Chapter 5

5

Ma and the aunties chatter excitedly as they pile into Abi’s minivan. From the way they’re clucking about how eager they are to see the director’s estate, which must be very grand, you’d think they were on their way to see a friend and not someone who might potentially have us all killed. Once we’re all bundled in, Abi tells his chauffeur to go, and I gaze longingly at our house as we get farther and farther from it. Nathan rubs my arm.

“It’s going to be okay.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

He gives me a sympathetic smile. “I know, but chances are, it’ll be fine.”

“When it comes to my family, chances are, it won’t be fine.” I raise my eyebrows meaningfully, and I see the past two years replaying in Nathan’s mind. Ah Guan’s death, followed by his family taking their revenge during our wedding. He grimaces.

“Well, maybe third time’s the charm,” he says finally. I love him for trying to comfort me despite the odds.

I clear my throat and raise my voice to be heard above the aunties’ chatter. “So, should we come up with a game plan for when we arrive?”

“What this game plan?” Big Aunt says with a sniff of disapproval. “Why you talking about playing video games like a kid?”

Damn it. I shouldn’t have said “game plan.” Big Aunt is very against video games. She’s convinced they’re the reason for everything bad with the younger generations. “Sorry, I didn’t mean ‘game’ as in ‘video game.’ I meant more like, a strategy. We should have a plan in place.”

“Yes, Meddy, good idea,” Ma says loyally. She turns to Big Aunt. “Meddy doesn’t play video game, you know she is very good girl. I raise her well. I tell her, don’t waste time playing video game, later your eyes go blind.”

“Um, yeah. Anyway, so what should we do when we get there?”

“I would suggest letting Om Abi do all the talking, since he knows the director personally?” Nathan says.

“Oh no.” Abi shakes his head like a terrified schoolkid. “If it were to come from me, I think she might suspect me of lying. It would be preferable if you folks could explain to her what happened.”

Once again, alarm bells go off in my head. Abi is so jumpy, and what kind of business dealing would occur between two untrusting parties? But I don’t have a choice, so I might as well make the best of it. “Okay, well, maybe Nathan and I can explain to her—”

Big Aunt waves me into silence. “Have you kids be the one explaining? Very insulting. I will talk. I am head of family, I explain.”

“Why you?” Second Aunt snaps. “Is my—” She hesitates, glancing at Abi, and I feel the word “boyfriend” almost slithering out of her mouth before she swallows it back. “Abi is my friend,” she says finally. “So I will explain.”

Big Aunt snorts. “You? You will just end up insulting here and insulting there. No, I am best at explain.”

Oh god, this isn’t going well. “Nathan and I will explain!” I half shout. “Because . . . ah . . .” I scour my mind for possible excuses as to why it should be us and not them. “Because it’ll show that you’ve all done such a great job bringing me up. I’ll be so, so respectful, I promise.”

Nathan squeezes my hand and adds, “Yes, we’ll do it. We’ll make you all proud.”

Ma reaches over and pats him on the cheek. “Oh, Nathan, we all so proud of you already.”

I don’t know why they’re proud of him but not of me, but whatever.

“Thanks, Ma,” says Nathan the suck-up. “We’ll just apologize to her, explain what happened, and assure her that first thing in the morning, we’ll find the title deed and personally deliver it to her. Sound good?”

We all nod. His plan sounds so simple and straightforward that I can’t help but feel bolstered by it. Short and sweet and to the point. She can’t possibly take offense to that. We can do this. We’ll be home and in bed within the hour. Right, yeah.

But then the car arrives at the front of the estate, and my newfound confidence falters. In front of us is a gilded, ornate gate. The chauffeur opens his window and speaks into the intercom. “I have Mr. Abraham Lincoln Irawan here.”

There is a buzz, and the gates swing open, revealing a massive sprawl of manicured lawn, complete with a Grecian water fountain and about half a dozen black-clad guards milling about.

“Are those rifles?” I croak. “They are, aren’t they? They’re actual rifles. She’s got actual armed guards.”

Abi laughs. “Oh, my dear, they’re fake rifles, of course. Firearms are illegal in Indonesia, don’t you know? Only authorized personnel are allowed to have them.”

I stare at him. “Why would anyone have guards carrying fake firearms?”

“To deter potential burglars, to impress visitors, all sorts of reasons.” He waves at us to get out of the car, and with growing apprehension, I climb out and stare at the behemoth of a mansion before us.

