by Kevin Kwan
“Fuck me!” Nick swore under his breath.
“What? What’s wrong?” Rachel asked.
“I think we’ve got company,” Nick muttered darkly. He turned around, heading for the drawing room down the hall. Peering in, his suspicions were confirmed. Sure enough, perched on the floral chintz settee facing the door was his mother, who shot him a rather triumphant look as he entered the room. He was about to say something when his mother announced, a little too cheerily, “Oh look, Mummy, Nick and Rachel have arrived!”
Rachel spun around. Sitting in the armchair in front of the fireplace was Nick’s grandmother, swaddled in an embroidered cashmere shawl, being poured a cup of tea by one of her Thai lady’s maids.
“Ah Ma, what are you doing here?” Nick asked in astonishment.
“I received some very disturbing news, and so we rushed up here,” Su Yi said in Mandarin, speaking slowly and deliberately.
Nick always found it disconcerting when his grandmother spoke to him in Mandarin—he associated that particular dialect with childhood scoldings. “What news? What has happened?” Nick asked, getting concerned.
“Well, I heard that you ran off to Malaysia, and that you mean to ask the girl to marry you,” Su Yi said, not bothering to look at Rachel.
Rachel pursed her lips, shocked and thrilled at the same time.
“I was planning to surprise Rachel, but I guess that’s ruined now,” Nick huffed, staring at his mother.
“No matter, Nicky,” his grandmother smiled. “I do not give you permission to marry her. Now let’s stop all this nonsense and go home. I don’t want to be stuck having dinner here, when the cook hasn’t prepared properly for me. I’m sure she didn’t get any fresh fish today.”
Rachel’s jaw dropped.
“Ah Ma, I’m sorry I don’t have your blessing, but that doesn’t change a thing. I intend to marry Rachel, if she’ll have me,” Nick said calmly, glancing at Rachel hopefully.
“Don’t talk nonsense. This girl does not come from a proper family,” Su Yi said.
Rachel felt her face go hot. “I’ve heard enough of this,” she said in a quivering voice, turning to leave the room.
“No, Rachel, please don’t go,” Nick said, grabbing her by the arm. “I need you to hear this. Ah Ma, I don’t know what stories you’ve been told, but I have met Rachel’s family, and I like them very much. They have certainly shown me a great deal more courtesy, warmth, and respect than our family has shown to Rachel.”
“Of course they should respect you—after all, you’re a Young,” Su Yi said.
“I can’t believe you just said that!” Nick groaned.
Eleanor stood up and approached Rachel, looking her in the eye. “Rachel, I’m sure you’re a nice girl. You must know I am doing you a favor. With your kind of background, you will be miserable in this family—”
“Stop insulting Rachel’s family when you don’t even know them!” Nick snapped. He put his arm on Rachel’s shoulder and declared, “Let’s get out of here!”
“You’ve met her family?” Eleanor called after him.
Nick turned back with a scowl. “Yes, I’ve met Rachel’s mother many times, and I went to Thanksgiving at her uncle’s in California, where I got to know many of her relatives.”
“Even her father?” Eleanor asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Rachel’s father died a long time ago, you already know that,” Nick said impatiently.
“Well, that’s a very convenient story, isn’t it? But I assure you he’s very much alive,” Eleanor shot back.
“What?” Rachel said, confused.
“Rachel, you can stop pretending, lah. I know all about your father—”
“What?”
“Aiyoh, look at her act!” Eleanor twisted her face mockingly. “You know as well as I do that your father is still alive!”
Rachel looked at Eleanor as if she was talking to a deranged woman. “My father died in a horrible industrial accident when I was two months old. That’s why my mother brought me to America.”
Eleanor studied the girl for a moment, trying to discern whether she was giving the performance of a lifetime or speaking the truth. “Well, I’m sorry to be the one to break the news to you, Rachel. Your father did not die. He’s in a prison outside Shenzhen. I met him myself a few weeks ago. The man was rotting away behind rusty bars, but he still had the nerve to demand an enormous dowry in exchange for you!”
