18
The Youngs
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SINGAPORE
With its prime position atop Cairnhill Road, the Residences at One Cairnhill was a striking marriage of architectural preservation and real estate wizardry. Originally the home of prominent banker Kar Chin Kee and built during the late-Victorian period, the house had long been a landmark. But as land values skyrocketed over the decades, all the other big houses gave way to the developers and high-rise towers sprang up around the graceful mansion like overgrown bamboo. By the time the great man died in 2006, the house was deemed far too historic to tear down, yet far too valuable to remain a single residence. So Kar Chin Kee’s heirs decided to preserve the original structure, converting it into the base of a sleek thirty-story glass tower where Nick’s parents now lived (when they were in Singapore, that is).
As the taxi climbed the hill toward the imposing Corinthian-columned portico, Nick explained its history to Rachel. “Uncle Chin Kee was a friend of my grandmother’s, so we used to visit every Chinese New Year, and I would be made to recite some elaborate poem in Mandarin. Then the old man, who reeked of cigars, would give me a hong bao stuffed with five hundred dollars.”
“That’s insane!” Rachel exclaimed. “The biggest hong bao I ever got in my life was fifty dollars, and that was from this asshole dating my mom who was really trying to win me over. What did you do with all that money?”
“Are you kidding? My parents kept it, of course. They kept all my New Year money—I never saw a cent of it.”
Rachel looked at him in horror. “That’s just wrong! Hong baos are as sacred as Christmas presents.”
“Don’t get me started on what they did with my presents on Christmas morning!” Nick laughed. As they entered the elevator, Rachel inhaled deeply as she prepared to meet Nick’s parents—these hong bao snatchers—for the first time.
“Hey, don’t forget to breeeeathe,” Nick said, massaging her shoulders gently. On the thirtieth floor, the elevator opened directly into the penthouse’s foyer and they were greeted by an enormous pane of glass that framed a panoramic view of the Orchard Road shopping district. “Wow!” Rachel whispered, marveling at the deep purple dusk settling over the skyline.
A woman appeared from around the corner and said, “Aiyah, Nicky, why is your hair so long? You look like a ruffian! You better get it cut short before Colin’s wedding.”
“Hi, Mum,” Nick said simply. Rachel was still reeling from the abruptness of this encounter when Nick continued, “Mum, I’d like you to meet Rachel Chu, my girlfriend.”
“Oh, hello,” Eleanor said, as if she had no idea who the girl might be. So this is the girl. She looks better than in that school yearbook picture obtained by the detective.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Young,” Rachel found herself saying, although her mind was still trying to accept the notion that this woman could actually be Nick’s mother. Rachel had been expecting an imperious grande dame with a powdered white face and a tight perm dressed in some Hillary Clinton–esque pantsuit, but before her stood a striking woman in a trendy scoop-neck top, black leggings, and ballet flats, looking far too young to have a thirty-two-year-old son. Rachel bowed her head and presented her gift of oranges.
“How lovely! Aiyah, you really shouldn’t have!” Eleanor replied graciously. Why in the world did she bring mandarin oranges—does she think it’s Chinese New Year? And why is she bowing like some stupid Japanese geisha? “Have you been enjoying Singapore so far?”
“Yes, very much,” Rachel replied. “Nick’s taken me to have the most fantastic hawker food.”
“Where did you take her?” Eleanor looked at her son dubiously. “You’re practically a tourist yourself—you don’t know all the secret holes-in-the-wall like I do.”
“We’ve been to Lau Pa Sat, Old Airport Road, Holland Village—” Nick began.
“Alamak! What is there to eat in Holland Village?” Eleanor exclaimed.
“Plenty! We had the best rojak for lunch,” Nick said defensively.
“Nonsense! Everyone knows that the only place to go for rojak is that stall on the top floor of Lucky Plaza.”
Rachel laughed, her nerves quickly dissipating. Nick’s mother was so funny—why had she been so nervous?