I’d thought that our family home was big, but this house dwarfs it completely. At least five stories high, it looks like an actual Indonesian castle, complete with beautiful stonework. No doubt its grandiosity is supposed to humble visitors, and it works. I feel completely out of my depth, and painfully aware of the discrepancy in power. Compared to the owner of this house, I am nothing but an ant, easily squashed and forgotten. I’m about to beg my family to turn around and go home—no, not even go home, but speed all the way to the airport and jump onto any plane leaving the country—when the front doors open.

A woman wearing a gray pantsuit, her hair tied into an elegant ponytail, stands before us. “Good evening, Mr. Irawan. Ms. Handoko is expecting you. Please, follow me.”

We enter the foyer, where we are presented with a neat row of house slippers. We fumble to take off our shoes and put on the slippers, after which we are led into the main hall, so large that it feels like a stadium. It feels as though every available surface is adorned with a beautiful carving, or draped with rich velvet, or hung with a priceless painting. It’s the most decadent room I have ever been in. The marble floors are so shiny that they reflect the many chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. As we are led deeper into the house, I jump when I pass by a marble pillar and spot yet another armed guard.

The rifles are fake, I tell myself. The problem is, I also do not believe myself at all.

We’re led into a private elevator, because of course this behemoth of a house has a private elevator. The doors of the elevator slide shut, enveloping us in uneasy silence. I look down at my feet to avoid making unwanted eye contact, and shrill laughter bubbles up my chest. With a huge amount of effort, I swallow it back down and force myself to take a deep breath. Keep it together, Meddy. So what if we’re going deeper inside the abode of someone who is very likely a mafia lord? So what if we’re surrounded by maybe-armed guards? We’ve done nothing wrong. Any sensible person would be able to see that we’re Average Joes, harmless and sincere and well-meaning.

Okay, well, Average Joes who have murdered someone, but that was an accident, so it shouldn’t count. Should it?

I glance around at the others, wondering if they look as nervous as I feel. Nathan is watching the numbers on the screen intently, his eyebrows knitted together in a thoughtful expression. I’ve often seen that same slight frown on his handsome face, usually when he’s trying to work out a knotty business deal. A small smile melts across my lips. Whenever he wears that expression, he’ll come up with some brilliant solution that nobody else would have thought of.

Big Aunt is glaring, eyes narrowed, at Abi, who is pretending not to notice the death glare she’s giving him. Second Aunt is—oh! Is she? She is. She’s holding Abi’s hand. Ah! I want to grin, but it seems highly inappropriate given the situation, so I bite it back, wrestling my mouth into a neutral position. I probably look like I’m having a stroke. Ma is wringing her hands, obviously very anxious. Poor thing. She’s probably wishing she could take a swig of her TCM right about now. Only Fourth Aunt looks like she’s enjoying herself, smiling as she studies her ridiculous nails.

There’s a bing and the doors slide open. We all pile out, obviously relieved at not having to be cooped up in such close quarters with one another. We’re on the fourth floor, and as we walk out, our footsteps are swallowed by a lush, thick Turkish carpet. We’re led down the beautiful hallway to a set of double doors at the very end. Our guide knocks softly at the door.

“Masuk,” a voice calls out languidly.

Our guide opens the door with reverence, stands aside, and nods at us to go in. Big Aunt squares her shoulders, lifts her chin, and starts to stride forward, but Abi places his hand on her arm and murmurs, “Let me go in first.” Big Aunt frowns, but acquiesces, and Abi adjusts the collar of his shirt and walks in. Big Aunt follows closely, striding in with her usual confidence, and the rest of us hurry after her like ducklings. Here goes nothing.

The room is massive and decorated in the lavish style of an eighteenth-century French palace. Lush carpeting, silk upholstery, baroque furniture, and huge vases of fresh flowers that fill the vast space with their spicy-sweet scent. Atop a grand sofa sits a woman in her late fifties. She’s striking, her hair an icy silver that makes her look fresh and alert instead of old. It’s puffed up, of course, in the usual huge Chinese-Indo hairstyle that defies gravity. Despite the fact that it’s nearly midnight, her makeup is flawless, her lips colored in perfectly and her eyelids lined so sharply they could cut someone. She’s giving me serious Michelle Yeoh vibes, including Michelle Yeoh’s deadly martial arts ability.

Abi lowers his head in deference. “Julia, thank you for seeing us.”

Julia lifts her chin and regards us slowly, almost lazily. But there is nothing lazy about those sharp eyes of hers. As they rove over me, I get the sense that she’s reading all of my innermost thoughts and missing nothing at all. She waves her hand to one side and says, “Sit.”

This is a whole new level of commanding presence. Not even Big Aunt dares to defy her. We all hurry to find a spot on the sofas opposite her. When we’re all settled, Julia’s lips quirk into a polite smile.

