Last Tang Standing

by Ho, Lauren

  “No,” I said, gratified. My eyes met Suresh’s. Thank you for being here, I mouthed.

  You’re welcome, he mouthed back.

  Melissa met us in the cafeteria, a coffee in her hand. If she was surprised to see Linda and Suresh, especially if she might have expected Eric in the latter’s place, then she was too distraught to show it. Kamarul, her fiancé, had not stayed with Melissa after dropping her off at the hospital in order not to trigger my mother.

  We took the elevator to the third floor, where my mother was resting in the coronary care unit of the ICU and under sedation. She had come through the emergency bypass surgery fine, but the attending cardiothoracic surgeon, Dr. Ng, a harried-looking woman in a severe bun who had seen far too many operating rooms and not enough sunlight, said that while the surgery had gone well, she was not yet out of the woods and they would have to monitor her for a few days. Going forward, we would have to take extra care to not upset her, and monitor her lifestyle and diet to manage her preexisting high blood pressure. “Don’t stress her out,” she admonished, like the heart attack had been our fault.

  Don’t stress her out? She was the person who stressed her children out, I almost shook my fist and shouted at her retreating back. Instead, I whispered this as the doctor strode off. Years of conditioning by Asian society had drilled into me a Buddhist reverence for medical authority.

  “It’s my fault,” Melissa said, breathing hard. “I sent her an invite last week to our engagement party.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I said. “And let’s not forget the real culprit: her diet of instant noodles, crackers, lard, and full-fat everything.”

  “Yeah, Auntie Jenny eats like she’s a teenager,” Linda chimed in. “Plus, Kamarul seems like the kind of guy any mother would have loved to have dating her daughter.”

  Suresh had been keeping a respectful distance in the waiting area so that we could have some family time. I motioned him over. “Suresh’s one of the good guys I work with,” I said, as he approached. “He’s been a real rock.”

  Melissa eyed him shrewdly. “Where’s Eric?” she asked in a low voice.

  “In Hong Kong—or maybe Vietnam by now. He sends his regards,” I said, offhandedly.

  I introduced Suresh to Melissa.

  “Any news?” Suresh asked, his brows furrowed.

  I updated him, uncomfortably aware of how both Melissa and Linda were communicating furiously without speaking behind his back. There was a lot of lascivious winking on Linda’s part.

  “It’s good that we got here in time,” Suresh said, looking relieved that my mother was doing fine.

  “Not too bored hanging out with us Tangs, Suresh?” Melissa teased, fluttering her tear-gunked eyelashes. Ah, the good ol’ Suresh Effect. I rolled my eyes. Also, annoyingly enough Melissa always acted like she was the elder sister instead of me. I mean, just because she was in a functional relationship with a man and had money. But guess who was still on speaking terms with old Mumsie? That’s right: me.

  A wave of exhaustion hit me in the gut and I had to grab onto the back of a chair to steady myself.

  “Whoa,” Suresh said, grabbing me, “you OK?”

  “I just need to rest. I think all the travel is starting to catch up with me,” I said.

  “Let’s go find a hotel,” Linda said. “The doctor did say she won’t be able to receive visitors tonight, anyway.”

  “Don’t be stupid, you guys can stay at our place. We have two spare rooms,” Melissa exclaimed. She waved away our (admittedly feeble) protests. “You girls can share a room, and Suresh can take one. Or, you know.” Now she was making weird facial expressions behind Suresh’s back at me. I gave her the middle finger.

  “Whoa, is that how you Tangs thank each other?” Suresh said.

  “We have our ways,” I said airily. Such as emotional blackmail, but still.

  Melissa and Kamarul’s home was a splendidly renovated, sleek and spartan three-bedder condo in Mont Kiara. It was the first time I was visiting their home since they had moved in together a few months ago. Kamarul showed us around while Melissa made us hot chocolate laced with a heavy dose of Amarula “to help with the nerves.” Then the three of us girls hung out in the living room for an impromptu family reunion, catching up and trading Tang family gossip, Kamarul having shepherded Suresh to his man cave to play Counter-Strike. We finished chatting around 1:30 a.m., exhausted but feeling much more cheerful.