Eleanor took out a faded manila envelope, the same envelope she had been given by the investigator in Shenzhen. She placed three pieces of paper on the coffee table. One was a copy of Rachel’s original birth certificate. The next was a 1992 press clipping about the jailing of a man named Zhou Fang Min, after he had ordered illegal cost-cutting measures that led to a construction accident that killed seventy-four workers in Shenzhen (HUO PENG CONDO TRAGEDY UPDATE: MONSTER JAILED AT LAST! the headline screamed). The third was a notice of a reward from the Zhou family, for the safe return of a baby named Zhou An Mei, who had been kidnapped by her mother, Kerry Ching, in 1981.
Nick and Rachel took a few steps toward the table and stared at the papers in astonishment.
“What the hell did you do, Mum? You had Rachel’s family investigated?” Nick kicked over the coffee table.
Nick’s grandmother shook her head as she sipped her tea. “Imagine wanting to marry a girl from such a family! So disgraceful! Really, Nicky, what would Gong Gong say if he was alive? Madri, this tea needs a little more sugar.”
Nick was livid. “Ah Ma, it’s taken me about twenty years, but I finally understand why Dad moved to Sydney! He can’t stand being around you!”
Su Yi put down her teacup, stunned by what her favorite grandson had just said.
Rachel grabbed at Nick’s wrist urgently. He would never forget the look of devastation on her face. “I think … need air,” she muttered, before collapsing into the wicker tea cart.
* * *
* “Good boy” in Malay.
14
64 Pak Tin Street
HONG KONG
The apartment was not the love nest Astrid had imagined—the living room was tiny, with a green vinyl sofa, three wooden dining-room chairs, and bright blue plastic buckets full of toys taking up one side of the room. Only the muffled sounds of a neighbor practicing “Ballade pour Adeline” on the electric keyboard filled the silence. Astrid stood in the middle of the cramped space, wondering how her life had come to this. How did it get to the point where her husband had resorted to fleeing to this sad romper room?
“I can’t believe you got your dad’s men to track me down,” Michael muttered contemptuously, sitting down on the sofa and stretching his arms out along its back.
“My father had nothing to do with this. Can’t you give me a little credit for having my own resources?” Astrid said.
“Great. You win,” Michael said.
“So this is where you’ve been coming. Is this where your mistress lives?” Astrid finally ventured to ask.
“Yes,” Michael said flatly.
Astrid was silent for a while. She picked up a little stuffed elephant from one of the buckets and gave it a squeeze. The elephant made a muffled electronic roar. “And these are your son’s toys?”
Michael hesitated for a moment. “Yes,” he finally answered.
“BASTARD!” Astrid screamed, throwing the elephant at him with all her might. The elephant bounced off his chest, and Astrid sank to the floor, trembling as her body was racked with violent sobs. “I don’t … care … who you fuck … but how could you do this … to our son?” She sputtered through her tears.
Michael leaned forward, burying his head in his hands. He couldn’t stand seeing her like this. As badly as he wanted out of the marriage, he couldn’t take hurting her anymore. Things had spiraled out of control, and it was time to come clean. He got up from the sofa and crouched down beside her.<
br />
“Listen to me, Astrid,” he began, placing an arm on her shoulder. Astrid jerked backward and pushed his arm away.
“Listen to me. The boy isn’t my son, Astrid.”
Astrid looked up at him, not quite registering what he meant.
Michael looked Astrid directly in the eyes and said, “That’s not my son, and there is no mistress.”
Astrid’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean? I know there was a woman here. I even recognize her.”
“You recognize her because she’s my cousin. Jasmine Ng—her mother is my auntie, and the little boy is her son.”
“So … who have you been having an affair with?” Astrid asked, more confused than ever.
“Don’t you get it? It’s all been an act, Astrid. The text messages, the presents, everything! It’s all fake.”
