Dial A For Aunties

by Jesse Q. Sutanto

I have four mothers and all of their hopes and dreams have been placed on my shoulders. I’m basically driven by a mixture of caffeine and familial guilt.

Hysteria rises from deep in my stomach and I have to swallow it. Trust Ma to take pride in my etiquette when I’ve just shown her my date, whom I’ve killed, in the trunk of my car.

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.

“We’d have to cut him up first,” Fourth Aunt says, her eyes shining with, again, what I can only describe as horrified glee. Has she always been this murderous? Have they always been this blasé about chopping bodies up?

“No, I’m sure is call goldfish. Because pretend got gold, but actually just a fish.”