Dial A for Aunties (Aunties, #1)

by Jesse Q. Sutanto

It’s not just some body in my trunk; it’s a body who used to be a someone.

This is so well put, I hate to put the Spoiler label on it!

“I did just kill a person, so I don’t know that you can say you’ve raised me well.” “Oh, he must deserve it.”

There’s a glint in her eye that she gets the week before Chinese New Year, when she goes absolutely berserk and cleans the house like Marie Kondo on crack.

the herbal tea is like an elixir, spreading its sweet warmth through my entire body, down to my freezing hands.

Ma calls it TCM for Traditional Chinese Medicine--I'd call it TLC!🤗💖

This is not the kind of thing you share with everyone, even if they’re family.” “It’s exactly kind of thing you share with family,” Ma says.

Your aunties coming over, so late at night, coming to help us get rid of body, and we don’t even offer them any food? How can? Oh, we have dragon fruit, good, good. Big Aunt’s favorite. Wah, got pear too. Very good. Help me peel, don’t be so rude to your aunties, you will bring shame.” “Oh, right, it’s the lack of fruit that’ll bring shame, not the dead body in the car.”

Behind the kindly wrinkles that I know so well I could sketch them in my sleep, her gaze is eagle sharp.

Ma’s face is as red as a Louboutin sole.

I slam the phone down and stare at Ma. Fourth Aunt is literally lying on the floor, laughing.

“Right?” Ma cries, gesturing wildly. “I read that and I think, wah, this boy is so lovely, so caring for my daughter, even ask her, is she thirsty?”

She drops the phone on the counter as if it’s turned into a cockroach.

It’s not your fault.” I nod emphatically. “It really isn’t your fault, Ma.” A tiny voice in my mind says: Well, it kind of is,

Ummm....yeah....

It takes a second for me to gather my thoughts from the mess of WTF-ness.

My aunts and mother all mutter curses in various languages—lots of F-words being tossed around in Hokkien, Mandarin, Cantonese, and Indonesian.

I even set up a website for them. It doesn’t look half bad, but I can’t wait to be able to spend a lot more time streamlining everything and making it look all shiny and impressive. Weirdly, I’m actually really looking forward to graduating and plunging headfirst into the business. Who woulda thunk it?

dimples on full assault

I can’t believe I might end up going to prison because of a superstition.

I can’t believe she’s taking this moment to boast about me being respectful. This is peak Asian parenting.

Fourth Aunt is staring openmouthed with what I can only describe as horrified glee, and Second Aunt is . . . “What are you doing, Second Aunt?” She hardly glances at me as she goes into a deep lunge.

Maybe one of the Chinese dramas they’re always watching is a crime show. Or maybe this is a mom thing: once you have a kid, you lose the ability to be truly shocked by anything. I mean, this is not normal, right? Right?

when Hendra go ski, he take his ski in this very big bag. I always think, wah, can fit me inside that bag.” “Why you think that? Such unlucky way of thinking,” Big Aunt scolds.

he take his ski in this very big bag. I always think, wah, can fit me inside that bag.”

her eyes shining with what I can only describe as horrified glee.

“Tuck the sides under him,” Fourth Aunt says. “Wrap him up like a burrito.”

“Aiya, if you don’t understand, no use trying to explain,” Second Aunt says. “When someone doesn’t understand, that’s exactly the time you should explain.”

Adrenaline. Right. My blood might as well have been Red Bull at the time. I could’ve moved boulders if I’d had to.

Big Aunt’s bakery is on Valley, a few blocks away from the huge Ranch 99 supermarket. It sits in between a beauty salon, which conveniently belongs to Second Aunt, and a florist, which conveniently belongs to Ma.

speechless at the towering piece of art that stands in refrigerated glory before me. It’s stunning—eight tiers of perfectly round cake covered with flawless buttercream, each layer made to look like poured marble in different shades of dusk pink and gray. Flowers adorn it in a gently weaving cascade—peonies and hydrangeas and roses, all made with loving hands out of sugar paste, their petals as thin as tissue paper. It’s incredible.

“If you write ‘Can Not Open,’ people will surely open,” Second Aunt says. Big Aunt glowers at her. “Maybe you one of those people opening things not theirs, but most people more better than that.” Second Aunt tuts and grabs the pen. She writes down on a new Post-it note: BAKING SUPPLYS, NO OPEN, HAVE TO BE COLD and slaps it down on top of Big Aunt’s original note.

At the sight of my beautiful, cozy bed, my muscles turn to water and I fall, face-first, into the pile of pillows.

Second Aunt scoffs and releases a laugh that sounds more like a cough-sob.

the hotel—what’s the correct title here, yacht organizer?—says.

Fourth Aunt is the one who gets to sleep in during wedding season and the one who gets the most recognition for her work, and Ma won’t ever forgive her for it, even though it’s technically not Fourth Aunt’s fault. Fourth Aunt loooves rubbing that in Ma’s face.

From this distance, it looks so small. For a moment, I almost feel better, escaping from everything that’s happened back home, but when the island of Santa Lucia comes within sight, reality crashes back in. I’m not leaving my troubles behind. They’re right here, awaiting me.

she’ll stop with a confused frown—why would there be a blanket here—and then she’ll pull the blanket up, and— A loud horn bellows, and I jump up as though I’ve been electrocuted.

He stares at her with the world’s bitchiest expression.

stop and stare at the grand entrance. The lobby of the hotel is built atop a hill. The words “majestic” and “hallowed” come to mind.

surrounding the lobby is a peaceful pond with brilliant orange koi and floating candles.

smooth, rich voice that can only be described as molten chocolate says.

GIRL FINDS BOY (under very awkward circumstances)

“Setan!” Second Aunt is saying. Ghost!

flap around us, yelling in such rapid Indonesian that I beg them to stop and switch to English before my head explodes trying to make sense of anything. Meanwhile, Big Aunt is just standing there, eyes wide, rattled for the first time I can remember seeing in my life.

She freezes, a look of horror on her face. Maybe she’s just realized how ridiculous she’s being right now.

“I hear about this kind of Internet scam before. Is called goldfish.” “Catfish,” I say. “No, I’m sure is call goldfish. Because pretend got gold, but actually just a fish.”

Yeaaahh, that does make sense, because the situation also stinks! Good call.

How do you wash your bum when you have feather on your nails?”

With Fourth Aunt’s flamboyant clothes—she’s wearing a flamingo-pink sequined top and bright turquoise pants—it’s impossible to take your eyes off her. In contrast, I’m in my “Don’t look at me, I’m the help” all-black photographer’s outfit.

Why would anyone make a path out of pebbles?! This is a serious design flaw!

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.

“It’s going to be a crazy weekend, isn’t it?” You have no idea, I want to say.

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.”