  When everyone had gone to bed (Linda was snoring on the two-seater couch in the living room, passed out drunk), I hung out in the living room, drinking decaf coffee and scrolling through my Instagram. I was too hyped up to sleep.

  I kept thinking, What if?

  What if the heart attack had been more severe? What if it had debilitated or killed my mother? Despite how aggravating she could be, she was still my mother. I owed her, and my dad, everything I had in life. And I love her. I have to: she’s my mother. She’s sacrificed so much for me. If my mother wanted me to get married and have kids, and I could do that for her, why shouldn’t I? It’s not as though I was opposed to children and marriage. I wouldn’t mind both. Actually, I’m not going to lie: I want both.

  Eric wants to get married to me. Eric wants kids. Eric is at the right stage of his life. Eric and I were both cruising in the right direction.

  After all, there was no such thing as a perfect partner. Even if I envied Melissa and Kamarul’s easy way with each other, who’s to say I would never have that with Eric one day? Why did we always assume that these things were supposed to just “come with the territory”? Didn’t farmers have to, like, till the earth and fertilize it before they could get the soil to yield crops? Maybe my relationship with Eric was like that: a potato farm in the making. But scoff ye not at the humble potato, for were they not the most delicious tuber on God’s green earth? I—

  “Am I interrupting?” a voice said in the darkness, making me jump. It was Suresh.

  “Not really, I was just stalking celebrities, no biggie,” I said.

  He sat down next to me on the couch. I was very aware that he was wearing only a pair of tartan boxer shorts and a thin white T-shirt that left little to the imagination.

  Unfortunately, I had a very healthy imagination.

  “Thanks for being here,” I said, looking around him so as not to get distracted.

  “Anything for you,” he said softly. “How are you feeling?”

  “Worried, but much better, thanks.” I just noticed how golden brown his eyes were in the warm light. He had such soulful eyes. “Thanks for being here.” I realized I was repeating myself.

  “There was no question about me not coming over. I wanted to.”

  “You didn’t need to, really. I have Linda.”

  We looked at Linda’s prone figure on the couch, where she had passed out after the sixth Amarula hot chocolate. Actually, come to think of it, maybe the last two had just been straight-up mugs of Amarula.

  “Does … does Anousha know you’re here?”

  Suresh shrugged. “Anousha and I had a fight. We’re not speaking to each other.”

  “What about?” I asked. I wondered if it had been about me. Maybe it had been. There was, after all, that text that she had sent to me. She must suspect that we’d come close to crossing the line, once or twice.

  “About my leaving the firm, actually.”

  Of course. What else would it have been about? I was being silly.

  “What was her reaction?” I asked.

  “She won’t allow it. Her father is livid and—”

  My phone buzzed and I started. An unidentified number—who could it be at this hour?

  “Andrea, hey.”

  It was Eric. I excused myself and raised the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

  “I just wanted to let you know I’m flying in from Vietnam. I’ve got the first flight out tomorrow morning. Where are you?” he said without preamble.

  “At Melissa’s,” I said, a little surprised. “Wait
… what? What about your hotel opening?”

  He made an impatient noise. “Andrea, your mother had a heart attack. I bought a ticket as soon as I heard your message.” He seemed bewildered that I would ask a question. “I am your man, am I not?” He said this without the least ring of irony.

  Eric was at his most attractive when he was being authoritative. Suddenly there was no one else I wanted to see more. “Yes, you are. Where are you staying tomorrow?” I asked. I was vaguely aware that Suresh was gone.

  “Park Suite at the Mandarin Oriental, where else?”

  “I’ll get my things and stay with you.”

  49

  Sunday 9 October

  The four of us, sans Kamarul for obvious reasons, arrived at the hospital just before noon, when visiting hours would start. I was surprised to see Eric already at the reception desk having an animated conversation with Dr. Ng and a distinguished-looking man in his fifties.

  “Eric!” I said happily, giving him a bear hug.

