’s that artist she likes?” Su, releasing me at last, swats the suddenly uneasy air. “Oliver? Something Roberts? Oliver Roberts? No, you know her. Very purple. Olive? Starts with anR? Olive Roadkill?” Shetskswith frustration. “The young girl with the long hair with a lot of teenage angst—”
“Olivia Rodrigo?” Tyler and I both offer at the same time. Su nods, face brightening with recognition.
“Did you seriously just sayOlive Roadkill?” Tyler asks. I have to stifle a laugh at that.
Su rolls her eyes. “You knew who I meant! Anyway, Jess texted the chat. I’d assumed you’d read it.”
Tyler’s deep sigh is more annoyed than I’d expect. “I’m about seventy texts behind in there. You all havea lotto say.”
“You know how our family is.”
“Yeah, apparently the kind that cancels last minute without even following up,” he mutters, then, catching my eye, slaps his (clearly fake) movie-star smile back on. “Shall we eat?” he says, and drapes one long arm around his mom’s shoulder.
With his head down, we pass the front desk where there are several families who committed the frankly rookie error of not making a reservation and are now mingling to the side in the hopes that they’ll besqueezed in between preexisting reservations. Inside, and although it’s a huge space in comparison to your average restaurant, the place is packed, and I almost trip over a toddler on two separate occasions. The large round tables are laid out in four parallel lines, withjustenough space between the backs of chairs for one slightly-larger-than-average person to squeeze through. To be honest, though, now that we’re here, the havoc works in Tyler’s favor. Unless you really zoom in on him—and everyone is too busy to be zooming in on any one person, the staff included—he passes as someone who makes you go,Huh, that guy kind of looks familiar.
Our table is located in the far back of the restaurant, wedged in the right corner. “Speaking of, Khin!” May says, jumping to her feet when we arrive. She’s wearing a matching purple knit short-sleeved top and midi skirt set, and a white bucket hat that both looks chic and executes the job of keeping half her face hidden. “I was just telling everyone how incredible you are to work with!” She pulls me in for a hug while making sure never to face the rest of the restaurant, and then reaches for Tyler. “And you, Jesus, it’s like you’ve been intentionally avoiding me outside of the lot,” she mumbles. Tyler and I make eye contact, our lips simultaneously pressing into a taut line, although no one else notices.
It turns out that when Tyler said there would be a seating chart, he meant he and May would sit with their backs to the restaurant while the rest of us slightly scooted our chairs closer together so that there were no gaps for a server or wandering fan to pop their head in. I’m directly opposite him, facing the restaurant, about two millimeters of space between the back of my chair and the wall, and a straight, clear view of my subject(s). Perfect.
I meet his father, two aunts, three uncles, and two cousins, all of whom are shockingly down-to-earth for members of Tyler Tun’s family. It’s not that I thought they’d be stuck up, per se, but I know Tyler’s net worth, and I can imagine he’s bought his parents a nice present or two over the years—I was picturing at least a non-flashy Rolex on his dad’s wrist, or an Hermès bag hanging behind his mother’s seat. But instead, Alex (his dad) is sporting a regular stainless steel silver watch, and Su’s bag is a plain navy Longchamp tote with a few scuff marks. And the only reason people throw stray peeks our way is when Alex and Su lean in for an innocuous kiss, although it takes me a few minutes to realize that not only is Alex the only white person in this restaurant, but the two of them are also the only interracial couple here. Despite the general increase in the city’s immigrant population over the last decade, you don’t really find them (especially if they’re white and middle-class) frequenting restaurants like these that are older and don’t do marketing the way the new, say, fusion bistros do, and where the menus are entirely in Myanmar (and in this case, also Mandarin). I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit that I had assumed Alex didn’t know any Myanmar language, but he’s fluent. And then I remember what Tyler said about their old apartment in Chinatown, and about how it was his father who wanted to eat dim sum the right way. Alex was probably a regular at this restaurant’s old location, too, has probably known about this place longer thanIhave; something about him refusing to forego the “authentic dim sum experience” even for his movie-star son makes my heart squeeze. At this table, Tyler is just Tyler. I’m not the kind of person to be sentimental at the sight of other families’ obvious tight-knittedness, but the portrait ofthisfamily together sparks a small flame inside me.
Unable to whip out my phone and write my notes due to social protocol, I stay quiet and try to observe as much of the scene as I can, taking mental Polaroid pictures of every single one of Tyler’s interactions.
Click: the way he sucks in his cheeks after taking the first bite of his favorite dim sum dish, har gow, which is apparently his one “weakness” in regards to his new vegan lifestyle.Click: his shy, embarrassedexpression when his aunt pulls his face flush to hers for a surprise selfie.Click: the roar of his inadvertent laugh when his mom recounts a story about an address mix-up that led to his sister’s weed brownie delivery arriving at their house to the ignorance of their father who just so happened to be peckish that day after a particularly long morning jog.Click: his sneaky, relaxed smile as he watches his parents mock-bicker.
“Khin, I have to say—” His cousin Aye’s voice seizes all of our attention, but not before Tyler finds me looking at him and… smiles. Before I can even be embarrassed, Aye says, “We were all so excited to hear you were joining us today.”
“Oh?” I am… confused? Surprised? Flattered? All three, possibly. “Why’s that?”
“Auntie and Uncle told us that Tyler can’t stop talking about you. Which, by the way”—she points her chopsticks across the table at him—“I don’t understand why you haven’t mentioned her in the cousin chat. I thought we were friends.”
In an effort to clear up my ongoing confused-surprised-flattered state, I look at Tyler for answers—and find him cheeks flushed and widening his eyes at Aye as he tries to communicate something through Cousin Telepathy.
“Khin isthe best,” May answers on his behalf (sort of), but her tone and the shoulder nudge she gives him feels less like she’s saving him and more like teasing. “She’s probably the best journalist I’ve ever encountered. Very dedicated to her work, including this profile. She and Tyler are practically inseparable on set.”
Now it’s my turn to have heat stretch out across my face. Despite my spaghetti-strap top, I can feel my elbows start to sweat. Everyone’s eyes are ping-ponging between me and Tyler, and in spite of my instincts, I make sure not to look at him.
“Two months isn’t a lot of time to shadow someone—” I hear him start to say.
“Interesting,” his other cousin, Paing, interrupts. “Because remember when theNew York Timeswanted just half a day with you and you said you could spare an hour, max?”
Aye snorts beside me. Perhaps against my better judgment, I sweep a swift gaze across the table. I don’t need Cousin Telepathy to read the blatant embarrassment (and anger) on Tyler’s face as he glares at Paing, who is smiling back with an innocentWhat?expression. Everyone else is trying to hide their unbridled glee by looking down or away. Everyone except for May. When my eyes land on May, she’s already watching me. She gives me a warm smile, but doesn’t break eye contact. She is, I realize after a few seconds, pulling a me. That is to say, she’s observing me, gauging how I’m reacting to all of this. Does she… does she know? No, she can’t know. But her quip about Tyler and I being inseparable definitely hints that she suspects something—I’m just not certain how farfetched (or not) her suspicions are.