“Well, this is it,” Eleanor said to her son, gesturing at the space.
“I don’t know what you were talking about, Mum, the place looks perfect.”
“Alamak, you don’t know how much of a headache this flat has caused me! We had to re-stain the floors six times to get the right finish.” Nick and Rachel stared down at the beautiful gleaming white oak floors. “And then some of the custom furniture in the guest bedrooms had to be redone, and the automatic blackout curtains in my bedroom aren’t dark enough. I’ve had to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms on the other side of the flat for more than a month now because the curtains are on back order from France.”
The entry foyer opened into a great room with thirty-foot ceilings and a grid-like pattern of skylights that drenched the room with light. The space was made even more dramatic by a sunken oval pit in the center, with sleek Hermès-orange sofas perfectly contoured around both sides of the oval. From the ceiling, a spiral chandelier of sculptured gold and glass teardrops pirouetted down until it almost touched the oval driftwood coffee table. Rachel could hardly believe that Nick’s parents lived in such a space—it looked more like the lobby of some impossibly hip hotel. A phone rang in another room, and a maid peered out of a doorway to announce, “It’s Mrs. Foo and Mrs. Leong.”
“Oh, Consuelo, please send them up,” Eleanor said. At last, the reinforcements are here.
Nick looked at his mother in surprise. “You invited other people? I thought we were going to have a quiet family dinner.”
Eleanor smiled. We would have, if it were just our family. “It’s only the regular crowd, lah. The cook made laksa, and it’s always better to have more people for that. Besides, everyone wants to see you, and they can’t wait to meet Rachel!”
Nick smiled at Rachel in an attempt to cover up his dismay. He had wanted his parents to give their undivided attention to Rachel, but his mother was always springing last-minute surprises like this.
“Go wake your father, Nick—he’s napping in his media room down that hall,” Eleanor instructed.
Nick and Rachel walked toward the media room. The sounds of gunfire and explosions could be heard from within. As they approached the open door, Rachel could see Nick’s father asleep on a Danish ergonomic recliner while Battlestar Galactica played on the flat-screen television built into the sandblasted oak wall. “Let’s not disturb him,” Rachel whispered, but Nick entered anyway.
“Wakey, wakey,” he said softly.
Nick’s father opened his eyes and looked up at Nick in surprise. “Oh, hello. Is it dinnertime?”
“Yes, Dad.”
Nick’s father got up from the chair and looked around, spotting Rachel standing shyly in the doorway.
“You must be Rachel Chu,” he said, smoothing down the back of his hair.
“Yes,” Rachel replied, coming into the room. Nick’s father extended his hand. “Philip Young,” he said with a smile, shaking her hand firmly. Rachel liked him instantly, and she could at last see where her boyfriend got his looks. Nick’s large eyes and elegantly shaped mouth were exactly like his mother’s, but the thin nose, prominent jawline, and thick jet-black hair were unmistakably his father’s.
“When did you get in?” Nick asked his father.
“I caught the morning flight from Sydney. I wasn’t planning to come until later in the week, but your mum insisted that I fly up today.”
“Do you work in Sydney, Mr. Young?” Rachel asked.
“Work? No, I moved to Sydney not to work. It’s far too beautiful a place for work. You get distracted by the weather and the sea, the long walks and the good fishing.”
“Oh, I see,” Rachel said. She noticed that his accent was a unique fusion of British, Chinese, and Australian.
Just then, there was a knock on the door, and Astrid peeked in. “I’m under strict orders to corral all of you,” she announced.
“Astrid! I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” Nick said.
“Well, your mum wanted it to be a surprise. Surprise!” Astrid said, fluttering her fingers and giving him an ironic smile.
Everyone made their way back to the living room, where Nick and Rachel were surrounded by a flurry of dinner guests. Lorena Lim and Carol Tai shook Rachel’s hand, while Daisy Foo embraced Nick. (It did not escape Rachel that Daisy was the first person who had hugged him all night.)