  “Nice reception!” He kissed the top of my head and nodded to Linda, who returned the nod. “And who are these lovely folks?”

  “I’m Melissa, Andrea’s younger sister,” Melissa said. I could tell from the way she approached him with her hand half-extended that she was unsure of whether she should give him a handshake or a hug, to which Eric responded by gathering her in a warm hug. I smiled.

  “And this is Suresh, my—” I turned toward Suresh, and suddenly my mind went blank.

  “Colleague,” Suresh said, giving Eric a handshake so firm I could feel it, standing beside Eric. And Eric was giving it right back: they were Power Moving each other. “It’s nice to meet you. Andrea talks about you all the time.”

  “Likewise,” Eric said, giving Suresh a thoughtful once-over. He was unsmiling. Then he turned toward me very pointedly, and said, “Is today the day I get to meet the future mother-in-law I’ve been hearing so much about?”

  “Sorry, I’m just going to excuse myself to make a call,” Suresh said, before leaving.

  I shook my head, perplexed by Suresh’s reaction and very aware of how Melissa and Linda were communicating behind Eric’s back with a combination of unsubtle gestures and facial expressions. “Maybe we should wait to see if she’s up to even receiving me.” And Melissa, I didn’t say.

  Eric let me off the hook. “I suppose we shouldn’t overwhelm her with news. Anyway, let me introduce you to a good friend, Dr. Caleb Foo. He’s the chief of surgery at Pantai and a renowned cardiothoracic surgeon internationally.” Pantai was a private hospital in Kuala Lumpur.

  “Oh, uh, hi there,” I said, confused. Dr. Foo nodded at me.

  “This gentleman here wants me to discharge your mother and transfer her to Pantai for Dr. Foo to follow up, and I told him it was my professional opinion that she was too weak to be moved, not for another two to three days,” Dr. Ng told me, her voice strained. “And in any case, it is the family’s decision. Is that what you want?”

  I looked at Eric. “What?”

  “Yes.” He beamed, misreading my response as being positive. He tucked a strand of loose hair behind my ear. “I wanted the best for your mother and you. Dr. Foo is the best.” He said it in front of Dr. Ng, without a care for her feelings.

  I exhaled sharply. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Eric, but Dr. Ng has been more than fine so far.”

  Dr. Ng threw me this little look of gratitude that somehow made her real to me for the first time.

  “But Dr. Foo is the best,” Eric insisted.

  “Private hospitals are just so much better,” Linda chimed in from behind Eric, where she’d been eavesdropping.

  “I prefer that my mother stay here, thank you all,” I said through gritted teeth.

  Linda shrugged. “Told you she’s stubborn. I’m going to see if they have a Starbucks here.” Her talent for leaving when the shit got stirred was legendary.

  Eric and I were now locked in a silent stare-down. Dr. Foo looked uncomfortable and made his excuses to leave.

  “You’re not happy with my offer?”

  “You’re being presumptuous,” I said slowly. “When have I ever said that I wanted my mother moved to a private facility?”

  He frowned. “I was being helpful. Do you know how hard it is to get Dr. Foo to consult? He is the best and he came here on such short notice because he owes me a huge personal favor!”

  “Nobody asked you for a new doctor. I prefer the current one we already have, my cranky, stone-faced doctor that you were rude to, thank you very much!”

  Dr. Ng cleared her throat. “I’m going to, ah, check on Mrs. Tang.”

  “Yes, please,” both of us said simultaneously. She hurried away.

  “What gave you the impression that I would want you to do something like this without asking me?”

  “Well, excuse me for trying to do something good for you.” He threw up his arms. “I don’t get you, Andrea. When you work, you constantly talk about rankings and reputation and how you’re the best at what you do, but when I try to get your mother, your mother, the greatest in health care that money can buy, you refuse me and dismiss my friend. Is that logical?”

  I bit my lip. He made a lot of sense when he put it that way. “We can’t afford private hospitals,” I said, although that was only part of the reason I was miffed, and not even the most important one at that.

