CHAPTER 21
THE END
WEDDING DAY.
I showered first since that seemed like the normal thing to do before a date, especially for a sweat-prone individual. I snuck some of Nicolette’s fancy soap, which smelled like flirtation, laughing to myself that she could borrow my fifty-cent soap bar anytime. I’d make it up to her later somehow.
Then I combed through my closet. Too frayed. Too tight. Too loose. Too bedazzled. The mountain of clothes on my bed grew with each rejection, but I eventually found a rose-colored dress I didn’t hate. And despite the storm of emotions brewing in my chest, today was a celebration; red was the appropriate color.
I stared at the mirror, trying to see past the fingerprints Nicolette had left behind. Instead of the frustration (and fear of chlamydia) I used to feel, the smudges now made me smile (and it wasn’t just because I was pretty sure she was cured). I could picture her leaning one palm against the mirror for leverage as she plucked her eyebrows, put on eyeliner, checked out her own pìgu. She didn’t give two shits (or even one) what I saw her doing, usually turning to me and asking, “See anything you like?”
I sat down to tackle the last item on my list: my face. I was an expert at stage makeup but knew I couldn’t show up decked out in false eyelashes, bright red lipstick, and fuchsia blush. I did my best with the carnival colors I had, trying to mix bronzer into my blush to darken it, but ended up staring at a clown. Blue eyeshadow was hard to pull off. I tried to cover it with more eyeliner. Now I looked like a panda. Fan-freaking-tastic. I folded my arms on the desk and buried my mess of a face.
“Aurgghhh!” My body muffled my yell, decreasing the satisfaction.
In my head, I could hear my mother laughing at me. She had refused to buy me normal makeup, not until I was ready to meet Eugene. Can’t have you attract the wrong boy, now, can we? The horror. Well, congratulations, Mǎmá. You won.
Nicolette hip-checked her way into our room, and my head snapped up when the door banged against the wall. When she saw my pitiful face, she screamed and dropped the books in her hands.
Now my cheeks were fuchsia, both naturally and cosmetically. “Jesus, a little dramatic, are we?” I scrubbed my face with makeup remover.
“You don’t need all that crap. Haven’t you heard? Less is more, especially for nice guys who like you for who you are on the inside,” she said with a wink. “And you smell nice for a change. But you owe me a coffee, one for each time you use my soap. That shit’s expensive!”
I nodded, making a mental note to get her a coffee and a hot chocolate. Maybe I could convert her. “Thanks, Nicolette.”
“My friends call me Nic,” she said with a soft smile.
After I fixed my face (just mascara and bronzer this time), I received a butt pat from Nicolette, along with a Go get him, tiger; you look hot as fuck. As I clicked down the stairs in uncharacteristic heels, I laughed to myself wondering whether Nic knew I was a tiger on the Chinese zodiac. No better time to start living up to your inner animal, I told myself as my steps gained confidence.
I paused at the door to the lobby. Through the narrow window, I stole a glance at my handsome date, whose back was to me. How did he get his hair to look just messy enough to be sexy?
When I opened the door, Darren turned, revealing his orange tie, white dress shirt, and navy suit—all beneath a black dress coat. And . . . drumroll . . . two cups of hot chocolate. Good thing I hadn’t surprise jumped into his arms like I’d wanted.
He froze when he saw me. “You look beautiful. Kawaii.” I tilted my head at him, questioning. “It’s Japanese for cute. I, uh, learned it for you.”
Could he be any more kawaii? My goodness.
I did a relevé, rising on my tiptoes to peck his cheek. But unused to my heels, I overshot to his temple, which I kissed anyway before my lips found their way to his cheekbone. His grin grew wider with each peck, and as I stared at his slightly crooked lower canine, I thought, Maybe I should’ve just grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him all over his gorgeous, kawaii face like I’d wanted to.
“You look quite kawaii yourself, shuài gē,” I said as I took one of the cups. Mmm. Extra whipped cream, just the way I liked it. Definitely worth it despite the whipped-cream mustache it always left behind. Just as my tongue swept over the errant foam, Darren ran his thumb over my lip.
“Oh God, sorry!” His thumb tasted like soap. Not the most appetizing, but there was nothing hotter than a man who washed his hands regularly.
“Let’s try that again,” he said softly. He gently lifted my chin with his finger, then closed the distance between us and kissed me where the whipped cream had been. If I were more ladylike, my weakened knees would have wobbled.
