Chapter 3

3

Crash! Bang!

The noise jerks me awake and I leap up, my body flinging itself into motion before my mind can catch up. My mouth, too, works on its own accord, shouting before I even realize what the words are. “Nathan. Nathan! Wake up.”

Crash! Honk!

It hits me then. We’re in the volcanic belt. Indonesia has—uh, I don’t know what’s the exact number, all I know is that it’s a lot. A lot of volcanoes. One of them must have erupted, triggering an earthquake. “Earthquake!” I blurt out. “Nathan!” I grab his arm and shake it.

“Mrrfgl?” He blinks slowly awake just as another deafening crash judders through the house. How in the world can this man sleep through all that noise? “Whassat?”

“Earthquake!”

“What?” He jumps up, fully awake now, and looks around, blinking owlishly.

I’m already running toward the makeup table in the far corner of the room, my hands clasped over my head in case the ceiling caves in. “Take cover!” I yelp as another crash thunders through the room.

Nathan frowns. Instead of running after me and hiding under the table, he gazes up at the chandelier, because of course there’s a chandelier in every bedroom.

“What are you doing?” I hiss. “Take cover.”

“It’s not moving.”

“What?”

“The chandelier. Look, the crystals aren’t swaying. It’s not an earthquake, Meddy.”

I glance up at the chandelier, and sure enough, it’s completely still. “Wha?” I rub at my eyes. “Then what’s all the commotion about?”

Nathan opens the curtains and peers out of the windows. He unlocks one and slides it open, and immediately, noise spills into the room. Cymbal crashes, trumpet blares, and other whistling, hooting sounds made from instruments I don’t recognize.

“What the hell?” I clamber out from my hiding spot and join Nathan at the window. And gape at the scene unfolding below.

There is a—there are no other words for it—cavalcade of sleek black cars, each one equipped with flashing blue lights, like cops, and each one with people hanging out the windows, playing some musical instruments with gusto. I count at least ten cars in the procession, snaking up the driveway like a black dragon. A black dragon of explosive music.

“Is this a regular part of Chinese New Year here?”

I shake my head. “Well, at least I don’t think so.” I search my mind for memories of the last Chinese New Year I spent in Jakarta. Nope, definitely no cavalcades then.

As we watch, the sunroof of the first car slides open and a man emerges from it. From this distance, I can barely make out his face, but I do spot a mustache and slicked-back hair. The man lifts his hands dramatically, and the noise is immediately silenced. And I do mean immediately; even the trumpet stops mid-blow. Wow. Despite myself, I’m impressed. Whoever this guy is, it’s clear he commands respect. He lifts a loudspeaker to his mouth, straightens up, and begins speaking.

“Enjelin Chan.” His voice, magnified by the loudspeaker, booms across the courtyard. It’s a deep, rich voice, brimming with confidence. A shiver runs down my spine.

“That’s Second Aunt,” I whisper. Why am I whispering? “He’s calling for Second Aunt.”

Just as I say that, the window next to me slides open and Second Aunt peers out, her hair still in rollers. When she spies the man, she squawks and jerks back inside her room. A moment later, Ma leans out the window and waves at the man. “Hallo! Please wait a second,” she says in Indonesian, “Enjelin is just making herself presentable.”

“Enjelin,” the man says into the loudspeaker, “please, you are exquisite just the way you are.”

I press the knuckles of my right hand into my lips to keep from laughing. This is . . . this is delightful. Apparently, this guy has come here to court Second Aunt.

“Oh, Abi, you always know the perfect thing to say,” Ma calls out.

Abi? That sounds familiar. I narrow my eyes as I scour my memories for a mention of his name. When the memory does resurface, it hits me like a tank filled with rifle-touting men. Because Abi is the freaking mafia lord that my mom and aunts had told me about back when we were in Oxford. Abraham Lincoln Irawan, the guy who was infatuated with Second Aunt when they were teens and joined the mafia to impress her. Oh my god. Why in the world is Abi, a literal gangster, here in our front yard? I look at the procession of black cars again, and this time, they stop being impressive and are instead terrifying. Of course he has a cavalcade with him. They’ve probably got guns and all sorts of weapons inside each vehicle.

