The Good, the Bad, and the Aunties (Aunties, #3)

by Jesse Q. Sutanto

“I’ve never seen anyone look more uncomfortable in a formal business suit than Abi does.” “Oh god,” I moan, “he looks like he’s dying to rip the suit off so he can go around in an undershirt and a machete slung over his shoulder.”

Every time I hear him referring to Ma as “Ma” instead of “your mom” or even “your ma,” it sends a jolt of affection straight into my heart.

why aren’t any of them named after great Indonesian or Chinese people?” “Oh, they’ll have Chinese names honoring great Chinese heroes too. But yeah, when it comes to Anglicized names, people here tend to go for famous white people. It’s a whole thing.

you’ve been watching too much Squid Game.”

“Why you must be so mellow dramatic?

he says before I can stop him. Oh no. He’s done it now. All four women descend on him like shrieking harpies.

there are many—what you call it—” “Petty bitches,” Fourth Aunt pipes up. Big Aunt nods somberly. “Yes, petty bitches.” I have no idea if she even knows what the words mean. I hope she doesn’t.

“But is like, how you say, the grass got early worms on the other side.” “The grass is greener on the other side,” I say. Big Aunt frowns. “Why it would be greener on other side? It will be the same green. But got more worms, so the soil more fertile, then you can grow more veggie-tibbles.”

He glances at me, and I shrug. I don’t even really get it, and I’ve grown up with this.

Glares zap through the room

Why would they jump over a fence that’s clearly there to protect them? Nothing good’s on the other side, sheep.

Her words are callous, but I catch the slight crack in Big Aunt’s voice, and this is what wakes me up.

Maybe it’s exactly the kind of thing that happens to people like us.

She gets that glint in her eyes again, like Gordon Ramsay when he’s just cut into an overcooked piece of steak.

Big Aunt intones in the Voice of God,

It’s a horrible realization, slamming down with the force of an anvil.

Surely it can’t mean a literal battle, but I have no idea what passes for normal with these people anymore.

“Aiya, definitely not in America,” Ma says confidently. “America won’t let such peeping Tom thing to happen.” Nathan and I exchange a glance. Which one of us is going to break her pure heart?

“So this whole time, there are all this people peeping at our house like—like—” She flaps her arms like an angry chicken. “Like we some peeping show for pervert to look at?”

which is sweet in a completely mortifying way.

the man on the other side booms in Indonesian, the joy in his voice palpable.

A chorus of happy greetings pour out of the phone, and by now, we’re all beaming at Big Aunt, loving every moment of her being worshipped like the goddess she is.

I’ve always loved South Jakarta, with the Sudirman Central Business District and Kuningan areas—they are easily two of the most beautiful and modern parts of the city. Growing up in LA, friends have often asked me what Indonesia is like. Most of them see it as this National Geographic–esque place where the people live in shacks made of corrugated metal or bamboo huts. A place without electricity or running water. I always wished I could whisk them to Kuningan, or the SCBD, because then they’d see that Jakarta is even more modernized than LA is. Every time I visit Jakarta, there’s a handful of newly built skyscrapers, all of them shiny structures of steel and glass. The skyline never stays still in Jakarta. There is so much development going on all the time.

the hotel looks like it’s been built entirely out of glass, like a giant greenhouse filled with humongous towers of tropical flowers, complete with a waterfall that’s visible from out here.

The caterers call out into the doorway, and more caterers run out, their eyes widening, their mouths splitting into laughter as they see Big Aunt. Without hesitation, they all run up and hug her. Watching Big Aunt in her element, like a mother hen surrounded by clucking, loving chicks, is like chicken soup for my withered soul.

Because my senses have stood up and are ringing all of the alarm bells inside me. Oh no, please don’t let it be what I think it might be. They wouldn’t do that. They wouldn’t—oh, who am I kidding? Ma and Fourth Aunt would 100 percent do what I think they’ve done.

When Nathan catches me looking, he schools his expression into something more neutral.

could this whole thing feel any shittier? I feel like the worst kind of human right now. Despicable, awful. I couldn’t possibly feel any crappier than I do in this moment. Then Fourth Aunt opens her mouth and proves me wrong.

Before I can react, a pair of pants scythes through the air and smacks me right in the face. “Argh!” I bat them away frantically, as though they were a cobweb that I just walked into.

“Hey, we’re a family now. And you and your aunts—you’re exactly the kind of family I have always wanted to have. The kind of family that would burn down the world to protect one another. Do you realize what a privilege it is to be included in your family?”

If you are kidnapper, where will you keep the Denzel in distress?

Big Aunt is looking like a North Korean dictator who’s just been told that his parade was canceled due to bad weather.

something always going wrong, no event has perfect record—the most important thing is, quickly think: How I solve this?”

Ma leans over and pats him gently on the arm. “Is okay, Nathan, is because you not use to breaking into other people house, ya? Because you such a good boy. But Meddy—” She levels her gaze at me, her eyes narrowing. “Meddy should know better. She seasoned criminal already.”

I move forward, nudging Ma, who is in front of me. Ma nudges Fourth Aunt, who nudges Nathan, who thinks better of nudging Big Aunt.

There are huge picture windows all around, as well as a skylight, and the entire room is bathed in glorious sunlight, the white and gray marble counters and floors gleaming invitingly.

there’s a round pizza oven covered with emerald-green mosaic tiles in one corner of the kitchen. There are also two massive refrigerators, which Big Aunt tells us are “smarty fridges,” a cooker with eight stoves, and a humongous, gorgeous kitchen island with beautiful brass lamps hanging over it. Big Aunt rubs her hands together, her eyes glinting, a small smile playing on her lips. She looks like the oldest grandson on Chinese New Year morning, knowing he is going to get the biggest red packets from all the relatives.

“Everything worth doing is worth doing the Asian way—that is, with high accuracy.”

It’s stupidly huge, and calling it a “living room” feels ridiculous. It’s more like a ballroom, and it is so large that it doesn’t just have one chandelier but ten. Ten chandeliers. I’ve been in proper hotel ballrooms that can fit easily into this “living room.”

the Olympic-sized pool glitters in the bright sunlight, and I spot a handful of people swanning around.

“I swear, youth is wasted on you. You should’ve been born a middle-aged auntie.”

“Huh. I thought these posh drinks would taste a lot better,

I’m too anxious, too far out of my comfort zone, and my mind is flitting about like a frightened butterfly. I really need to get a grip of myself.

My reply is sliced short by a loud gasp. The shout that follows stabs right through my guts.

They say your whole life flashes before you when you’re about to die, but what flashes before my eyes is my future. Specifically, how there probably won’t be one.

It’s more like riding a unicycle, except the unicycle is made of broken glass and razor blades.

beaming, his eyes alight with sheer joy, his grin so wide that it covers half his face.

You could practically see the sun rising behind Fourth Aunt’s eyes. In one moment, her face goes from mild disinterest to delighted shock.

and a dozen other dishes that I can’t believe Big Aunt has whipped up in such a short time. She’s even prepared eight huge plates of nian nian you yu—Chinese salad that everyone will mix together using their chopsticks as they chant a rhyme for a good year ahead.

a live band is playing a contemporary version of traditional Chinese New Year songs, the beat fast and catchy and nearly impossible not to dance to.