Darren stuck an elbow out, and after looping my hand in comfortably, I followed outside to the waiting taxi. He waved the exhaust away, opened the door, and gestured grandly as if the dirty, beat-up cab were a horse-drawn carriage.
“Excited?” he asked as he slid in next to me.
“Sure,” I said, which was a step above what I was really thinking—how my attendance today was a giant leap forward on the rebellion road. I couldn’t stop replaying Yilong’s voicemail in my head, squeaky voice and all.
I leaned my head on his shoulder and he held my hand, stroking my thumb the entire ride.
The church we pulled up to had red lanterns, balloons, and double happiness symbols lining the entrance. Yup, we were in the right place, all right. There was even a red carpet—shaggy and stained, but a red carpet nonetheless.
The sanctuary was already half full. The guests mingled, introducing themselves and asking one another how they knew the bride or groom. Did they know what today meant? That in a few hours, Xing would cross the Lu-family bridge and burn it?
The laughter and chatter bubbled up around me, increasing in volume as time ticked on.
No one knew.
It’s a celebration, I scolded myself. I hated that I needed the reminder. I tried to focus on the red streamers lining the pews, the rè’nào buzz of the room, and the handsome man beside me.
Xing entered, and his face lit up when he saw me. We hugged, less awkward than the last few times, and I introduced Darren. Xing gave him a brotherly glower but skipped the protective speech (thank God).
On our way to the front, Xing leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Thanks for everything, Mei-ball—your support, your wisdom. You helped me through an impossible time, and in some ways, you helped me get to this day. I can’t tell you what having you here means to me.”
It was the most he’d ever expressed, and I widened my eyes, hoping to dry the tears before they fell. I wasn’t sure if they were there because I was happy for him or sad at what this day meant. I wasn’t even sure how I felt about the role I’d played.
Xing ushered Darren and me into the front pew, labeled LU FAMILY. The rest of the empty bench screamed Mom and Dad aren’t coming!
Across the aisle stood a man and a woman, both rigid as a board, who I presumed were Esther’s parents. They made their way over with tight-lipped smiles on their lined faces, and Xing bowed to his future in-laws before making proper introductions.
I mimicked his bow for no reason. Maybe I felt the need to make up for my parents’ treatment of Esther. I could hear my mother yelling in my head about how Mr. and Mrs. Wong owed her a dowry—a huge one since Esther was so flawed. Practically a man.
“Mrs. Wong, what a beautiful dress you’re wearing,” Darren said.
She straightened her dark silver gown. “It was difficult to find Chinese formalwear without black flowers, which of course is forbidden since it brings bad luck.”
I took a quick survey, locating five black-flowered dresses within ten seconds.
Mrs. Wong’s gaze followed mine. “Oh, no, it’s okay for others. It’s forbidden only for the bride’s mother.”
I forced a smile and nodded, then turned to Esther’s father. “Mr. Wong, shouldn’t you go back and get ready to walk Esther down the aisle?”
He stiffened, then said through pursed lips, “It’s tradition for the most blessed and fortunate woman in the neighborhood to walk the bride down the aisle. Elder Wu will have that honor. She has one son and one daughter, both of whom are successful. A CEO and a doctor. She flew in from Taichung this morning.”
I thought I had experienced it all, but in the span of three minutes I had learned two new traditions that blew even my mind. The strangest part was that Xing had led me to believe Esther’s parents were more like Helen’s. During one of our visits, he had told me, tight-eyed and stiff-jawed, about how Esther’s “super-chill” parents had let her dye her hair, listen to rap, date. It had only emphasized to him just how strict our parents were, making him resent them more.
But it wasn’t so black-and-white, was it? Maybe the only lesson here was that I needed to stop comparing everyone.
When the pastor took his place at the lectern, I bowed to Esther’s parents, thankful for the interruption.
In our glaringly unfilled pew, I crossed my legs, hoping to calm the gnawing in my stomach. The numbness that prickled down my calf reminded me of my mother manipulating my limbs into this pose.
I uncrossed, accidentally kicking Darren with the bit of anger that shot out. In a silent apology, I placed my hands on his thigh, landing much higher than intended.
Jesus.
Sensing my inner (and outer) flailing, Darren draped his arm across the back of the bench, his fingers caressing my shoulder. Finally feeling safe, I curled up against him.
