Page 73 of Dial A for Aunties

“Party Peeps,” the other one slurs.

“And presumably you would know who’s from which agency?”

The two groomsmen stare at him blankly. “I what now?” one of them says.

Sheriff McConnell pinches the bridge of his nose. “What I’m asking is: This man, he’s definitely not from either of your agencies?”

One of the groomsmen shakes his head confidently, while the other says, “Iono.”

I’m expecting Sheriff McConnell to be frustrated by this, but instead, he rubs his hands with satisfaction and nods. “You two can go. I know who did it.”

I can’t help squeezing Ma’s hand. She squeezes back and pats it reassuringly. “Oh, Tuhan,” she mutters. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

It’s not okay. I’m about to be arrested. I watch, rooted to the spot, every part of me leaden, as Sheriff McConnell walks off the altar and onto the aisle. Coming straight toward me.

Except he stops in front of Nathan and says, in a thunderous voice that matches the weather, “Nathan Chan, you are under arrest for the murder of this man.” He pulls out a pair of handcuffs with relish and, smiling proudly, latches them around Nathan’s wrists.

29

Sheriff McConnell barely spares Ma and me a glance as he brushes past, his meaty hands on Nathan’s shoulders. Nathan is wide-eyed, but as he passes me, he whispers, “It’ll be okay.”

And I’m—

I’m—

Furious. How pathetic does Nathan think I am, that he’d need to comfort me while HE’S literally in handcuffs? What is it about me that makes people around me want to take care of every problem? Do I exude incompetence? Helplessness? I’ve had just about enough of it. I swing around. I want to yell at Nathan, to tell him to stop protecting me, stop treating me like I’m this breakable thing, because I’m not. I want to lash out at someone, at anyone, and unfortunately, the closest person to me right then is Ma. Ma and my aunties.

They’re just standing there, gaping as the security guards all file away, following Nathan.

“It’s going to be okay,” Big Aunt says in Indonesian, her voice full of uncertainty, and I take it. I take this chance to lash out.

“It won’t be okay!” I cry. “It won’t be, stop saying it will, because it won’t! I didn’t want any of this to happen. I just wanted to—I just—” I just what? What would I have done without my family? I would’ve been stuck at home with a dead body in my car and no way of explaining it. But maybe that would have been better than this. Anything would’ve been better than having Nathan get arrested for something I did.

“Meddy, you are upset, I know, but we are just taking care of you,” Ma says.

I shirk away from her outstretched hand, and the hurt that slashes across her face enrages me even more. “I don’t need you to take care of me. I’m not a baby anymore, Ma. God, all of this is such a burden!”

They startle at the B-word. It’s their worst nightmare, to be a burden to their children.

“Meddy, how can you say that?” Big Aunt says in English, her chest rising. “We are family, we work together, we always there for each other.”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly the problem. We’re always there. I don’t know what life is like without any of you in it. I had a glimpse of it when I went to college, and then after that I moved back home and it’s back to being in the fold. I don’t know who I am without you all breathing down my neck. I don’t even know if I want to be a wedding photographer, but I can’t do my own thing, I can’t just abandon the family business, because you always talk about sacrifice and how much you’ve all sacrificed for me, and so this is it, the cycle of sacrifice that’ll go on and on and on.”

They look like I’ve slapped them. “You don’t want to be wedding photographer?” Ma whispers.

“I hate weddings!” I cry.

They stagger back a step, their faces lit up with horror.

“I do, I hate them—”

“That’s not true. I’ve seen the way you look at wedding dresses,” Fourth Aunt says. “It’s like you’ve got horny eyes on; it’s quite honestly disturbing.”

I sigh. “You’re right, there are things I love about weddings. I love the brides; I love seeing them looking all beautiful and happy and wearing a big white dress. But everything else, everything else I hate. I hate that brides and grooms are driven nuts by this unrealistic expectation that the day has to be perfect. I hate that it’s turned into an industry that makes people spend way more than they should, and I hate that we’re part of that!”

They’re all quiet for a while. “So you saying that we are holding you back?” Ma says, after a while.

I don’t answer. I can’t. Whatever I say, it won’t be enough. It won’t be accurate. It’s not a no, and it’s not a yes. And, in the end, I have only myself to blame. My cousins grew up in the same environment and managed to leave, to spread their wings. I’m the only one who remains in the same old nest, and surely that proves that the blame lies on me.

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