14
The kiss sears through my skin, singeing my flesh, reaching deep into my memories, reminding me of the heat of our romance. In the space of a few seconds, I taste those college days once more—the Diddy Riese cookies we used to share with Selena at 11 p.m. on a Tuesday, the scent of hookah smoke as we walked down Broxton Ave holding hands, the feel of his hand cupped firmly round my waist, sending hot waves running through my entire body. The way he made me laugh, a full-on, no-holds-barred belly laugh, and then how he’d climb on top of me and kiss me fully, with his entire being, his skin against mine—
By the time we break apart we’re both breathless. I look at his face, and I know he’s thinking of our UCLA days as well.
“Meddy,” he whispers, leaning in again, catching my mouth with his. So soft, and warm. New and yet achingly familiar. “God, how I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.” My voice catches with emotion. I have. So much.
He takes both of my hands in his, gazing down at me with his beautiful eyes. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I saw you this morning.” He sighs. “Ever since UCLA, I’ve wondered what happened with us. I’ve always wanted to reach out to you, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk to me—I mean, what happened back then?”
My stomach twists. “It’s hard to explain.”
“I know. I got the feeling, especially when I found out you never told your mom about us.”
I cringe. It must’ve been quite a blow to discover that your girlfriend of three years never told her family about you. And for him to find out today, of all days . . . I am such a shit. “I’m sorry, I—it’s complicated.”
The dimples appear again. “I get it. Families often are. Honestly, I thought I’d be more upset about it, but seeing you after all these years . . .”
Relief surges through my chest. He’s not upset about it! God, how is he this amazing? “I know.”
“I—”
“Hey!” someone shouts from afar.
We break apart as if we’re guilty teenagers. A middle-aged man with the world’s bushiest mustache is climbing up the hill toward the resort. Halfway up, he pauses for breath, fanning himself with a piece of paper. When he finally gets to us, his face is tomato red.
“You—” he gasps.
“Hi, Sheriff,” Nathan says. “Can I help you with something?”
Sheriff? I freeze. My insides have turned to stone.
“You can’t—can’t do this here!” the sheriff says.
“Do what?”
The sheriff straightens up, still catching his breath. “This large brouhaha the hotel is holding. Do you have the right permit for it? I doubt you do, because I sure as hell didn’t sign one. And there’s a storm coming, supposed to hit us later today. I don’t think you should let this party go on.”
Despite the weirdness of the situation, Nathan seems completely at ease. “Come on, Sheriff McConnell. It’s a wedding, and I’ve got permits from the mainland to hold large functions here. It’s all legit. I’ll have someone come by and show you the papers. And yes, we’re prepared for the storm if it does hit us. We’ll get everyone inside. It’ll all be okay.”
“Mainland,” the sheriff spits. “You mainland people think you’re better than the rest of us. I’ll be back, just you wait. You and your mainland permits.” He strides away, muttering angrily to himself. I release my breath.
Nathan must have noticed how pale I look because he says, “Are you okay?”
I’m about to reply when Fourth Aunt calls out, “Oh, you kids are still here!”
“Done with the pictures?” Nathan says, cheerily.
“Yep.” Fourth Aunt whispers to Nathan when she reaches us, “I think Mr. Sutopo is pretty tired. Might wanna get him to his room now.”
Nathan nods and hurries back to where Mr. and Mrs. Sutopo are standing. Halfway there, he pauses and says, “I’ll call a buggy down for you. That cooler’s heavy.”
“Don’t worry about us,” I babble, “we’ll be fine. You go.”
Nathan nods at me and gives me one last smile before going. We stand there, waving at them as they drive away. I turn to see Fourth Aunt smiling slyly at me.
“Um. Everything okay?”
“I don’t know, you tell me,” she says.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She nudges me playfully with her elbow. “I saw that kiss.”
My breath comes out in a heavy whoosh. Damn it. The last thing I need is one of my aunts finding out about my love life. “Please don’t tell the others.”
Fourth Aunt grins. “You have my word. Oho, I do so love knowing something your mother doesn’t! She doesn’t know about this, right?”
I shake my head. “Anyway, we need to focus on this.” I nod at the cooler. “What do we do with it?”