“Are you okay?” Nathan places a hand on my back and rubs gently. “You look so pale.”

“That’s ah—that guy is a mafia lord.”

Nathan frowns. “Uh. What?”

“Yeah, exactly.” I don’t have time to explain before Second Aunt pops her head out the window again, this time sans hair curlers.

“Abi, what in the world are you doing here?” she yells in Indonesian.

Abi spreads his arms wide and says, “Your sister Mimi told me that you’re back in Jakarta, so I have come to pay my respects for Chinese New Year. I had to see you, look upon your beautiful face once again, my darling Enjelin.”

Wow, he’s really laying it on thick. I can’t help but grin at that. Then I feel insane for smiling, because hello, the guy’s literally called the “Scourge of Jakarta.” Also, after the awful mess that was our wedding, I have had enough of anything that might even come close to being illegal.

“Aw, he’s a romantic,” Nathan says, wrapping his thick arms around me. I lean back against him, taking comfort from his warmth.

“He’s a mafia lord,” I remind him.

“You’re ridiculous,” Second Aunt snaps, but her grin is visible miles away. “Go home to your wife!”

Abi looks affronted. “I don’t have a wife. I’ve been in love with you all my life. When you left the country, you took my heart with you.”

“Tch,” Second Aunt snorts, flapping fiercely at him with one hand while primping her hair with her other hand. She sniffs, turning away to hide the smile that has taken over her face. In a weird way, the scene is reminiscent of the iconic balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet, and I can’t help but go a bit soft inside at how obvious Second Aunt’s glee is.

Then another window slides open and Big Aunt’s head pops out. “Who is being so noisy?” she booms.

Even from all the way in my room, I can see Abi tensing, straightening up. “Uh, greetings, Dajie,” he says, using the Chinese honorific for “Big Sis.” “I’m sorry for disturbing you—”

“He’s here to pay his respects to me,” Second Aunt snaps. “Nothing to do with you.”

Big Aunt seems to swell up in size, her ample chest ballooning as she draws breath. I feel Nathan’s chest stiffening. Everyone must be holding their breath right now. I for one am glad that Big Aunt’s displeasure isn’t aimed at me.

Abi hurriedly says, “Ah, I’m here to pay my respects to all of you. Dajie, please accept this token of my respect.” He waves a hand, and black-clad men climb out of the second car, each one carrying a hamper piled high with an assortment of gifts. He turns to Second Aunt and his face softens. “And for you, my lovely angel, Enjelin.” He waves again, and yet more car doors open, a stream of gift-bearing men striding toward the house.

Second Aunt’s mouth purses and she bats her eyelashes demurely while Big Aunt scoffs. Next to Big Aunt, a huge puff of hair pokes out, followed by Fourth Aunt’s face moments later. “Dajie, I asked him to come here. Would it be okay if he comes inside the house? Join our family for Chinese New Year?”

Big Aunt can never say no to Fourth Aunt. With a long, dramatic sigh, Big Aunt nods. Then she calls down, “But no hanky-panky, you hear me? There are children about.”

Nathan laughs. “Hanky-panky? Haven’t heard that one in a while. And isn’t Second Aunt in her fifties? Surely if she wants hanky, it’s fine.”

I sigh. “When will you learn that you’re never too old to be scolded like a child by Big Aunt?”

In the driveway, Abi is nodding vehemently and saying, “Of course, we will be so well-behaved.” He comes out of the car with a triumphant grin. Flanked by the staggering procession of gift-bearing men, Abi Lincoln Irawan, the Scourge of Jakarta, walks up the front steps and into our family home.

The next few minutes are spent in a flurry as Nathan and I rush to get dressed for the Chinese New Year celebration. Ma has prepared outfits for us that she deemed appropriate: a qipao for me and a button-down shirt for Nathan, both of them made out of the same red batik cloth. I love batik, I adore how every piece of batik cloth is unique, each one hand-painted with painstaking detail. This particular one is illustrated with a golden dragon, swirling like smoke and adorned with plumerias.