“Fake?” Astrid whispered in shock.
“Yes, I faked everything. Well, except the dinner at Petrus. I took Jasmine as a treat—her husband has been working in Dubai and she’s had a hard time managing on her own.”
“I can’t believe this …” Astrid said, her voice trailing off in astonishment.
“I’m sorry, Astrid. It was a stupid idea, but I didn’t think I had any other choice.”
“Any other choice? What do you mean?”
“I thought it would be far better for you to want to leave me than for me to divorce you. I would rather be labeled the cheating bastard with an illegitimate son, so that you could … your family could save face,” Michael said rather dejectedly.
Astrid stared at him incredulously. For a few minutes, she sat completely still as her mind sifted through everything that had happened in the past few months. Then she spoke. “I thought I was going insane … I wanted to believe you were having an affair, but my heart kept telling me that you would never do such a thing to me. That just wasn’t the man I married. I was so confused, so conflicted, and that’s really what made it so painful. An affair or a mistress I could deal with, but something else didn’t seem right, something kept gnawing away at me. It’s finally beginning to make sense now.”
“I never wanted this to happen,” Michael said softly.
“Then why? What did I ever do to make you this miserable? What made you go to all the trouble to fake an entire affair?”
Michael sighed deeply. He got up off the floor and perched on one of the wooden chairs. “It’s just never worked, Astrid. Our marriage. It hasn’t worked from day one. We had a great time dating, but we should never have married. We were wrong for each other, but we both got so swept up in the moment—in, let’s face it, the sex—that before I realized what was happening, we were standing in front of your pastor. I thought, what the hell, this is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. I’ll never be this lucky again. But then reality hit … and things got to be too much. It just got worse, year after year, and I tried, I really tried, Astrid, but I can’t face it anymore. You don’t have a clue what it’s like being married to Astrid Leong. Not you, Astrid, but everyone’s idea of you. I could never live up to it.”
“What do you mean? You have lived up to it—” Astrid began.
“Everyone in Singapore thinks I married you for your money, Astrid.”
“You’re wrong, Michael!”
“No, you just don’t see it! But I can’t face another dinner at Nassim Road or Tyersall Park with some minister of finance, some genius artist I don’t get, or some tycoon who has a whole bloody museum named after him, feeling like I’m just a piece of meat. To them, I’m always ‘Astrid’s husband.’ And those people—your family, your friends—they stare at me with such judgment. They’re all thinking, ‘Aiyah, she could have married a prince, a president—why did she marry this Ah Beng* from Toa Payoh?’ ”
“You’re imagining things, Michael! Everyone in my family adores you!” Astrid protested.
“That’s bullshit and you know it! Your father treats his fucking golf caddie better than me! I know my parents don’t speak Queen’s English, I didn’t grow up in a big mansion in Bukit Timah, and I didn’t attend ACS—‘American Cock Suckers,’ as we used to call it—but I’m not some loser, Astrid.”
“Of course you’re not.”
“Do you know how it feels to be treated like I’m the bloody tech-support guy all the time? Do you know how it feels when I have to visit your relatives every Chinese New Year in their incredible houses, and then you have to come with me to my family’s tiny flats in Tampines or Yishun?”
“I’ve never minded, Michael. I like your family.”
“But your parents don’t. Think about it … in the five years we’ve been married, my mother and father haven’t once—not even once—been invited to dinner at your parents’ house!”
Astrid went pale. It was true. How could she not have realized it? How had her family been so thoughtless?
“Face it, Astrid, your parents will never respect my family the same way they respect your brothers’ wives’ families. We’re not mighty Tans or Kahs or Kees—we’re Teos. You can’t really blame your parents. They were born that way—it’s just not in their DNA to associate with anyone who isn’t from their class, anyone who isn’t born rich or royal.”
“But you’re on your way to doing just that, Michael. Look at how well your company is doing,” Astrid said encouragingly.