“I give up trying to carry that thing all the way down to the pier,” Fourth Aunt says. She wiggles her fingers at me. “I’ll ruin my nails.”
“Yeah, I don’t think we can carry it that far either. Let’s take it back to the fridge, and we can all carry it down together when the others are free? That’ll be more manageable.”
“Okay.”
We struggle to push the cooler off the path, but once it’s back on the smooth marble floor, it’s pretty easy to wheel it all the way back to the kitchen.
Big Aunt’s face lights up when she sees us, then falls when she spots the cooler behind us. “What happen? Why that thing back here again?”
I tell her about the pebble path and the impossibility of wheeling the cooler on it, and she sighs, leading the way to the walk-in fridge.
“Push it there,” she says, pointing to a corner. I do as I’m told and then we put containers of pastries on top of the cooler. “Maybe is okay there for now.”
We survey the cooler. It looks so exposed here, in a place where people are constantly coming in and out. Just as I think that, one of the hotel chefs comes in, pausing when he sees us.
“Essential personnel only,” he says.
“They with me,” Big Aunt says coolly, and he frowns but doesn’t say anything else. He grabs a crate of vegetables and leaves the fridge.
“We should get out of here,” I say. “It’s obvious we don’t belong here.” Not me in my photographer’s outfit and Fourth Aunt in her sequined-flamingo outfit.
“You no worry, I keep eyes on cooler,” Big Aunt says, as we walk out of the fridge.
“I really need to go do the bridal photos now, but once we have free time, we should meet here and move the cooler out.”
The three of us nod, Big Aunt says she’ll let Ma know of the plan, and I rush off to the bridal suite to update Second Aunt. And do my job.
• • •
The bride, Jacqueline, is radiant even before Second Aunt finishes doing her makeup. Her skin has the kind of glow that only years of meticulous, expensive skin care can achieve, and her nose has the perfect arch and slight upturn that only the best surgeon can give. She catches me staring at it and says with a wink, “Souvenir from Seoul.” I like her immediately.
After the round of introductions—I’ve obviously met the bride beforehand, but there are many new faces here, including her mom and what seems like twelve hundred bridesmaids who are all wearing bathrobes and walking in and out, sipping flutes of champagne. The bridal suite is huge, easily bigger than my and Ma’s house, with two bedrooms, a gorgeously decorated living room, and a dining room with a large chandelier. It’s also a mess; every available surface has been covered by a carelessly flung dress, or heels, or handbags, or mascara, or champagne glasses. A waiter swans around with trays of champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries.
Second Aunt has set up a makeup station near the window for the best possible lighting. Next to her, her two assistants have their own work stations and are busily dabbing at bridesmaids’ faces.
I take out my trusty Canon and fit my favorite lens on it—a fixed 50mm f/1.2. I bought it for myself as a Christmas present last year, and it’s worth every goddamn cent. The pictures come out lush, the focus crisp and the background melting into a delicious blur. I usually have to settle for the 35mm when shooting inside hotel rooms because I need the wider angle to take everything in, but this suite is so huge that I can easily fit everything in with the 50mm. Heaven!
“Can I take photos of the wedding gown, please?” I say to Jacqueline.
“Of course! Miss Halim here will help you. She’s the best maid of honor.” Jacqueline grins up at a tall, slender bridesmaid, who rolls her eyes.
“She only says that to butter me up. I’m Maureen. Nice to meet you,” Maureen says, with a wry smile.
“Yes, but it works so well,” Jacqueline laughs.
“Only because I love you, you brat.” Maureen turns to me. “Come, I’ll help you with the dress. It’s a two-person job.”
She’s not kidding. The dress is huge, and it takes the two of us to pull it off the mannequin and hang it up against the floor-to-ceiling window. The sunlight at its back makes it almost translucent, and every lace detail shines through. I was expecting a Vera Wang or an Alexander McQueen, but the silk label says Biyan, which is a nice surprise. An Indonesian designer. It makes me like Jacqueline even more. It strikes me, as I take pictures of the dress from various angles, that this is the first time I’m photographing a wedding dress by an Indonesian designer, and it feels special somehow. It rekindles the love I have for photography and why I decided to join my family’s venture in the first place. If only wedding photography could be all about the intimate details—just me, my camera, pretty dresses, and happy couples, instead of the family obligation and drama that come with it. But now is so not the time to think about leaving the family business.