  The frown on his face dissolved. “Is that why you were annoyed?” Eric folded me into his arms. “Oh sweetheart, I would have paid for everything. I wouldn’t have minded.”

  I thawed a little, but something inside me rebelled. It wasn’t so much what he wanted.

  It was what I wanted, or didn’t want.

  But what was it that I wanted?

  “Excuse me,” a voice piped up.

  We looked up. It was Dr. Ng again.

  “Your mother is asking for you.”

  Seeing my mother on the bed brought home the gravity of the situation again. I sucked in my breath when I saw her. Her face was pale and her skin translucent as rice milk, stark against her dyed black hair, a bruise purpling across her face. She had hit her face against something in the taxi when the attack happened. An IV dripped.

  Dr. Ng briefed the both of us on the root causes that had led to this heart attack. Aside from genetic predisposition, my mother’s bad diet over the years had caused build up in her arteries and she’d need to change to a heart-healthy diet.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Andrea,” my mother wheezed, clutching my hand, once Dr. Ng had left. “Is … is your sister around?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  “She wants to see you.”

  My mother exhaled sharply. “I … I suppose I should thank her. You can send her in afterward. Alone. There are some things I need to say to her.”

  That was a start. I was elated. “Thank you.”

  She smiled wanly in response.

  “Ma, you heard what Dr. Ng said. Your diet is literally killing you. Why did you eat so much junk food and instant noodles, when you never let us do the same? It’s a bit double standard, right?”

  She avoided my eyes. “Well, how did you think your father and I managed to save up enough money so you and your sister can go to university?” she said lightly.

  I pictured the many times I saw my stay-at-home mother heating a bowl of instant noodles, throwing a couple handfuls of leftover green vegetables and cracking an egg into the MSG-ed broth while my sister and I ate rice with stir-fried beef or chicken and fried dumplings. She always made us take second, third helpings, and when we were done, she’d scoop our leftover meat and rice into her noodle bowl and chastise us for wasting food. I felt a rush of guilt. Even when it came to food, they’d always made sure we had the best they could afford.

  “Of course, it wasn’t just savings,” she acknowledged, “we carefully invested the money we saved as best as we could, otherwise inflation—”

  “—will take everything,” I finished, t
rying to crack a joke by using an ominous voice.

  “You young people these days, you don’t even know how to save; once you get the money you spend spend spend. Why, when I was your age, I used to bring my own lunch to work, it was just white rice and ikan bilis, now everything is just avocado this and that and costs so much …” She rattled on and on in this manner, pausing only to draw breath, but instead of cutting her off or tuning her out, I kept quiet and listened. Maybe it was because she’d just had a close brush with death, but I took the sermonizing in stride. Glad to see her so verbose; glad to see her alive.

  “Thank you for your sacrifices, Ma,” I said quietly.

  “It was never a sacrifice,” she said quietly. “Sshhh, don’t cry, Andrea. I’m tough. I’m not leaving you until I get grandchildren.”

  That again. I took a deep breath.

  “Mom, there’s someone I want to introduce you to.”

  “Oh?” she said.

  I cracked a smile. “It’s my fiancé, Eric.”

  50

  My fiancé.

  I had let the genie out of the bottle.

  I opened the door and beckoned Eric into the room. Just before he entered, I said quietly, “I told her that I said yes.”

  He started, and clasped my hands. “That’s wonderful,” he said. “You’ve just made me the happiest man on earth!”

  The happiest …

  I walked in after him in a dream. I introduced him to my mother, who was practically hyperventilating with joy (or the tubes, it was hard to tell).

  Eric and my mother barely had time to chat before a nurse came by to say visiting hours were up and kicked us out from our visit with my mom, who never stopped beaming. I noticed that Eric had taken to calling her “Mrs. Tang” without a hitch, even though they were closer in age than Eric was to me.

  I felt guilty for introducing Eric and taking up Melissa’s time with our mother, even if I’d been the one who brokered the truce. I made her promise to see Melissa tomorrow, first thing, and she was so thrilled she did so without a second thought. At least another good thing came out of this.