by Lauren Ho
Oh my God, this is the kind of nerd romance stuff I never thought I’d be swayed by, but here I was, tears in my eyes like a proper sap.
We’d been inching closer and closer to each other the whole time, and suddenly my nose was touching his chest and his arms were around me.
“So your Eric phase is officially over?” he whispered into my ear.
I nodded. Every fiber in my being nodded. “Completely over,” I whispered in the direction of his shoulder.
“Who ended it?”
“I did.”
“Why?” He drew back and looked me in the eyes. He was very beautiful in the soft morning light; I couldn’t believe he was mine.
“Because I have feelings for you, too,” I told him, blushing as I said it. Funny how the simplest words become so hard when you’re afraid of being rejected.
“Is that so.”
I nodded, very nonchalant, very Catwoman-esque. “Yup.”
“Double confirm?” he teased, lapsing into Singlish.
“Shut up,” I said. And by way of shutting him up, I leaned over and kissed him. There was a moment of hesitancy as our lips touched; he pulled back and whispered my name like he couldn’t believe we were finally doing this, but then I tugged him back and kissed him with the entire force of my being until I felt him give in, returning the kiss with an intensity that matched mine. We wrapped our arms around each other, the kissing getting more frantic with every second, our lips—
“Andrea!” someone screeched. “You won’t believe this, but I’m—we’re—getting kicked out of the resort!”
“What?” I said, shoving Suresh away guiltily. Was (silent) kissing allowed on silent retreats?
It was Linda, being frog-marched down the path by two male attendants and a porter following behind with what looked like the entire luggage collection by Louis Vuitton.
“Phones are not permitted on the retreat, Miss Andrea. Not only did we catch her with one, she was conducting a lewd FaceTime conversation on it,” one of the attendants said, looking hassled, “and right in the middle of the Serenity Yoga room and right under the gaze of our guru!”
I groaned. “Linda, for fuck’s sake! Could you not keep it in your pants?”
“It was just a nipple, the uptight bastard,” Linda shouted, waving her right fist, which was clutching a mini bottle of rum.
“It was an entire breast,” the man said, looking like he was close to tears.
“I’m going to sue!” Linda shouted, as she was escorted off the premises by browbeaten employees. “I want my money back. I don’t feel any more energized and look how downtrodden my friend still looks!”
“Wait a second, this man is not from the retreat,” said one of the attendants, the larger one built like a tank, pointing at Suresh. It wasn’t a difficult deduction, since Suresh was wearing “outside world” clothes. The attendant let go of one of Linda’s arms and ambled toward us with a snarl. “Hey! You there! You’re trespassing!”
“Oh shit, let’s get out of here,” Suresh said, grabbing my hand and tugging me down the driveway, trailing the still struggling and shouting Linda and her band of orderlies. I fought to contain my giggles—who the hell gets booted off a silent retreat?
But first—
“Kiss me, Suresh Aditparan.”
He smiled, drew me close, and we kissed again. And Diary, it felt just right.
Acknowledgments
There comes a time, and that time comes for every soon-to-be published author, when they’ve read their book for the gazillionth time and they are torn—torn—between setting themselves or the book on fire, or both; and then they find out they have to write the acknowledgments, and they have literally run out of words, coherent thought, or brain matter and all is lost, and they should take their emergency zombie apocalypse bug-out bag and run screaming into the night.
Thankfully, I am not that author, because I’ve long prepared for this, perhaps even before the book was done. Ah, the foresight. The hubris. The time-wasting. But mostly the foresight.
Anyway, here goes:
I want to thank my husband, Olivier Too, who told me that I should finish this manuscript instead of palavering on and on about one day being a published author. Your loving encouragement, chocolate, boba and wine runs, superior legal and plotting skills, and—most important—co-parenting skills have helped make this book what it is today.
And then there’s my wonderful, super-diligent, and on-fire agenting team (and savvy beta readers), Allison Hunter and Clare Mao, at Janklow & Nesbit—thank you for taking a chance on me, and for helping me shape this novel to what it is today.
My editors, Margo Lipschultz and Ore Agbaje-Williams—I’m so glad to be working with you both. Your patience, skill, support, and enthusiasm made this journey such a joy. Thank you for taking me on. And this goes for all the great folks at both Putnam and HarperFiction who’ve helped make this book a beautiful reality—all my heartfelt thanks.
My alpha readers: Jie and my sister, Rae, for being so generous with your time and love in reading and brainstorming along with me. Especially you, Rae: you always were so encouraging when we were kids and you had to read some of my early work, some of which, in retrospect, I seriously doubt was age-appropriate—thanks for the sisterly support.
My brother, James, who’s always been my cheerleader in all my writing endeavors and in life, thanks for your love.
I am also indebted to the following busy people who’ve read parts of my book and offered constructive criticism: comics Dan McG, Pete Johannsson, Kok Wei Liang; or advised me on aspects of law/taxation/medicine for this novel: Laurent Henneresse, Leong Chuo Ming, Ivan Lu, Sophie Tan, Lynn Koh, YW Lum—all mistakes or creative deviations are mine alone. Friends who’ve offered me advice or help in their own way throughout this process: Seng Bee, Wayne Cheong, YL Lum, Nadya, and somewhat belatedly, my high school English teacher Ms. Lina Lee of Catholic High School, who spurred me to write better by giving me the occasional A minus in composition.