I take photos of all the other details: the bride’s red-soled Louboutins, which will no doubt kill her feet, the luscious bridal bouquet Ma has created, the invitations.
“Tante Yohana,” I say to the bride’s mother. Tante means Auntie in Indonesian—I can never bring myself to call my elders just by their first name. “Can I take photos of the jewelry, please?” In Chinese weddings, the bride’s jewelry is the last to go on, and is usually a gift from her parents. I’ve taken dozens of pictures of parents putting diamond necklaces on their daughters, and without fail, it’s always a bittersweet moment, full of tearful smiles.
Tante Yohana smiles and ushers me into the bedroom. She takes out a velvet box from the safe and opens it. “What do you think?”
It’s a gorgeous set—earrings, necklace, and a bracelet, all of them dripping with diamonds, arranged in a floral design. The smallest diamond in the set looks about one carat, the biggest easily over three. I’m looking at a set that must have cost them over a million dollars. “It’s beautiful,” I tell her, and she beams.
“It was designed by an Indonesian jeweler, you know,” she says, with obvious pride.
I have her stay right there in the room as I take pictures of the jewelry. I never let myself be left alone with anything expensive, just in case that thing goes missing and I get blamed for it. When I’m done with the jewelry, I slide the box back to Tante Yohana open, so she can see that everything is still intact, and she smiles and returns it to the safe. I’m about to go back out to the living room when my phone boops with a text.
Seb [10:18AM]: SOS
Meddy [10:18AM]: What’s wrong?
Seb [10:19AM]: Men.
A picture appears on my screen.
I stare at the phone in disbelief. Seb is in the groom’s suite, which is down the corridor from the bridal suite and looks identical. Except instead of bridesmaids swanning around, chatting and laughing, the groomsmen are lying dead drunk on every available surface.
Seb sends another picture, and I groan out loud. The groom, Tom Cruise Sutopo, is lying half naked in the large, claw-foot bathtub.
Meddy [10:21AM]: Why are men??
Seb [10:21AM]: Tell me about it. I’ve been trying to wake them for the last fifteen minutes.
Meddy [10:22AM]: Where’s the WP?
Seb [10:23AM]: I don’t know, I don’t keep track of the wedding planner. They’re supposed to be keeping track of things like this!
I swear under my breath.
Meddy [10:24AM]: I’ll be right there.
I slip out of the bridal suite and run all the way to the groom’s suite. Seb opens the door and sweeps inside the room, saying, “Ta-da! Presenting the male Homo sapiens.”
“Goddammit.” I survey the carnage. The room stinks of alcohol and vomit, and the groomsmen are so wasted that they don’t even budge at the sounds of our voices. They’re all in various states of undress; more than once I have to turn away quickly, my cheeks burning. “Um, ’scuse me, guys, you need to wake up now.”
Seb laughs. “Right, you’re gonna wake them up with your little teeny voice. Yo! Guys! Wake the hell up!”
I jump at Seb’s shout, but none of the groomsmen even stir. “Are they alive?”
Seb nods, nudging one of the groomsmen on the leg with his shoe. The groomsman mumbles something before falling back asleep. Inside the marbled bathroom, Tom Cruise Sutopo is in a similar state. It’s a bathroom fit for Pinterest—smooth marble everywhere, the bathtub a luxurious affair set behind a large picture window overlooking the hotel’s gardens. I pat Tom’s cheek gently. He grunts, but doesn’t stir.
“You need to channel your inner Asian Auntie and do a shout that’ll make your mom proud.”
“Ha, ha. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve raised my voice.” It’s probably the result of being raised by such loud women. I have a natural aversion to raised voices now. “You do it, Seb. Pleeease.”
Seb sighs, clears his throat, and shouts loud enough to make my ears ring. Tom stirs, blinks a few times, and falls back asleep. I’m about to ask Seb to do it again when movement outside the window catches my eye.
Ho. Ly. Shit.
It’s Big Aunt, Ma, and Fourth Aunt, and they’re moving the cooler, staggering across the expansive lawn with it, and—oh god—the cooler must’ve popped open at some point without them realizing it, because there is a fucking hand sticking out of it.