“Wow,” Nathan says when he’s zipped me up, his eyes riveted on my chest.

“Stop staring, you perv.”

“But—I—but you look—wow.” He swallows.

I smack his hand, laughing. “None of that. We need to go downstairs and meet everyone now.” I wiggle a bit, trying to get comfortable in my dress. All that rich French food hasn’t done my waistline any favors.

Nathan gives a rueful sigh. “Okaaay, if we must.”

Noises come through the wall and I shush him. Together, we go to the wall and press our ears against it. Next door is the guest room shared by Second Aunt and Ma, and evidently, they are having some sort of crisis.

“Aduh, I can’t believe Mimi didn’t tell me she asked Abi to come!” Second Aunt is wailing in Indonesian.

“Typical Mimi,” Ma says.

“How do I look?”

“You look very good, Erjie.”

“Only ‘very good’?” Second Aunt wails again. “I need to look more than just ‘good.’ I need to look . . . you know, effortlessly gorgeous.”

“But you do. You always do.”

“Aiya, I messed up the eyeshadow!” Second Aunt cries.

Poor Second Aunt. I bite back my laugh as I straighten up. “I’ve never heard her this excited.” Not even when she found out I’d accidentally killed Ah Guan. It’s really nice, seeing my mom and aunts in a tizzy over something that, for once, has nothing to do with me. “I’m going to go help out. I’ll see you downstairs?”

“Okay.” Nathan kisses me and makes his way downstairs as I head into Second Aunt’s room.

It takes another fifteen minutes of fussing before Ma and I manage to convince Second Aunt that effortless gorgeousness has been achieved. By the time we’re done, the noise from downstairs has reached fever pitch. Apparently, in addition to Abi, the rest of our huge, overbearing family and all of the kids, hopped up on Chinese New Year sweets, have arrived. There are merry shouts and loud laughter booming through the large house. Second Aunt brushes down her emerald-green qipao and stands ramrod straight. Ma and I flank her on either side, and as we walk down the stairs, there is a hush. Eyes ping-pong back and forth from Abi to Second Aunt. When I look at him, my heart melts. The only way I can describe the expression on his face is reverent. He’s gazing at Second Aunt like she’s every daydream of his come true. It’s humbling.

It’s also kind of fun to see this side of Second Aunt. Even Ma, her arm linked with Second Aunt’s, seems to be reveling in the glow. They both look suddenly young, their faces bright and flushed with color. Second Aunt’s cherry-red lips are pursed into a shy, repressed smile, but Ma is openly beaming, so obviously joyous for her sister. I want to hug them both. It feels like Ma and I are giving Second Aunt away at her wedding or something. Below us, Big Aunt is standing with her arms crossed and an expression of disapproval, but her eyes are twinkling, and I have a feeling that she won’t stand in Second Aunt’s way of a happily ever after. Next to her, Fourth Aunt is grinning like the Cheshire cat, clasping her hands below her chin so that her newly manicured talons are visible. Behind them is the rest of the family, over eighty people all clustered together, looking up at us.

When we finally reach the bottom step, there is a collective ahh, and Abi rushes forward, his eyes glued to Second Aunt, and clasps her hands. For a moment, they both stare at each other, unspeaking, and the amount of emotion and history between them is so thick it’s almost solid. In a flash, I see them as teenagers, both of them gangly and awkward, exchanging shy glances at each other, him watching her as she cycles home from school.

“Enjelin.” Abi’s voice is hoarse with emotion.

“Abi.” Second Aunt gives him a slight, coy smile. God, who knew she had it in her?

“You look beautiful.” Without taking his eyes off hers, Abi leans down and brings Second Aunt’s hand up. His lips lightly graze her knuckles. The world turns soft and warm, like the entire universe has just gone “Awww.”

Even through her thick makeup, Second Aunt’s cheeks are visibly red. She turns her face ever so slightly away from him, fluttering her eyelashes, and scolds him. “Oh, you’re so full of it.”

