Page 3 of Dial A for Aunties

“Thank you for being sooo caring, Meimei,” Big Aunt is saying. Phew, she’s really mad now. She only refers to the rest as meimei—little sister—when she wants to remind them who’s the eldest. “Of course everything is ready. The cake will be perfectly fine; please don’t worry about me.” She gives Second Aunt a smile that I can only describe as “so sweet it’s deadly” and then turns her attention to me.

I shift in my seat. Big Aunt, like her title, is larger than all her sisters. I guess twenty years as a pastry chef will do that to you. She wears her size well, and it makes her more majestic, more convincing. There’s a reason she’s the one who meets with potential clients. I hate the thought of disappointing Ma, but the thought of disappointing Big Aunt actually keeps me up some nights. Maybe it’s the result of spending most of my life in the same house as my mom and her sisters. Ma and I only got to move into our own place a year ago, after the family business started turning a steady profit. We all still live in the same neighborhood, a mere ten-minute walk away from one another, and I feel the weight of their expectations, as if I have four mothers and all of their hopes and dreams have been placed on my shoulders. I’m basically driven by a mixture of caffeine and familial guilt.

Big Aunt turns to face me, and my spine straightens instinctively. Maybe she senses how nervous I am about tomorrow, because she gives me an encouraging smile and switches to English for my sake. “Meddy, everything okay with camera, ya? You ready for big day?”

I nod. I checked and rechecked my camera, my backup camera, and all five of my lenses yesterday. They’d all been sent for a maintenance and proper cleanup weeks ago, in preparation for this wedding. I hate that the documenting of my family’s hard work—Big Aunt’s towering cakes, Second Aunt’s complicated hairstyles and flawless makeup artistry, Ma’s gorgeous flower arrangements, and Fourth Aunt’s dynamic performances—all falls on my shoulders. Every wedding, I try to capture everything, and every wedding, I miss something. Last wedding, I forgot to take pictures of Fourth Aunt from her “good side, the one that makes me look twenty again,” and the wedding before that, I failed to capture the centerpiece at table 17, which was apparently significantly different from all the other centerpieces.

“My gear’s in perfect condition,” I assure them, “and I’ve memorized the list of pictures I need to take for our social media.”

“You good, filial girl, Meddy,” Big Aunt says, and I force a smile. Ah, filial piety, the foundation of Asian parenting. From ever since I can remember, I’ve been taught to put my elders—that is, Ma and the aunties—above everything. It’s the reason why I, out of seven kids in my generation, am the only one involved in the family business, even though I desperately want out. For their sake, I pretend to love all of it—the fuss and the huge production and everything—but it’s slowly eroding what I love about photography. For months now, I’ve toyed with the idea of leaving the wedding business, of going back to what I love about photography—to be able to take my time, play around with different lenses and lighting and angles instead of rushing to take photo after photo of the same stuff. Not that I can ever reveal any of this to my family.

“Yes, you are a good, filial girl,” Ma chirps in Indonesian. Ma and the aunties are equally fluent in Mandarin and Indonesian and switch seamlessly from one language to the other. She’s smiling really wide. Uh-oh. Why is she smiling? “That’s why we have a surprise for you.”

Now all of my aunts are grinning down at me. I shrink back in my seat, the siu mai in my mouth turning to stone. “What’s going on?” I say, my voice coming out even smaller than usual with my family.

Ma says, “I found the perfect husband for you!” At the same time, all of my aunts say, “Surprise!”

I blink. “Sorry, you found what now?”

“Perfect husband!” Ma crows.

I look over my shoulder, half-expecting some guy Ma has probably ambushed at the Ranch 99 market to come up behind me.

“Aiya, he’s not here, silly girl,” Ma says.

“Is he tied up in the trunk of your car?”

“Don’t joke, Meddy,” Big Aunt tuts. “Your mama is doing all of this so that you can have a good life.”

I nod, contrite. I’m an adult and yet all it takes is a single admonishment from Big Aunt to make me feel all of three years old again. “Sorry, Ma. But I don’t—”

“Don’t but this but that,” Ma says. “Why is it so difficult to get you to date? I tried setting you up with Uncle Awai’s son, but no, you didn’t let me. I tried setting you up with my lily supplier, Ah Guan—Ah Guan is very handsome, you know—but you refused that too. Didn’t even want to meet him.”

“Meddy is probably cautious because last time when you tried to set her up with Wang Zhixiang’s son, he turned out to be, you know,” Fourth Aunt says.

Ma waves an irritated hand. “Why do you keep bringing up Zhixiang’s son? So he turned out to be some maniac. How was I supposed to know?”

“Kleptomaniac,” I mumble. By the time our date was over, he’d stolen my makeup bag from my purse and, somehow, one of my shoes. I mean, the guy’s an asshole, but you’ve gotta give it to him. Or let him steal it.

“Anyway, sayangku,” Ma says, using the Indonesian term of endearment she saves for really special occasions, like the day I graduated from UCLA, “this guy is so good. I’m telling you, no one is better than him. He is so handsome, so kind, and so smart! Aaand...”

Oh god, here it comes. The final nail in the coffin. What is it going to be this time? With my luck, he’ll turn out to be a second cousin or something.

“He’s the hotel owner!” Fourth Aunt cries.

Ma glares at her. “I was just going to say that. You stole my thunder!”

“You were taking too long,” Fourth Aunt says.

They all turn back to me, grinning expectantly.

“Uh.” I put down my chopsticks. “I mean. Am I supposed to be happy about that? It sounds like a huge liability. Do I have to give you guys a refresher course on how bad I am at dating? What part of this is a good idea, exactly?”

“Ah,” Ma says, smiling smugly. “I know you’re not so good at dating—”

“It’s because you’re such good girl,” Big Aunt says, loyally.

Second Aunt nods. “Yes, you’re not a whore, that’s why you’re so bad at dating.”

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