“Aiyah, Nicky, why have you been hiding your beautiful girlfriend for so long?” Daisy said, greeting Rachel with an effusive hug as well. Before Rachel could respond, she felt someone grabbing her arm. She looked down at the bing-cherry-size ruby ring and long red manicured claws before looking up in shock at a woman with teal-green eye shadow and rouge painted heavier than a drag queen’s.
“Rachel, I’m Nadine,” the woman said. “I’ve heard so much about you from my daughter.”
“Really? Who’s your daughter?” Rachel asked politely. Just then, she heard a high-pitched squeal right behind her. “Nicky! I’ve missed you!” a distinctive voice exclaimed. A chill came over Rachel. It was Francesca Shaw, greeting Nick with a tight bear hug and a kiss on the cheek. Before she could react, Francesca put on her biggest smile and swooped down on Rachel with another double-cheek kiss. “Rachel, lovely to see you so soon again!”
“Oh, were you at Araminta’s bachelorette party?” Nick asked.
“Of course I was. We all had such a gloooorious time, didn’t we, Rachel? Such a beautiful island, and wasn’t the food marvelous? I heard you particularly enjoyed the fish course.”
“Yes, it was quite an experience,” Rachel replied slowly, stunned by Francesca’s remarks. Was she admitting responsibility for the mutilated fish? She noticed that Francesca’s lipstick had left a bright red imprint on Nick’s cheek.
“I’m not sure if you remember my cousin Astrid,” Nick said to Francesca.
“Of course!” Francesca rushed to greet her with a hug. Astrid stiffened up, taken aback by how familiar Francesca was being. Francesca scrutinized Astrid from head to toe. She was wearing a white drape-front silk georgette dress with navy blue trim. The cut is so perfect, it must be couture. But who’s the designer?
“What a fantastic dress!” Francesca said.
“Thank you. You look lovely in red,” Astrid responded.
“Valentino, of course,” Francesca replied, pausing to wait for Astrid to reveal the designer of her outfit. But Astrid did not reciprocate. Without missing a beat, Francesca turned to Nick’s mother and gushed, “What a fabulous place, Auntie Elle! I want to move in right now. It’s all so Morris Lapidus, so Miami Modern! It makes me want to throw on a Pucci caftan and order a whiskey sour.”
“Wah, Francesca, you hit it right on the head,” Eleanor said in delight. “Everybody, we’re going to do something different tonight—we’re all going to makan in my little kitchen,” she announced as she led her guests into a kitchen that to Rachel seemed anything but little. The cavernous space looked like a gourmand’s idea of what heaven might be—a gleaming temple of white Calacatta marble, stainless-steel surfaces, and state-of-the-art appliances. A chef in white uniform stood by the commercial-grade Viking stove, busy monitoring bubbling copper pots, while three kitchen maids scurried around making final preparations. At the far end was an alcove with an art deco diner-style banquette.
As they took their seats, Carol glanced over at the chef deftly ladling crimson broth into large white clay soup bowls. “Wah, Eleanor—I feel like I’m dining at the chef’s table of some chichi restaurant,” she said.
“Isn’t it fun?” Eleanor said merrily. She looked at Rachel and said, “I was never allowed to set foot in the kitchen at my mother-in-law’s house. Now I get to eat in my own kitchen, and actually watch the food being cooked!” Rachel smiled in amusement—here was a woman who obviously had never cooked a meal in her life but seemed to relish the novelty of being inside a kitchen.
“Well, I love to cook. I can only dream of one day having a kitchen as beautiful as yours, Mrs. Young,” Rachel said.
Eleanor smiled graciously. I’m sure you can—with my son’s money.
“Rachel is an amazing cook. Without her, I’d probably be eating ramen noodles every night,” Nick added.
“That would be just like you,” Daisy commented. She looked at Rachel and said, “I used to call Nicky my ‘Noodle Boy’—he was always so crazy over noodles as a kid. We would take him to the top restaurants in Singapore, and all he ever wanted was a plate of fried noodles with extra gravy.”
