Page 44 of Next Time Will Be Our Turn
My mouth pinched shut. Mama’s eyes slid to mine.
“He’s a good boy.”
“Yeah. He treats me well.” That wasn’t a lie, at least.
“You will be a good wife.” This was delivered as a prophecy.
I nodded, unable to bring myself to speak. A knot had appeared deep inside me, and as Mama spoke, it twined harder and tighter, choking me.
“You must be strong and patient and…”
The knot inside me gave another vicious twist and I jumped up to my feet, startling Mama. “Sorry. I’m really tired. I’m just gonna—”
“Yes, of course.” She looked chastised, and now I felt guilty. “Rest. You’re going to be busy.”
As I started toward the staircase, Mama grabbed my arm. I stiffened under her touch; neither of my parents were huggers. She looked like she wanted to say something, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted desperately for her to say it or if I wanted desperately to run away. The moment passed. She swallowed whatever it was that had been about to wriggle out of her lips, and instead said, “Good night.”
By the time I got to my bedroom, I was breathing hard, my chest rising and falling rapidly and my thoughts scrambled. I raked my fingers through my hair and yanked off the hairpins that had held it in place. I ripped off my little black dress, which had been comfortable at the start of the evening but was now inexplicably suffocating. I wiped off my makeup savagely, rubbing my skin raw. I didn’t stop to think about why I felt like I wanted to peel off my skin. Finally, when I was completely naked, I hunched over my dressing table, still out of breath.
My hands moved on their own accord, pulling open a drawer and grabbing a piece of paper and pen. I scrawled on the paper while still standing.
Let’s see, give me that pile, Izzy, that letter should be in here somewhere…
Dear Ellery,
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.
You know what? Looking at this entire page filled with nothing but “I miss yous” is kind of mortifying. Are you laughing at your grandma? That is very disrespectful.
I was very melodramatic back then, wasn’t I? I remember how cathartic writing this letter felt, like I was vomiting the depths of my soul onto the page. Funny that all I could come up with were the same three words. I guess that’s why Ellery was the writer, not me. Oh, did I ever miss her then though. And what a horrible thing to feel right after accepting a marriageproposal. At least writing it out made me feel less like I was about to shatter. I tucked it in the box where I kept all the other letters to Ellery, then took a shower and went to bed. The next morning, I woke up with renewed resolve. Mama was right, Parker was a great guy, and I was going to make a good life for myself.
• • •
The wedding preparations started almost immediately. There was so much to plan. Chinese-Indonesian weddings on average had at least two thousand guests, and once Mama and Papa sat down with Parker’s parents to talk over the guest list, it became clear that ours would have closer to three thousand guests. This was still within the realm of the average wedding here, so we were spoiled for choice when it came to venues.
To my surprise, Parker had a lot to say with regards to the wedding itself. Or maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised, since our dates had always comprised of Parker taking over the reins and planning every part of the equation. He was a planner, and a wedding, after all, was simply one big event with a million things to plan. And as with our dates, I was more than happy to let him be the decision-maker in most parts of the event. Foolishly, I thought this would make for a smooth wedding, but take note: when it comes to Chinese-Indonesian weddings, there is no such thing as a smooth one.
The problems we had were many and varied and seemed, to me, utterly ridiculous. Our first big hiccup occurred a couple of days after our parents sat down over the guest list. When Parker picked me up for dinner, I could tell at once that something wasoff. He didn’t talk much on the drive, and once we were seated at the restaurant, he cleared his throat.
“Hey, so…my parents think that three thousand guests is kind of a lot. The catering costs are a bit higher than they were expecting.”
“Oh!” I wasn’t rattled; traditionally, Chinese-Indonesian weddings were paid for by the groom’s side of the family, but Mama and Papa had told me that they were more than happy to pay for half of the wedding. “That’s reasonable. My parents said they’re happy to foot half the bill.” I smiled at Parker, relieved that my parents’ generosity had helped us overcome our first bump so effortlessly.
But Parker didn’t smile back. Instead, he grimaced. “Yeah, they mentioned it to my parents. And, uh…my parents found it sort of offensive.”
“What? Why?”
“Because it makes them look bad? Like they can’t afford to pay for the wedding.”
I laughed. My first mistake of the night. “That’s ridiculous,” I said. My second mistake. “No one would think that.”
“It makesmelook bad too, Maggie. It’s emasculating, can’t you see that?”
“I really don’t think that’s how people would see it, and many weddings are now split evenly between the two families—”
“Maggie, enough,” Parker said. He didn’t quite raise his voice, but there was a sudden presence of steel in his voice that immediately silenced me. “My parents are paying for this wedding, okay? All of it. It’s our tradition.”
“Okay…”
