by Kevin Kwan
Astrid knew from the force of her grip that Eleanor meant business. Talking over the music, Eleanor said, “I want you to tell me the truth. Is Nicky getting married in California?”
Astrid took a deep breath. “Yes.”
“And when is this happening?”
“I don’t want to lie to you, but I specifically promised Nicky I would not give out any details, so you’ll have to ask him yourself.”
“You know as well as I do that my son has refused to take my calls for over two years!”
“Well, that’s between you and him. Please don’t put me in the middle of this.”
“You are in the middle of this whether you like it or not, because you two have been keeping secrets!” Eleanor was fuming.
Astrid sighed. She hated confrontations like this. “Given the circumstances, I think you know exactly why I can’t tell you.”
“Come on, I have a right to know!”
“Yes, but you have no right to sabotage his wedding.”
“I’m not going to sabotage anything! You have to tell me! I’M HIS MOTHER, DAMN IT!” Eleanor exploded, forgetting where she was. The shocked pianist stopped playing, and suddenly all eyes in the room were on them. Astrid could see that even her grandmother was peering over in their direction with displeasure.
Astrid pursed her lips, refusing to say anything.
Eleanor looked at her sharply. “This is unbelievable!”
“No, what’s unbelievable is how you can expect Nicky to want you anywhere near his wedding,” Astrid said, her voice shaking, before she stalked off.
• • •
Three weeks before the New Year, the chefs from the Young, Shang, and T’sien households would gather at Tyersall Park’s cavernous kitchen to begin the marathon production of New Year delicacies. Marcus Sim, the Shang family’s acclaimed pastry chef based at their estate in England, would fly in to prepare all manner of nyonya desserts—rainbow-hued kueh lapis, delicately sculpted ang koo kueh, and of course, his famous kueh bangkit cookies with Marcona almonds. Ah Lian, the T’siens’ longtime cook, would supervise the team responsible for the labor-intensive preparation of pineapple tarts, sinfully sweet nien gao, and savory tsai tao kueh radish cakes. And Ah Ching, the chef at Tyersall Park, would oversee the New Year’s Day luncheon where a gigantic baked ham (with her famous pineapple brandy sauce) would make its annual appearance.
But for the first time in as many years as she could remember, Eleanor did not enjoy her lunch. She hardly touched any of the ham that Geraldine Tan proclaimed to be “even juicier than last year’s,” and she couldn’t even face her favorite neen gao. She loved the way the sticky-rice-flour dessert cake was prepared here—cut into half-moon slices, dipped in egg batter, and fried to a golden brown so that the outer layer of the cake was light and crisp, yet sweet and gooey the minute you bit into it. But today, she just didn’t have the appetite for anything. Following strict seating protocol, she was trapped next to Bishop See Bei Sien, and she glared at her husband on the other side of the table who was tucking into another helping of ham as he chatted with the bishop’s wife. How could he eat at a time like this? An hour ago, she had asked Philip whether he had heard anything regarding Nicky and a wedding, and he had shocked her by saying, “Of course.”
“WHAAAT? Why didn’t you tell me, lah?”
“There was nothing to tell. I knew we weren’t going to go.”
“What do you mean? TELL ME EVERYTHING!” Eleanor demanded.
“Nicky called me in Sydney and asked me if I wanted to come to his wedding. I asked if you were invited, and he said no. So I told him, Good luck chap, but I won’t be coming if your mother doesn’t,” Philip calmly explained.
“Where is the wedding? When is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Alamak! How can you not know when he invited you?”
Philip sighed. “I didn’t think to ask. It wasn’t relevant since we weren’t going.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about the conversation in the first place?”
“Because I knew you were going to be unreasonable about it.”
“You are a moron! An absolute moron!” Eleanor screeched.
“See, I knew you were going to be unreasonable.”
Eleanor played with her braised noodles, seething on the inside as she pretended to listen to the bishop complain about some pastor’s wife who was spending millions trying to become a famous pop star. At the children’s table, Cassian’s au pair was trying to coax him into finishing his lunch. “I don’t want noodles! I want ice cream!” the boy fussed.