Xing stood at the front, dapper in his black suit and red pocket square. He caught my eye and smiled, the kind shared by two people bonded for life. My nose burned the way it always did pre-sentimental tears. I nodded to communicate my understanding, to signal I was here for him, to tell him in one sharp movement what I could never say aloud.
The ring bearer carried a stuffed Doraemon down the aisle, the rings tied to its blue, earless head. The doll was almost the same size as him, and by the end he was dragging it behind his pìgu until his mother rushed up to help. The bridesmaids were clones of one another in matching knee-length red dresses and sky-high charcoal heels that made them hobble down the aisle like little girls playing dress-up.
Xing fixated on his bride as soon as she and Elder Wu were visible. Instead of looking at Esther like every other guest, I was drawn to my brother. His eyes glowed as if he had seen an angel.
How could anyone oppose this union? Staring at him in that moment, I couldn’t fathom a world in which Xing had chosen our parents over Esther.
I thought about my mom and dad’s relationship. A lifetime of arguments, a lack of affection, no communication. Stifled by the predetermined husband, wife, and in-law roles, the unyielding expectations. Xing had escaped that—at a price, but a sacrifice worth making.
Esther’s veil was over her face, but her joy shined through the silk as she locked eyes with her soon-to-be husband. The moment was so private, the exchange so intimate, that it felt wrong for the rest of us to be present, watching.
The tulle of Esther’s ball gown devoured her, an odd choice for someone so petite—or was that just my mother’s influence seeping into my brain? She’d always had an if-you’ve-got-a-low-BMI-flaunt-it attitude.
I glanced at Esther’s father, whose pinched face betrayed his true feelings about not walking his daughter down the aisle. I wondered why they followed a custom they so obviously despised. Would it have been so terrible for Mr. Wong to accompany Esther?
Yes, I realized. To them it would have been disastrous. By pushing aside their feelings and bringing Elder Wu, the Wongs believed they were bestowing a lifetime of blessings onto their daughter. They’d made a selfless choice. Ridiculous, maybe, but selfless nonetheless.
At the front, Xing wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before lifting the veil. Esther bowed to Elder Wu and an usher led the hunchbacked woman to an empty seat. Holding one finger up to Xing and flashing him a playful smile, Esther dashed to her parents and embraced them. I watched them hug with total abandon, her parents squeezing with their eyes closed. None of the Lus know how to do that, I thought.
But then Xing stepped forward to hug the Wongs as well. No awkwardness. Only warmth. As if it were the hundredth time. Mr. Wong whispered something in Xing’s ear, then patted him on the back.
Tradition dictated that women leave their families to join the male’s in marriage, but the opposite had happened today as a result of tradition. How ironic.
My breath hitched as I wondered whether my parents would be present when (if?) I walked down the aisle. Would I have to ask Xing to take their place, as I was doing for him? Could they really let a moment like this pass?
My gaze fell to the empty space on my right.
The pastor raised his arms and the guests rose.
“I will magnify You . . . I will glorify You . . . ,” everyone sang.
Well, everyone else sang. I wasn’t familiar with the Christian praise song. Xing and I had been raised Buddhist, with idols around the house and yearly visits to the temples. I was glad my parents weren’t present to storm out in protest.
Once the guests were seated again, the pastor began his monologue. In Mandarin. I peeked over at Darren, but his lips were curved slightly and he appeared to be appreciating the beauty of the language. I wondered what it sounded like to his ears. He heard sounds, while I heard words, sentences, meaning.
His serene face relaxed my own, and I directed my attention up front. I was finally ready to be a part of today. Ready to enjoy my brother’s happiness. Ready to accept whatever repercussions arose from my attendance.
Pastor [in Chinese]: Marriage is a huge step. The men have to learn how to listen to the wife nagging and the wives have to get used to their dirty husbands.
<Chuckle, chuckle, chuckle>
Bridesmaid [translating to English]: Marriage can be terrible. The women nag and the men are dir—
Pastor [in Chinese]: I’d like to share a story with you.
I wondered if the pastor didn’t speak English or was just impatient.
Suddenly, the sanctuary doors burst open and Aunt Yilong marched in, a warrior storming a castle.
With an accusatory finger at Xing and Esther, Yilong filled the chapel with her hoarse yells, which were amplified by the silence. “You murdered Nǎinai! And her ghost will haunt your marriage forever.”