As she said this, three maids entered the dining alcove and placed large steaming bowls of laksa noodle soup in front of each guest. Rachel marveled at the beautiful composition of butterfly shrimp, fried fish cake, pillowy tofu puffs, and hard-boiled egg halves beautifully arranged over the thick rice vermicelli and fiery soup. For a few minutes, the room lapsed into silence as everyone slurped down the distinctive noodles and savored the rich broth.
“I can taste the coconut milk in the soup, but what gives it the slightly tart, spicy kick? Is it Kaffir?” Rachel asked.
Show-off, Eleanor thought.
“Good guess. It’s tamarind,” Daisy answered. This girl wasn’t bullshitting—she does know how to cook.
“Rachel, it’s so impressive that you know your way around a spice rack,” Francesca chirped, her fake-friendly tone barely masking her disdain.
“Apparently not as well as you know how to gut a fish,” Rachel commented.
“You girls went fishing?” Philip looked up from his laksa in surprise.
“Oh, yes, we did. One of the girls even caught a bigger, endangered fish. We tried to convince her to put it back in the water, but she wouldn’t, and it ended up biting her very hard. There was blood squirting all over the place,” Francesca said, biting the head off her jumbo prawn and spitting it onto the side of the bowl.
“Serves her right, lah! Our oceans are getting so overfished, and we must respect all of God’s creatures,” Carol declared.
“Yes, I agree. You know, when you’re just a tourist, you need to learn to respect the environment you’re in,” Francesca said, glaring at Rachel for a split second before shifting her gaze onto Astrid. “Now Astrid, when can I get you to join one of my committees?”
“What sort of committees?” Astrid asked more out of politeness than any real curiosity.
“Take your pick—I’m on the boards of the Singapore History Museum, the Museum of Contemporary Arts, the Heritage Society, the Pulau Club, the Cultural Arts Advisory Board at SBC, the steering committee of Singapore Fashion Week, the Singapore Zoo, the Lee Kong Chian Natural History Museum’s Selection committee, the Wine Connoisseurs Society, Save the Shahtoosh, the junior committee of Christian Helpers, and, of course, the Shaw Foundation.”
“Well, my three-year-old boy keeps me pretty busy—” Astrid began.
“Once he’s in kindergarten and you have nothing to do, you really should consider joining one of my charities. I could fast-track you onto a committee. I think you’d be a natural.”
“So Rachel, I hear you teach at NYU with Nick?” Lorena cut in. This Francesca is getting on my nerves. We’re here to interrogate RACHEL, not Astrid.
“Yes, I do,” Rachel replied.
“Which department?” Nadine asked, fully knowing the answer, since Eleanor had read the entire dossier on Rachel Chu to all the ladies while they were getting hour-long reflexology massages in Shenzhen.
“I’m in the Department of Economics, and I teach at the undergrad level.”
“And how much do you get paid a year?” Nadine inquired.
Rachel was dumbstruck.
“Aiyah, Mummy, to Americans, it’s very rude to ask how much somebody makes,” Francesca said at last, clearly delighting in seeing Rachel squirm.
“Oh, is it? I was just curious to know how much a college teacher in America could possibly earn,” Nadine said in her most innocent tone.
“Would you ever consider working in Asia?” Daisy asked.
Rachel paused. It seemed like a pretty loaded question, and she figured that the group would dissect whatever answer she gave. “Of course, if the right opportunity came along,” she finally replied.
The ladies exchanged furtive looks, while Philip slurped on his soup.
After dinner, as the group adjourned to the living room for coffee and dessert, Astrid abruptly announced that she had to leave.
“Are you okay?” Nick asked. “You seem a little out of sorts tonight.”
“I’m fine . . . I just got a text from Evangeline that Cassian is staging a coup and refusing to sleep, so I better dash off.” In reality, Evangeline had informed her that Michael had stopped by and was reading Cassian a bedtime story. DO NOT LET HIM LEAVE, Astrid frantically texted back.