“It’s Chinese New Year. No ice cream for you today,” his au pair said firmly.
Suddenly, an idea came to Eleanor. She whispered to one of the serving maids, “Can you please tell Ah Ching that I have a sore throat from all this heaty food and I’m desperately craving some ice cream?”
“Ice cream, ma’am?”
“Yes, any flavor. Anything you might have in the kitchen. But don’t bring it to me here—I’ll meet you in the library.”
• • •
Fifteen minutes later, after having paid off Cassian’s au pair with five crisp hundred-dollar bills, Eleanor was sitting at the black lacquered scholar’s table in the library, watching the little boy devour an ice-cream sundae out of a large silver bowl.
“Cassian, when your mummy is away, you just tell Ludivine to call me, and my driver will come and pick you up and take you for ice cream anytime you like,” Eleanor said.
“Really?” Cassian said, wide-eyed.
“Absolutely. It will be our little secret. When is your mother going away? Did she tell you she is getting on an aeroplane and going to America soon?”
“Uh-huh. In March.”
“Did she tell you where she was going? Is she going to Cupertino? Or San Francisco? Los Angeles? Disneyland?”
“LA,” Cassian said while gulping down another spoonful.
Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief. March gave her enough time. She patted the boy on the head and smiled as he stained the entire front of his Bonpoint dress shirt with hot fudge. Serves Astrid right for trying to keep things from me!
* * *
*1 Hokkien for “red packet,” these red envelopes embossed in gold are stuffed with cold hard cash and are given out during Chinese New Year by married couples to single people, especially children, for good luck. Amounts vary according to the giver’s income bracket, but it is safe to say that the minimum amount in more affluent households is a hundred dollars. By the end of the week, most kids make out with thousands of dollars, and for some, their entire allowances for the year depend on this ritual. In another departure from tradition, the ang pows at Tyersall Park were made of a pale pink vellum, and always contained a nominal but symbolic amount. This explains the generations of children taken to Tyersall Park every New Year who would blurt out in disappointment, “Kan ni nah—only two dollars inside!”
*2 If your parents were divorced and remarried or you came from one of those families where Grandpa had taken multiple wives and sired multiple families, you were totally fucked.
*3 Cantonese for “Don’t put a curse of death,” meaning “Don’t sabotage the situation.”
*4 A female ghost with long, rat-nest-like hair that lives in a banana tree. From Indonesian and Malay mythology, pontianaks are said to be spirits of women who died while giving birth. A pontianak kills her victims by digging into their stomachs with her sharp dirty fingernails and devouring their organs. Yum.
*5 “Congratulations and wishing you prosperity,” the proper greeting in Cantonese. Naughtier children prefer to say “Happy New Year—I pull your ear!” or “Gong hei fat choy—ang pow tae lai!” (Now gimme that ang pow!)
*6 Cantonese for “This irritates me to death!”
*7 Jun Takahashi, the creative force behind the cult fashion label Undercover. The prototype of Astrid’s dress was quite possibly the inspiration for his autumn–winter 2014 collection.
&n
bsp; 6
MORTON STREET
NEW YORK
FEBRUARY 10, 2013 18:38 PM PST
Text messages to Nicholas Young’s private cell phone (the one his parents don’t have the number for)
ASTRID: Yr mum found out about the wedding. Happy New Year.
NICK: WTF! How did she find out?
ASTRID: Not sure who leaked. She confronted me @Ah Ma’s. Things got ugly.
NICK: Really?!?
ASTRID: Yes. She went nuts and made a scene when I wouldn’t give her any details.
NICK: So she doesn’t know when, where, etc.?
ASTRID: No, but I’m sure she’ll find out eventually. Get ready.
NICK: I’ll double down on security at the venue. Will hire ex-Mossad.
ASTRID: Make sure they are all from Tel Aviv. With good tans, lots of stubble, and great abs.
NICK: No, we need really sinister guards. Maybe I should call Putin and see whom he can recommend.