“Thank you for coming to my humble abode,” she says in Indonesian. Then she seems to notice me straining to follow her words. She looks pointedly at me, then at Nathan, and without prompting, switches to British-accented English. “I said, thank you for coming to my humble abode.”

“We’re honored to be invited here,” I blurt out. Then I mentally kick myself. Technically, were we even invited here? But it felt weird to not say anything.

“Mm.” Julia’s gaze slips over Ma and the aunts one by one, taking them all in.

Abi leans forward. “I wish to explain—”

Julia gives him a sharp look, and he falters before mumbling an apology. After a moment of excruciating silence, Julia says, “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I’m Julia Child Handoko. You may call me Julia Child.”

Of course. She can’t just be Julia Handoko. She’s got to be named after some famous white person. I have to stifle another bubble of hysterical laughter at this. Everything about this is so unreal.

“So,” Julia Child continues, “I understand that Abi here has failed to bring the title deed that I was promised.”

Abi jerks up. “I didn’t fail, I will bring it, but it might take some time—”

Once again, Julia Child silences him with a single look. When she does speak, she directs the question to us. “You all strike me as honest people. Not businesspeople.” She gives a humorless laugh. “Save me from businessmen, each one is a bigger snake than the last.” She levels her gaze at Nathan. “Well, obviously you’re a businessman, but you’re still young, still uncorrupted. Now, which of you will tell me the truth about what happened?”

For a moment, we all exchange panicked glances at one another. Then, true to our family’s structure, Big Aunt nods and turns to face Julia Child. “I’m Friya Chan, head of the family,” she says in Mandarin.

“A matriarch,” Julia Child replies in equally smooth Mandarin, delight clearly written on her face. “Carry on.”

“My family and I are only visiting for a week for the Chinese New Year celebrations. We have no connections to you or Abi, no loyalties to either party.” Big Aunt shoots Abi another deadly look. “I don’t even like Abi. Never trusted him.”

“What?” Second Aunt cries. She turns to Julia Child. “She’s just saying that because she’s jealous that he likes me and not her.”

Oh god. This can’t be happening. Part of me wants to lunge forward and tackle Second Aunt, but Ma is faster than I am. She pushes Second Aunt back and smiles at Julia Child. “So sorry about my older sister. She’s a bit emotional because of . . . ah, her menopause.”

Julia Child’s eyebrows quirk up. “Oh? I’ve got lots of remedies for that. I’ll have someone bring them up here.”

Ma goes, “Ooh!” and looks utterly delighted. “What sort of remedies? Jamu?” Jamu is Indonesian traditional medicine, something Ma sometimes looks into as a side hobby.

“Some jamu, some traditional Chinese medicine, some Western medicine too.”

“Wah!” Ma claps her hands together, her eyes lighting up like a kid entering Disneyland. “Yes, please, have someone bring up your collection. I would love to see it. I’m a bit of an expert in TCM, you know. I even subscribe to Traditional Medicine Monthly and I’ve been trying to—”

Fourth Aunt clears her throat. “Maybe this isn’t the best time to talk about your drug habit?”

Ma glares at her. “It’s not a drug habit, it’s—”

Fourth Aunt flaps her hand at Ma and turns to Julia Child, pointedly ignoring Ma. “As my big sister was saying, we’re only here for a visit. Now, I admit that maybe this was all triggered by me, because I was the one who called Abi to let him know that Erjie is in town. He came by the house this morning with all these gift baskets, which he generously gave to our family.”

“So generous!” Second Aunt croons, smiling at Abi, who grins bashfully, scratching the back of his head like he’s all of twelve years old.

“But so badly organized,” Big Aunt sniffs. “It turns out one of those baskets was meant for you.”

“The basket that contained the title deed,” Abi adds. “It was in a red packet, nestled among other red packets. They were all meant for you, as a token of my respect.”

Julia Child looks on impassively. “And what happened to all those red packets that were meant for me?”

I raise my hand. “We, um, we gave them out to the little ones.”

“So you gave my red packets away.” Julia Child’s voice is icy cold with finality.

My mouth shuts, dread suddenly crushing me from all sides. I take a breath to say something else, some words of explanation or apology, but nothing comes out.

“I’m so sorry,” Nathan says in his smooth, rich voice. “Meddy and I—it’s our first Chinese New Year as a married couple, and we were so excited to finally be able to give out red packets to the kids. I might have rushed her into doing it.”

I can’t decide whether I’m grateful or frustrated at Nathan for taking on all of the blame for us. I stare up at him, wanting to hug him and kiss him, and also smack his gorgeous face.