Nick and Rachel decided to seize this opportunity to make an exit as well, pleading fatigue from a long day of travel.
As soon as the elevator had closed on them, Eleanor announced, “Did you see the way that girl was staring at everything around the flat?”
“Darling, you’ve spent a year decorating. Of course people are going to stare—isn’t that the whole point?” Philip interjected as he helped himself to a large slice of chocolate banana cake.
“Philip, that little economist brain of hers was busy calculating the value of everything. You could see her adding everything up with her big bulging eyes. And all that talk about cooking for Nick. What rot! As if that’s going to impress me, knowing that she puts her rough peasant hands all over his food!”
“Well, you’re in fine form tonight, darling,” Philip said. “Frankly, I found her to be very pleasant, and her features quite nice.” He was careful to emphasize the word quite, knowing that his wife would fly into even more of a jealous fit at the thought of another woman in her vicinity being unequivocally proclaimed a beauty.
“I have to agree with Philip. She was really quite pretty. Whether you care to admit it, Eleanor, your son at least has good taste,” Daisy said, as she scrutinized the maid pouring her caffe latte.
“Really? You think she’s as pretty as Astrid?” Eleanor asked.
“Astrid is a sultry, tempestuous beauty. This one is totally different. She has a simpler, more placid beauty,” Daisy observed.
“But don’t you think she’s a little flat-chested?” Eleanor said.
Philip sighed. There was just no winning with his wife. “Well, good night everyone. It’s time for my CSI: Miami,” he said, getting up from the sofa and making a beeline for his media room. Francesca waited for him to round the corner before she spoke.
“Well, I for one think you are completely right about this girl, Auntie Elle. I spent the whole weekend with Rachel, and I saw her true colors. First of all, she picked out the most expensive dresses from the resort boutique when she found out that Araminta was paying. She was wearing one of them tonight.”
“That plain lilac dress? Alamak, she has no taste!” Nadine exclaimed.
Francesca continued her assault. “Then, she spent all of yesterday taking different classes at the resort—yoga, Pilates, Nia, you name it. It was as if she was trying to avoid us and get her money’s worth at the spa. And you should have heard her at dinner—she boldly announced that she went after Nicky because he is such a catch. Actually, I think her exact words were ‘he’s a TOTAL catch.’ ”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, can you imagine!” Nadine said, shuddering openly.
“LeaLea, what are you going to do now that you’ve met her?” Carol asked.
“I think this girl needs to be sent packing. All you have to do is say the word, Auntie Elle, and as I told you, it would be my pleasure to help,” Francesca said, giving Eleanor a meaningful look.
Eleanor took a few moments to answer, stirring her decaf cappuccino purposefully. She had been in a state of panic for weeks, but now that she had finally met this Rachel Chu, a preternatural calm had settled over her. She could see what needed to be done, and she knew she had to proceed covertly. She had witnessed firsthand the scars that blatant parental interference could inflict; why, even those assembled here were a reminder of that—Daisy’s relationship with her sons was tenuous at best, while Lorena’s eldest daughter no longer spoke to her after immigrating to Auckland with her Kiwi husband.
“Thank you, Francesca. You are always so helpful,” Eleanor finally said. “For now, I don’t think we need to do anything. We should all just sit back and watch, because things are about to get interesting.”
“You’re right, Elle—there’s no need to rush into anything. Besides, after Shenzhen, all the cards are in your hand,” Lorena said gleefully as she scraped away the frosting from her cake.
“What happened in Shenzhen?” Francesca asked eagerly.
Eleanor ignored Francesca’s question and smiled. “I might not even have to play the Shenzhen card. Let’s not forget, all the Youngs and the Shangs are about to descend on Singapore for the Khoo wedding.”
“Oh-ho! Who wants to bet she doesn’t even last through the weekend?” Nadine cackled.