“It’s true. I don’t know how, but you’ve hardly aged at all. Or rather, you have, but like a limited edition Patek Philippe.” Interesting metaphor, could use a bit of work, but the sentiment behind it is sweet, I guess.

“Or maybe like a fine wine?” someone in the crowd suggests.

“I think a vintage Patek Philippe is better,” someone else says.

“I prefer Chopard myself.”

“Ahem.” Big Aunt narrows her eyes at them, and everyone falls silent.

They both look over at Big Aunt. “Is that all you have to say to my sister after all these years? Is everything just based on her looks?”

Abi quails slightly before turning back to Second Aunt. “Of course not.” He clears his throat. “Ah, uh.” My heart goes out to the poor man as he visibly struggles to find something appropriate and meaningful to say to Second Aunt in front of Big Aunt’s unwavering glower. “Xin nian kuai le,” he says finally.

Seriously?! Two lovebirds reunited after decades, and all he can come up with is “Happy New Year?” It’s such a lolsob moment. Nathan catches my eye, and it’s obvious he’s barely holding back his laughter.

“Xin nian kuai le, Abi,” Second Aunt murmurs quietly, and goose bumps erupt across my arms, because though she’s just said the same thing back to him, there is so much hidden meaning behind it. Again, I see them as teens, having to hide their affection for each other for whatever reason (probably Big Aunt) and heaping all of their emotions into a single, loaded sentence. Second Aunt and Abi exchange a glance. Electric.

“Xin nian kuai le!” Fourth Aunt hoots. The charged atmosphere breaks, everyone laughs and claps, and conversations resume. People shout well wishes at one another in Mandarin.

“Gong xi fa cai!”

“Nian nian you yu!”

Nathan walks toward me, and together the two of us make our way through the crowd, our hands clasped in front of our chests, one fist encircled inside the other in the traditional Chinese New Year greeting.

“Gong hay fat choi,” Nathan says to Elsa and Jems in perfect Cantonese.

“Oh my, your Cantonese is amazing,” Elsa says.

We’re immediately joined by more cousins, all of whom are dying to meet Nathan. “He’s gorgeous,” my cousin Sofia says in my ear. I laugh and nod, gazing fondly at Nathan as he rattles off a string of flawless Cantonese new year greetings at the behest of the others.

The kids slip between people, clasping their little fists in front of their chests and shouting, “Gong xi fa cai! Hong bao na lai!” Wish you a prosperous year! Give us our red packets!

Growing up, this was my favorite part of the holiday. Married couples have to give out red packets filled with money to unmarried people and children. My cousins and I had a ton of fun going around wishing people a happy new year before demanding our red packets. The grown-ups would purse their lips and tell us off for being rude, but no one could resist our cuteness, and we would end the day by opening our red packets and counting the spoils of war.

I reach into my prepared bag, filled to bursting with red packets, and give half of the stack to Nathan. The rest of my cousins do the same, and we all hand out red packets to the kids, who hug us before running away to find more victims to extort red packets from. Abi’s voice booms above the clamor.

“I have brought red packets also!” He waves with flourish, and one of his henchmen—er, assistants—staggers forward under the weight of a humongous gift basket piled high with red packets.

The kids shriek with joy and there’s a mad rush, but their parents manage to grab them and hold them, their little legs kicking in the air. “One by one,” one of the parents scolds.

“I technically can’t give them out because I’m unmarried,” Abi says, emphasizing the word “unmarried” with a wink at Second Aunt.

Big Aunt nods. “Meddy, Nathan, since you two are the newlyweds, you can give them out.”

Nathan puffs out his chest and I roll my eyes. It’s honestly adorable how eager he is to please Big Aunt. We each take a pile of red packets, and one by one, the kids are loosened from their parents’ grips and they scurry toward us, shouting “Gong xi fa cai!” in a single rushed breath, grab a red packet, and run off. The older kids are more reserved, walking instead of running, and smiling shyly as they mumble their well wishes to us. I can’t believe how much my nieces and nephews have grown since the last time I saw them. I barely recognize many of them, and my heart squeezes at the realization that I’ve missed out on so much of their lives. I try to sear every face into my memory, taking the time to hug each one of them before they can escape.