“My company—ha! You want to know something, Astrid? Last December, when the company finally broke even and we did our first profit sharing, I got a bonus check for two hundred and thirty-eight thousand. For one minute, one whole minute, I was so happy. It was the most money I had ever made. But then it hit me … I realized that no matter how long I work, no matter how hard I sweat my ass off all day long, I will never make as much money in my whole life as you make in one month alone.”
“That’s not true, Michael, that’s just not true!” Astrid cried.
“Don’t patronize me!” Michael shouted angrily. “I know what your income is. I know how much those Paris dresses cost you! Do you know how it feels to realize that my pathetic two-hundred-thousand-dollar bonus can’t even pay for one of your dresses? Or that I’ll never be able to give you the type of house you grew up in?”
“I’m happy where we live, Michael. Have I ever complained?”
“I know about all your properties, Astrid, all of them.”
“Who told you about them?” Astrid asked in shock.
“Your brothers did.”
“My brothers?”
“Yes, your dear brothers. I never told you what happened when we got engaged. Your brothers called me one day and invited me to lunch, and they all showed up. Henry, Alex, and even Peter came down from K.L. They invited me to the snotty club on Shenton Way that they all belong to, took me into one of the private dining rooms, and sat me down. Then they showed me one of your financial reports. Just one. They said, ‘We want you to have a glimpse of Astrid’s financial picture, so you have an idea of what she netted last year.’ And then Henry said to me—and I’ll never forget his words—‘Everything Astrid has is safeguarded by the best team of lawyers in the world. No one outside the Leong family will ever benefit from or come to control her money. Not if she divorces, not even if she dies. Just thought you should know, old chap.’ ”
Astrid was horrified. “I can’t believe it! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What good would that do?” Michael said bitterly. “Don’t you see? From day one, your family didn’t trust me.”
“You don’t ever have to spend a single minute with my family again, I promise. I am going to talk to my brothers. I am going to give them hell. And no one will ever ask you to recover their hard drives or reprogram their wine fridges again, I promise. Just please, don’t leave me,” she pleaded, the tears flooding down her cheeks.
“Astrid, you are talking nonsense. I would never want to deprive you of your family—your whole life revolves around them. What would you do i
f you weren’t at Wednesday mah-jongg with your great-aunt Rosemary, Friday-night dinner at your Ah Ma’s, or Pulau Club movie night with your dad?”
“I can give it up. I can give all of that up!” Astrid cried, burying her head in his lap and clinging to him tightly.
“I wouldn’t want you to. You’ll be happier without me in the long run. I’m just holding you back.”
“But what about Cassian? How can you just abandon our son like this?”
“I’m not abandoning him. I will still spend as much time with him as you’ll let me. Don’t you see? If I was ever going to leave, this is the perfect time—before Cassian is old enough to be affected by it. I will never stop being a good father to him, but I can’t stay married to you. I just don’t want to live in your world anymore. There’s no way I can measure up to your family, and I don’t want to keep resenting you for who you are. I made a terrible mistake, Astrid. Please, please just let me go,” he said, his voice getting choked up.
Astrid looked up at Michael, realizing it was the first time she had ever seen him cry.
* * *
* Derogatory Hokkien term for a lower-class young man who lacks education or taste.
15
Villa d’Oro
SINGAPORE
Peik Lin knocked softly on the door. “Come in,” Rachel said.
Peik Lin entered the bedroom gingerly, holding a gold tray with a covered earthenware bowl. “Our cook made some pei daan zhook* for you.”
“Please thank her for me,” Rachel said disinterestedly.
“You can stay in here as long as you want, Rachel, but you need to eat,” Peik Lin said, staring at Rachel’s gaunt face and the dark circles under her eyes, puffy from all the crying.
“I know I look like hell, Peik Lin.”
“Nothing a good facial won’t fix. Why don’t you let me whisk you away to a spa? I know a great place in Sentosa that has—”