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“What?” Yenyen’s face is turning red. His whole moment is being ruined, poor guy.
“Just go with it.” I pat him on the shoulder.
“Unbelievable!” he snaps, but takes control of himself and arranges my skirt and train so it cascades flawlessly across the hardwood floor.
“Ready or not, ah?” Second Aunt shouts.
“Yes.” I close my eyes, half-dreading what I’m about to see. Ma and the rest of my aunts come out of Ma’s bedroom giggling like schoolgirls. But before they get to the living room, Yenyen mutters, “This feels wrong,” and rushes over to the hallway to see them.
His gasp can be heard all the way over in Santa Monica. “Those arenotthe dresses Yenyen brought you!”
“No, it’s the dressesJonjonbrought them,” someone else says regally.
Okay, not even the strongest-willed person can keep their eyes closed through this. I crack one eye open just as a tall, thin man wrapped in a tight-fitting snakeskin suit emerges from the kitchen.
Yenyen gasps again. “Jonjon. How dare you!”
“What’s going on?” I say.
“Hello, nice to meet you. I’m Jonjon, you might have heard of me? Voted most avant-garde fashion designer in Indonesia? I was featured inTatlerandVogue?” He extends a hand dripping with various chunky rings. Unsure what to do, I shake it limply. “Your family asked me to design their gowns for your wedding.”
“But Yenyen designed their gowns!” Yenyen cries.
Jonjon snorts. “Those lumpy brown sacks? I don’t think so. These ladies deserve better. Ready to see them?”
“Wait, wait!” Yenyen grabs a wool blanket off the couch and throws it around me. “Okay, when the time is right, throw off the blanket with a flourish, ya?”
“Um. Okay.” I hug the blanket tight around me and nod at Jonjon, half-dreading what I’m about to see.
“Behold!” Jonjon waves grandly, taps on his phone, and tinny pop music plays as, one by one, my family struts down the hallway.
I turn around. And stare in shock-horror at the spectacle before me.
Big Aunt, Second Aunt, Ma, and Fourth Aunt are all decked out in the most blinged-out, most aggressively purple dresses I have ever laid eyes on. Ever. How do I describe the particular shade of purple? It’s as if flamingo pink and electric blue had a baby and then that baby snorted a line of coke and proceeded to punch you in the face. It is alotof purple. And it’s alotof different kinds of material. I’m talking taffeta, and embroidery, and sequins—oh god, so many sequins. With every move my mother and aunts make, crystals and jewels flash and threaten to blind me. And that’s not even the worst part.
“What are those things on your heads?” My voice comes out hushed with horror, but Fourth Aunt must have misheard it as awe, because she simpers and flutters her fake lashes at me.
“Aren’t these just gorgeous?” She pats the—the thing on her head gently. “It’s called a fascinator. They are a must-have for English weddings. We’re going to fit in so well.”
“With thatthingon your head? I mean, what—I—but—” I sputter.
“Aiya, you hate it!” Ma wails. She turns to her sisters. “I tell you, I say, Komodo dragon is not good choice, we should have gone with flamingo!”
My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. Whatdoes one say when faced with four women wearing ten-inch-tall Komodo dragons on their heads? Well, not actual live ones, at least. I think. “They’re not real, are they?” I don’t know that I’d be able to forgive my family if they were.
At this, Jonjon smiles smugly. “They look real, don’t they? I understand why you’d think they are; the craftsmanship is flawless, isn’t it?”
Again, no words come. The dragons are in various positions, each one weirder than the last, but also somehow compatible with each woman’s personality. Big Aunt’s dragon is standing on its two hind legs, the front ones akimbo, like an Asian auntie who disapproves of your life choices. Second Aunt’s dragon is—of course—stretched into some bizarre Tai Chi pose. Ma’s is sitting down, primly sipping tea. Yes, there is an actual tiny teacup in its paws. And Fourth Aunt’s is doing karaoke.
I turn to Yenyen. Maybe he can play bad cop for me and shoot this whole ridiculous getup down in flames. Like me, he’s also staring openmouthed at their fascinators. He extends an arm and touches Fourth Aunt’s dragon gingerly as though expecting it to come to life and take a chunk out of his hand.
“Amazing,” he says.
I sidle over to him and whisper, “Don’t you mean ‘ridiculous’?”
His gaze flicks over to me and I see belatedly that the expression he’s wearing isn’t so much shock as it is wonderment. “Look at the craftsmanship. The scales, those eyes!”
“You mean how they follow you around the room?” I can’t help but shudder.