When the last red packet has been handed out, we all go to the dining room, where once again, every available surface has been covered with plates of food. This time, there are a lot more desserts than usual, because sweet foods signify a hope for a sweet year ahead.

There is a mix of Chinese and Indonesian sweets. Lapis Surabaya, a notoriously rich Indonesian layered cake that uses no fewer than thirty egg yolks per loaf; nian gao, a caramel-brown sticky rice cake that’s been cut into thin slices and deep fried to crunchy, chewy perfection; fried sesame balls the size of my fist; and about a dozen other sweet dishes, each one more decadent than the last.

“Ayo, makan,” Fourth Aunt calls out. “Dajie made a lot of these cakes.”

Big Aunt nods with barely suppressed pride.

“Big Aunt, how in the world did you have time to make them? You arrived in Jakarta only yesterday morning,” I gasp.

Big Aunt’s chin lifts. “Discipline, Meddy. If you got discipline, you can do anything.”

Why does even an innocent question get the kind of reply that makes me feel chastised? But my cousins are around me, and they all laugh and share a look with me, and I feel my heart expanding because I’m not alone. Nathan squeezes my hand, and when I look up at him, I find him gazing at me with complete understanding, and I know then that we both feel like we’ve found our home.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur of eating, games with my cousins and the kids, one hour melting into the next in a haze of laughter. At some point, Abi leaves, saying he has to pay his respects to his family, and Second Aunt deflates like a punctured balloon until he assures her that he will be back first thing in the morning.

Right after lunch, Big Aunt and a few of the other aunties march into the kitchen to prep the dishes for dinner, even though all of us have been soundly defeated by lunch. I insist that I can’t eat another bite, but dinner turns out to be so delicious that we all end up stuffing our faces once more.

Later that night, when everyone has gone home, Nathan and I slump on the couch, my head nestled against his arm, both of us muttering and laughing softly as we rehash the events of the day. Everyone else has retired to their bedrooms for the night, and I’m ready to pass out from exhaustion, but at the same time, my mind is buzzing from endorphins, from the sheer excitement of everything. I hadn’t dared to hope that introducing Nathan to my larger family would go so well, but everything has far exceeded my expectations. My cousins and aunties and uncles adore him, and he sees them as the family he’s always wished for.

“Maybe we should move here,” he says.

I snort and glance up at him. He’s only half joking, I realize. “Seriously? But what about your work?”

He shrugs. “I travel to Asia for work half the time anyway. It would make sense to use Jakarta as my hub. And your family is amazing, and the little ones . . .” He sighs, smiling, and rests his chin on the top of my head. “Seeing all of your little nieces and nephews running around, playing with one another . . . it made me realize that that’s the kind of childhood I want to give our kids.”

Warmth floods my chest. “Nathan—”

The rest of the sentence is cut short by a frantic hammering from the front door. Something about the knocking jars me, piercing straight through the satiated haze. I jump up, all of my instincts screaming. Something is wrong. This isn’t the kind of knock that people use when all is well. Nathan must have come to the same conclusion because he’s already halfway to the door. He pauses, turns to look at me, and gestures at me to stand behind him. I almost laugh out loud. After everything we’ve been through—the accidental murder, the so-called mafia scare—he still feels the need to protect me. I can’t decide if it’s infuriating or endearing.

Together, we approach the front door. I jump when the banging starts again. Whoever’s outside really wants to be let in. God, I wish we weren’t the only two people left down here.

“Who’s there?” Nathan calls out in his deepest voice.

“It’s me, Abi.”

“Oh.” Our breaths release in a relieved whoosh. It feels as though all of my muscles have turned to water, and a small, shocked laugh startles out of my mouth. Nathan unlatches the lock and opens the door. I feel silly to have been so scared just moments ago. But then Abi strides into the house, his face awash with naked, primal fear, and my insides clench up, a steel grip seizing them with ruthlessness. No one would wear that expression unless something was very, very wrong. And when Abi speaks, the words confirm my worst nightmares.

“You must help me,” he gasps. “Otherwise we’re all doomed.”