“OH MY GOD!” I scream.
Tom startles awake. “Wh-wha?” he rasps, blinking around him and wincing. “My head.”
“Nice job! I knew you had Asian Auntie within you,” Seb says, lifting his palm for a high five, but I rush past him and head for the door. “Where are you going? You still need to wake the groomsmen.”
“Just pour water over them. I gotta go.” I run all the way down the hallway, holding down my precious camera and camera bag so they don’t bounce too hard. My heartbeat is a constant roar in my ears. By the time I catch up to my mom and aunts, I’m breathing so hard I feel like I’m about to vomit out my lungs.
“Meddy, oh good,” Ma says, cheerily. “You take that corner and lift.”
“What are you doing?” I whisper-shout. “His hand’s out!” I lift the cooler’s top up slightly and shove Ah Guan’s hand back inside. It’s only when it’s in that I realize I’ve just touched his corpse. A shudder runs through my body.
Ma, Big Aunt, and Fourth Aunt’s eyes widen.
“Oops,” Ma says after a second.
“Must be when we go over that bump,” Big Aunt says.
“Why are you moving him now?” I cry.
“The fridge getting so crowded, people coming in and out, in and out. I think not safe there,” Big Aunt says.
“And since got three of us, we think we can carry all the way down to pier, no problem,” Ma says.
I blink. No problem? Their version of “no problem” is to struggle with the cooler all the way to the pier with his goddamn hand sticking out of it? The thought of what would’ve happened if I hadn’t spotted them through the window makes my knees buckle. And who knows how many people have seen them?
“Yes, got three of us, no need your Second Aunt,” Big Aunt says.
Inside me, a star implodes. This. This right here is the real reason why Big Aunt got Ma and Fourth Aunt to move the cooler now, of all times. Because Big Aunt wants to prove that Second Aunt isn’t needed. I can just imagine the smug look on Big Aunt’s face when Second Aunt finds out that we’ve resolved everything without her help. Big Aunt will be all, “You see? I can handling the thing just fine, you no need worry,” and Second Aunt will be all inwardly going “Fuck you,” but then outwardly she’ll have to smile and congratulate Big Aunt on a job well done. I can’t believe my aunts’ rivalry with each other is jeopardizing us getting away with murder.
“Anyway, now you here, we can definitely move body down to pier,” Ma says. “Ayo, cepat.”
I check the time. Still about twenty minutes left before Second Aunt is done with the bride’s hair and makeup. Jacqueline is nice, but she’s not going to be pleased if I completely miss the shots of her getting ready. But then again, a disappointed bride is much better than, you know, getting arrested because you’re found in possession of a dead body. And now that we’re here, getting back to the kitchen will be just as troublesome. We may as well see this through right here, right now.
With a frustrated groan, I take one corner of the cooler. Together, we heave, and the cooler lifts off the ground. We walk as quickly as we can, and with each step, my shoulder muscles burn, and my thighs shriek and beg for me to stop.
It feels like an eternity before the pier comes into view, and I nearly whoop with joy at the sight of all those yachts tethered there.
“Ladies,” the yacht organizer calls out as we approach. “Can I help you with something?”
We lower the cooler gently, and I turn to him. “We need (gasp) to get on (gasp) a yacht (gasp) back to L.A.”
“Sure, hop right on.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you.” My family and I make excited faces at one another and lift the cooler back up.
“Whoa, whoa, what’s this?” the yacht organizer says. What a douche. He would’ve seen that we were carrying the cooler down the pier, but he’s waited for us to pick it back up before asking about it. Prick.
“Oh, it’s baking supplies. My aunt’s the baker, and we need to get this stuff back to the bakery. There’s not much space left in the kitchen.”
The yacht organizer’s eyes narrow. “Ah. Caterers.” He says it like a dirty word. “Sorry, this yacht’s for guests only?”
We stare at him. “Is that a question?” Fourth Aunt says.
“No? I mean like, it’s for guests only. Period.”
“Technically, I’m not a caterer,” Fourth Aunt says, flipping her hair back. “I’m the star of the show, so.”
“Oh? I don’t know who you are . . .” He narrows his eyes like he’s trying to figure out who she is.