ASTRID: Miss u. Gotta run. Ling Cheh’s ringing the lunch gong.
NICK: Please wish Ling Cheh gong hei fat choy, and save me some tsai tao kueh.
ASTRID: I’ll save you all the crispy bits.
NICK: My favorite!
FEBRUARY 10, 2013 9:47 AM EST
Message left on Nicholas Young’s voice mail in New York
Nicky, ah? Are you there? Happy New Year. Are you celebrating in New York? I hope you are going to do something. If you cannot find yee sang in Chinatown, at least have a plate of noodles. We have been at Ah Ma’s all day. Everyone was there. All your cousins. Eric Tan’s new Indonesian wife is very pretty and has very white skin. I think she must bleach it. I heard they had a ridiculously lavish wedding like Colin and Araminta’s, but in Jakarta. Her side paid for most of it of course. I’m sure her side will pay for all of Eric’s money-losing films from now on. Nicky, please call me when you get this message. There’s something I need to discuss with you.
FEBRUARY 11, 2013 8:02 AM EST
Message left on Nicholas Young’s voice mail in New York
Nicky, are you there? Alamak, this is getting ridiculous. You cannot keep ignoring me like this. Please call me back. I have something very important to tell you. Something you will want to know, I promise. Please call me as soon as possible.
FEBRUARY 12, 2013 11:02 AM EST
Message left on Nicholas Young’s voice mail in New York
Nicky, is that you? Nicky? He’s not in…Dad here. Please call your mother. She needs to speak to you urgently. I want you to put aside your feelings and just call her. It’s Chinese New Year. Please be a good son and call home.
• • •
It was Rachel who heard the messages first. They had just arrived home from California, and after setting the luggage down, Nick had run out to grab some sandwiches at La Panineria while Rachel unpacked and checked the voice mails on the home line.
“They were out of mortadella so I got a prosciutto and fontina with fig mustard and a mozzarella, tomato, and pesto panini—I thought we could share both,” Nick announced upon returning to the apartment. Handing the paper sack to Rachel, he sensed that something was off. “You okay?”
“Um, you need to listen to the voice mails,” Rachel said, handing him the cordless phone. While Nick listened, Rachel went into the kitchen and began unwrapping the sandwiches. She noticed that her fingers were trembling, and she found herself unable to decide whether to leave the sandwiches on the wax paper or put them on plates. For a moment, she became angry with herself. She hadn’t thought that hearing Eleanor Young’s voice again after all this time would have this effect on her. What was it she was feeling? Anxiety? Dread? She wasn’t quite sure.
Entering the kitchen, Nick said, “You know, I think that’s the first time in my life my dad’s ever left me a voice mail. I’m always the one who calls him. My mum must be giving him hell.”
“Looks like the cat’s out of the bag.” Rachel forced a smile, trying to mask her nerves.
Nick grimaced. “Astrid sent a text warning me while we were at your uncle’s, but I didn’t want to mention anything while we were all celebrating New Year’s. Things were tense enough with all the talk about your father. I should have known this was coming.”
“What do you think you’ll do?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“You’re really going to ignore her calls?”
“Of course. I’m not going to play her game.”
Rachel felt relieved at first, but then a little conflicted about whether this was the right way for Nick to handle things. Ignoring his mother had gotten them into all that trouble the first time around. Was he making a big mistake again? “Are you sure you don’t want to at least speak to your father…maybe try to clear the air before the wedding?”
Nick thought about it for a moment. “You know, there’s really nothing to clear. My dad already gave us his blessing when I spoke to him last month. He’s happy for us, at least.”
“But what if the messages have nothing to do with our wedding?”
“Listen, if there was anything truly important my parents needed to tell me, they would have just told me on the voice mail. Or Astrid would have told me. This is just some new scheme my mother has cooked up in her last-ditch effort to prevent us from marrying. I gotta hand it to her—she’s like a rabid dog that just won’t let go of your leg,” Nick said, fuming.
