Page 35 of Dial A for Aunties

Second Aunt glances at me, her eyes questioning. “You going to be okay or not?”

I smile at her. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, Auntie go first then. You be careful.” With that, she leaves, and I’m alone with Fourth Aunt. And the body. “You doing okay, Fourth Aunt?” I can’t even begin to describe how bad I feel about dragging her into this. I’m the least close to Fourth Aunt out of all my aunts. Maybe it’s because of her ongoing feud with Ma, or maybe it’s because she’s the opposite of me in every way. Whatever it is, I’ve always felt a little awkward around her, and now we’re supposed to go all the way back to San Gabriel Valley with a dead body. This is fiiine. I am totally okay with this plan.

“It’s way too early for me to be awake.” Fourth Aunt sighs. “I’m going to look so haggard at tonight’s performance.”

“You? Haggard? Never.” I pull the cooler up again and resume walking. “You’re looking great, Auntie. Very glamor—oh.” Outside the lobby, the long, winding path leading back to the pier is made of loose pebbles. My stomach drops. How the hell am I going to wheel the cooler down this path? Why would anyone make a path out of pebbles?! This is a serious design flaw! What about people in wheelchairs, or parents with strollers, or people carrying dead bodies in giant coolers?

“Would you like me to call you a buggy, miss?” a hotel receptionist asks.

I startle, and the receptionist tilts his head at the cooler. “Let me call you a buggy—”

“Nope! No need!”

He frowns, confused. “But—”

“I get buggy sickness,” Fourth Aunt says. “We’ll be fine. This old thing is empty anyway.”

We smile widely at the receptionist until he goes away, looking bemused.

“Now what?” I whisper to Fourth Aunt.

“Put those biceps to good use,” she replies, pushing the end of the cooler. It rolls off the smooth marble and onto the pebble path. We wince at the horrible crunching noise it makes as I pull, and Fourth Aunt pushes it along the path.

“This is not working,” I grunt, after only a few seconds. “People are going to wonder why we’re not putting it on a buggy.” Sure enough, when I glance back, people are taking notice, throwing strange looks our way. But that might also just be the effect that Fourth Aunt often has, being the equivalent of a human peacock.

“Pull harder,” she gasps, shoving at the cooler.

It makes more of a crunching noise and barely moves an inch. “We’re gonna have to carry it.”

Fourth Aunt doesn’t look happy, but as we’ve got no choice, I take the front of the cooler and lift, and she does the same with the back. Together, we heave the cooler up and stagger slowly down the pebble path. It’s a long journey, but with every painful step, the resort is getting farther from view.

Until Fourth Aunt suddenly stops, her eyes going wide.

“What’s going—” My words die in my mouth when I turn around, because there’s a buggy headed toward us, and incidentally, it’s occupied by Nathan and an elderly couple I quickly recognize as Tom Cruise Sutopo’s parents, that is, the parents of the groom, a.k.a. the billionaires who are footing the staggering bill for this wedding.

Nathan’s entire face lights up when he notices me, which does funny things to my stomach. My poor stomach—it can’t decidewhether to knot out of sheer terror due to body in cooler, etc., or flutter with pleasure because Nathan, etc. It compromises by giving a nauseated gurgle.

Nathan hops out of his buggy and says to Mr. and Mrs. Sutopo, “Here’s someone I’d love you to meet.”

I swallow, my mouth dry.

The old couple smile politely, obviously as confused as I am because I’m a nobody. But when they see Fourth Aunt, they actually gasp out loud and grab each other’s hands.

“This is—”

“MIMI CHAN!” Mr. Sutopo positively squeals.

Mrs. Sutopo shakes her head in wonder, mouth agape. “Is it really her?”

Fourth Aunt takes this in stride. She lowers her end of the cooler gracefully before sashaying to them. Nathan helps the older couple down from the buggy. They still can’t take their eyes off Fourth Aunt, even as they clamber down.

“We’re such big fans,” Mrs. Sutopo says. Her English is flawless, her accent slightly British. Belatedly, I recall Googling her and reading that she met her husband while they were both studying at Oxford. “We’ve followed your career ever since you were a little girl.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet to hear! I love meeting my fans.” Fourth Aunt gives them a big hug, and they practically melt into her, their faces beaming hard.

“You know, our son Tom booked your family’s services for today because he knows we’re your number one fans,” Mr. Sutopo says.

---