“Why don’t you ask your boss who I am—”
“No, wait, it’s okay, please don’t bother!” I say quickly. If Nathan catches wind that—yet again—my family and I are struggling with the cooler, he’s definitely going to get suspicious. “We’ll just store this in the kitchen. Thank you!”
The yacht organizer gives us the fakest smile of the year and goes back to tapping on his iPad.
“Kenapa?” Big Aunt says, and I shoot her a look that says “Later.” We struggle back up the pier with the cooler, and when we stop for a breather, I tell them about how Nathan had seen me and Fourth Aunt moving the cooler, and how he would definitely think it’s weird that we’re trying to move the same cooler again.
“Oh yes, that sweet boy,” Fourth Aunt says, grinning widely. “Very true, Meddy. I forgot about him.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
Ma looks back and forth between the two of us. “What? What is it?”
“Nothing!” I say hurriedly.
Fourth Aunt wiggles her eyebrows again.
“Obviously not nothing. What is it? Why you cannot tell your own mama?” Ma frowns, apparently hurt that I’m keeping something from her.
“Aiyo, San Jie, if your daughter doesn’t feel comfortable sharing secrets with you, you shouldn’t force her. Maybe that’s why Meddy doesn’t want to tell you these things,” Fourth Aunt says.
Aw, come ON! These sisterly rivalries are going to be the death of me. Plus, I tell Ma a lot of things. Okay, yes, I did keep my three-year relationship from her, but that’s different. I tell her everything else. I’m as close to her as any daughter can be. I’m the good, filial one, remember? I want to shout. I stayed behind while everyone else left. So maybe I don’t tell them everything, but what more do they want from me?!
“It’s nothing! He’s just someone I used to know. Anyway, we’ve got bigger problems right now.” I gesture to the cooler. “Maybe we should focus on this?”
“Yes, Meddy is right, you two can talk about where you failed as a mother later,” Fourth Aunt says.
For the love of god.
“Ma, I don’t keep any secrets from you, you know that.” Aside from Nathan. Literally the ONE secret I kept from her. I mean, I even told her about me killing Ah Guan. That’s got to count for something.
Ma doesn’t meet my eye. “I do everything for you, and this how you repay me? Begitu ya? What did I do to deserve such unfilial child?”
Heeere we go. “This is so not the time.”
“Then when is the time?”
“After we get rid of the guy I killed!” Oh god. I didn’t mean to say it quite so loud. But really, nobody drives me quite as nuts as Ma and my aunts. We all look around to see if anyone’s heard, but luckily, the place is relatively deserted. “Please, Ma, can we shelve this for now? I will tell you everything later, I swear. I desperately want to tell you, Ma, I really do, but now, let’s focus on cleaning this up, okay?”
With a sigh, Ma’s shoulders sag. “Okay,” she says in a small voice. “Where we take cooler now? Back to fridge?”
Big Aunt shakes her head. “Cannot, too many people. The head chef driving everyone crazy, people rushing in and out of fridge, looking here and there for truffle lah, for rosemary lah, for this for that, just matter of time before somebody open cooler.”
My phone boops with a text.
Seb [10:43AM]: There is waaay too much vomiting going on right now. Can we switch, please?
Me [10:44AM]: I’ll switch with you later. I’m in the middle of something.
Seb [10:45AM]: You’re not in the bridal suite?? Where r u?? She’s not going to be happy if you miss shots of her putting her veil on!
Me [10:46AM]: It’s an emergency. On second thought, can you cover for me? Go take pics of the bride. Sounds like you’re not getting any good ones of the groom anyway.
Seb [10:47AM]: Excuse you, I am getting fantastic shots of the groom and his idiots.
He sends a photo of some guy with his head in the toilet. Behind him, another guy is taking a shower, fully clothed.
Me [10:48AM]: Go to the bridal suite. I’ll see you in a few.
I stuff my phone back into my pocket and take a deep breath. We’re running out of time. Time. Time! “It’s time!” I cry.
The others look confused.
“Check-in time! Remember? They told us our rooms won’t be ready until ten? It’s past ten!” I could cry with relief. We’ll be able to store the cooler without worrying about someone stumbling across it. Maybe we’ll be able to get out of this unscathed.