Rachel walked into the living room and sank down onto the sofa. Here she was, a girl who had grown up never knowing her father. As much as she detested Eleanor Young, she couldn’t help but feel sad that Nick had become so estranged from his mother. She knew it wasn’t her fault, but she hated that she was part of why it happened. She gathered her thoughts for a few minutes before finally speaking. “I wish things didn’t have to be this way. I never thought I’d ever put you in a position like this.”
“You didn’t put me in any position. This was my mother’s own doing. She only has herself to blame.”
“I just never imagined I’d be at a place where my future husband’s parents weren’t invited to our wedding, and most of his family won’t be there…”
Nick took a seat beside Rachel. “We talked about this already. It’s going to be fine. Astrid and Alistair will be there, and they are my closest cousins. You know I’ve always hated those traditional Chinese weddings where everyone and their cat is invited. We’re going to have an intimate ceremony surrounded by your family and our closest friends. Just you, me, and our chosen family. No one else matters.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m more than sure,” Nick said as he began to kiss the tender spot at the nape of her neck.
Sighing softly, Rachel closed her eyes and hoped he really meant what he said.
• • •
A couple of weeks later, the students enrolled at New York University in the course Britain Between the Wars: The Lost Generation Rediscovered, Deconstructed, and Restored were treated to the most curious spectacle. In the middle of Professor Young’s lecture, two extremely tan, extremely blond women of Amazonian proportions entered the classroom. Dressed in identical outfits of figure-hugging navy-blue cashmere sweaters, immaculately pressed white linen slacks, and white nautical caps with gold piping on the brims, the pair sauntered up to the front of the classroom and addressed the professor.
“Mr. Young? The favor of your presence has been requested. If you would please come with us,” one of the blondes said in a thick Norwegian accent.
Not sure what to make of this, Nick replied, “My class isn’t over for another twenty-five minutes. If you’d care to wait outside, we can speak when it’s over.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Mr. Young. The matter is extremely urgent and we’ve been requested to collect you immediately.”
“Immediately?”
“Yes, immediately,” the other blonde replied. This one had an Afrikaans accent that made her sound much sterner than the Norwegian. “Please come with us now.”
/> Nick was starting to get a little annoyed by the disruption when suddenly it hit him—this had to be some pre-wedding prank, most likely courtesy of his best friend Colin Khoo. He had assured Colin that he didn’t care for a bachelor party or any sort of fuss, but it sure looked like these two leggy blondes were part of some elaborate ploy.
“And what if I don’t go with you?” he said with a playful grin.
“Then you will give us no choice but to resort to extreme measures,” the Norwegian replied.
Nick found himself fighting to keep a straight face. He hoped these women were not about to bust out a boom box and start stripping. His classroom would descend into total chaos and he would lose control of these already attention-deficient kids. Not to mention all his hard-earned credibility, since he hardly looked older than most of his students.
“Give me a few minutes to wrap things up,” Nick finally said.
“Very well.” The women nodded in unison.
Ten minutes later, Nick exited the classroom as his students excitedly whipped out their phones and began texting, tweeting, and insta-gramming pictures of their instructor being led away by two statuesque blondes in nautical-inspired outfits. Waiting in front of the building on University Place was a silver BMW SUV with tinted windows. Nick got in a little reluctantly, and as the sedan began speeding across Houston Street and onto the West Side Highway, he wondered where in the world he was being taken.
At Fifty-second Street, the car merged into one of the exit lanes leading toward the Manhattan Cruise Terminal, where the cruise ships that visited New York all docked. Moored at Pier 88 was a superyacht that looked like it had at least five levels of decks. The Odin, it was called. Good God, Colin has way too much time and money on his hands! Nick thought, staring up at the gargantuan vessel, which seemed to sparkle as shards of sunlight reflecting off the water danced across its midnight-blue hull. He climbed up the gangway and entered the grand foyer of the yacht, a soaring atrium with a circular glass elevator in the middle that looked like it could have been stolen from an Apple store. The blondes escorted Nick into the lift, which rose just one floor before opening up again.