My dearest friends Serena, Laura, and Meera, whose friendships over the years have fortified me in myriad ways. Friends in Luxembourg: Claire, Pit, Iya, Laurent, Gina, Jeanne, who were always there for me. My SP friends and cheerleaders, especially Lina, Caren, Chelsea, Jacyln, and Lynn; Hanna and all the lovely writer friends in the @2020Debuts group for being so supportive and helpful, online and in person. Thank you.
The showrunners of the superb amateur stand-up comedy scene in Singapore (hey Sam! Eugene! Heazry!) and my fellow comics of the 2015–2017 vintage: thanks for the laughs and the friendships. If it weren’t for stand-up, I wouldn’t have developed the thick skin needed to survive the submission process. Hugs!
Anyone who’s ever told me I could write and who encouraged me (even if you lied through your teeth) and/or gave me constructive feedback—thank you.
The Wohls (epecially Michele and Benoit), Toos (Kevin), and other Hos—mega props for always loving me, feeding me, and bearing with me, especially when I’m hangry and grumpy from the work. And for having a poker face when I first told you about my ambition to be a published author.
My darling Sophie for your patience when I wrote instead of hanging with you, as much as you deserved.
Ah Poh, in heaven: I love you, I miss you.
Last but not least, my parents, who loved me enough to encourage me to pursue my dreams, and who did so unconditionally. Thank you for everything. I promise I used at least 2 percent of the knowledge gained from my law degrees to write this book.
About the Author
Lauren Ho is a reformed legal counsel who writes funny stories. Hailing from Malaysia, she lived in the United Kingdom, France, and Luxembourg before moving with her family to Singapore, where she is ostensibly working on her next novel. Last Tang Standing is not based on her mother. At all. Seriously.
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* “Tan Sri” is the second most senior federal title in Malaysia. Basically, if you have one, you’re minted.
* A Singlish expression, meaning to overachieve and raise the bar unnecessarily for others.
* Central Business District, for the uninitiated.
* If you must know, it was the Tang poem “Spring Dawn”:
春眠不覺曉,
處處聞啼鳥。
夜來風雨聲，
花落知多少。
In spring sleep, dawn arrives unnoticed.
Suddenly, all around, I hear birds in song.
A loud night. Wind and rain came, tearing
blossoms down. Who knows few or many?
(David Hinton’s translation)
* Singlish for “posh” or “sophisticated,” or, when applied to a person, “arrogant”; it’s derived from the Malay word “up.”
* A derogatory Singlish term for a Chinese man in Singapore or Malaysia, denoting a stereotype of having little education or sophistication in his dressing, mannerisms, speech, etc.
* A whisper of cleavage, some knee, sleeves, body-skimming.
* Singapore General Hospital
* Start billing. Duh.
* A popular brand of deworming medicine.
* A once-derogatory Cantonese term that Cantonese-speaking folks use to refer to people of white European ancestry, meaning “ghost devil man” in Cantonese. I know, I know, the Chinese can be so tactful. (pro-tip: If you hear sei, which means “dead,” prefixed to it, as in sei gweilo, it’s meant to be rude.)
* Speaking of which, linguistically, Luxembourg is kind of like the overachieving European cousin of Singapore/Malaysia: most people speak four languages (Luxembourgish, German, French, and English) by the time they graduate high school!
* Singlish for a lady of privileged means, i.e., with lots of leisure time and money, both of which are typically spent on shopping sprees in designer boutiques, eating in atas cafés, “rejuvenation treatments,” and fitness/dance classes (and sometimes, the instructor(s) that teach those classes).
* In Asia, Chinese naming conventions dictate that family name comes first, followed by the given name (consisting of one or two characters), as befitting our collectivist culture. Here, baptismal or English names are written before the Chinese surname + given name, and not as part of the given name. If a Chinese person is calling another Chinese by their full name, you can be sure their intentions are not cuddly.
* Key Performance Indicator. Self-explanatory, really.
* HDB stands for Housing and Development Board, the statutory body responsible for Singapore’s public housing, where the majority of Singaporeans live.
* When my mother reverts to using my Chinese given name, she means business.
* A Chinese proverb that literally translates to “I’ve eaten more salt than you have eaten rice, Padawan, so shut the fuck up.”
* MRT stands for Mass Rapid Transit; it’s the transportation network or hell that rush-hour commuters have to brave every day to get to work in the Central Business District of Singapore. It spans most of the city-state and is a major component of the railway system in Singapore. It’s a giant but necessary/efficient (mostly) pain in the ass.
* Euphemism for “Job Stealer” or “Disease Spreader” to the locals.
* This list used to include Engineer and Teacher, but these career paths are no longer as desirable as they used to be.
* A Singlish expression, meaning “I’ll never admit defeat.”