Julia Child’s gaze lands on him, and it’s like she’s taking him in for the first time. Her eyebrows rise just a smidgen, and her mouth stretches into a smile that reminds me of a shark. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Nathan. Nathan Chan.”

Her head tilts to the side. “Nathan Chan. Are you by chance Frederick Wong’s business partner?”

Nathan nods, smiling with obvious relief. “We have a lot of deals together. He and I go all the way back to grad school.”

“He’s a snake,” Julia Child says flatly.

Oh god. The dread solidifies into a fist and crunches into my heart. Nathan’s smile disappears.

“I do not like smarmy young men who think they know more than I do about how to run my own business,” she hisses.

“I—ah—I definitely don’t think that,” Nathan says quickly.

“Nathan is good boy,” Ma pipes up in English. “Very good boy. Very filial and very respectful.”

The other aunties all nod.

Julia Child narrows her eyes at Nathan. “Yes, I can see you’re different from that greasy partner of yours. You need to keep an eye on him. He won’t hesitate to stab you in the back, you know, you take my word on it.”

Nathan nods. “I will. Thank you for the advice.”

A corner of Julia Child’s mouth quirks up. “I like you. Come here, boy.”

With one last helpless glance at me, Nathan gets up and walks toward Julia Child. My insides clench, and I very nearly shout at him to stop but somehow manage not to do so. When he gets to her sofa, she pats a spot next to her, and he sits down gingerly, at the very edge of the sofa, as though he’s ready to leap out and make a run for it at any moment. Julia Child’s hand shoots out like a striking snake and grabs him by the chin.

“My, my,” she muses, “they don’t make jawlines like this very often.” She turns his face this way and that. “Oof, very good nose. Very mancung.” She smiles at me, her hand still clutched around his jawline. “He’s a good-looking one, isn’t he? He’ll give you very handsome children, my dear.”

“Aiya, this is why I always say, quickly have children,” Ma cries with enthusiasm, seemingly having forgotten that her son-in-law is in the literal clutches of a mafia lord. “Very beautiful grandchildren.”

“Yes, thank you.” I force a smile. “Could I, um, could I have him back, please?”

Julia Child lets go of Nathan, who sags with obvious relief. “I’m afraid not, my dear.”

It takes a second for her words to sink in. “I’m sorry?”

Julia Child leans back, looking relaxed, completely unperturbed. “My dear, I’ve been in this business long enough to know who has a killer instinct and who doesn’t.”

“What—”

“You, my dear girl, have it. So does your family.” She nods at Ma and the aunties, who smile like she’s told them they have beautiful eyes. I want to scream at them that it’s not exactly a compliment she’s giving them. She nods at Nathan. “But this one doesn’t. He’s an innocent babe. Look at him, so pure.”

Nathan squares his shoulders, trying to look—I don’t know—manly? Julia Child scoffs. “Oh, I’m sure you’re good at what you do, dear.” She pats his knee. “But you’re not a criminal.”

“We’re not criminals!” I cry instinctively.

Julia Child looks at me. Then she looks at Ma and the aunties very pointedly, and again, I get the feeling that she’s somehow reading our innermost thoughts. Somehow, I get the feeling that she knows exactly every bit of our dark pasts. The literal skeleton in our closet.

“You will get my title deed back no matter what,” she says with finality. “In the meantime, sweet Nathan here will stay and accompany this old lady.” She smiles at Nathan and pats his knee again.

“No.” I start to stand up, but Big Aunt grabs my arm and pulls me back down.

Julia Child laughs. “Oh, young love. So energetic. So full of drama. You remember what that was like, Abi?” When she asks the question, her voice turns cold, all of the laughter leeching out of it.

Abi shifts uneasily, looking down at his hands. “Yessss.”

“Please,” I beg, “don’t—”

“I won’t let anything bad happen to him,” Julia Child says. “He’s here as my guest. We’ll spoil him, don’t you worry. But you will get me my title deed, yes?”

Next to her, Nathan nods at me. He looks surprisingly calm, which is funny given I’m about to freak the hell out. But he pushes his mouth into a smile and says, “You can do this.” And then he winks.

How is he so confident? I want to stay and argue, but already, the door is being opened, and the assistant who led us up here stands there patiently, waiting for us to go. There is nothing else to do but for us to stand up and leave. I turn my head as I walk out the door, and my heart clenches at the sight of Nathan in Julia Child’s impossibly huge room. I will do this. No matter what it takes, I will get that title deed back and claim him from her. After all, how hard can it be to retrieve the title deed from one of our little nieces and nephews, right?