Present day

I take a deep breath before pushing open the swing doors. Noise erupts, a cacophony of Korean and English, and I step aside to let Ma enter first.

It's not that I'm not being nice—I am, but I am also being practical.

Ma grew up in a very populated area in Kuala Lumpur, and she knows her way around a crowd.

Any crowd will do.

I'd be squeaking, "Excuse me—oh, sorry, Ajumma—um, could I just—I have a reservation—" if I were the one leading the way.

My voice would be lost in the din, and we'd be stranded outside the restaurant for the rest of our lives. Or, at the very least, until the jajangmyeon rush subsided at about 2 p.m.

People are rushing behind Ma as she cuts a route through the throng of families waiting for their tables, and I would have lost her if I wasn't clutching her arm like a three-year-old. She makes no attempt to stop at the front desk. She enters with a commanding presence, her eagle eyes searching the vast dining hall.

At 11 a.m., how do I explain the chaos that is a jajangmyeon restaurant in the San Gabriel Valley?

There are grey-haired, prune faced Halmeonis cradling plump new-borns on their laps at almost a hundred circular tables, each inhabited by a different family, many of them with three to four generations of individuals present.

Waitresses push steaming carts, but if you called them "Waitress," they'd never stop for you. To get them to stop, you must call them Ajumma—Auntie—and wave furiously as they go by. Customers descend like vultures to battle over the plate steamers inside the cart once they've done so.

People inquire whether they have julienned cucumber, scallions, egg garnish, boiled or fried eggs, and the Ajummas dig through their carts to find the proper dishes.

My Korean is mediocre at best, and at worst, non-existent.

Ma and the uncles attempt to help me improve by speaking to me in Korean or Malay, but I only understand about half of what they say, so they give up and turn to English. Their grasp of the English language is weak, but it's far better than my Korean.

It's yet another reason why ordering meals at a Korean diner or restaurant is so difficult for me. By the time the Ajumma notices me and understands my order, everything delicious is usually gone. Then there's the tripe, such as danmuji (yellow pickled radish), sliced raw onions, or chunjang sauce.

Today, on the other hand, is a wonderful day.

I managed to get my hands on two batches of kimchi, which my 'Worldwide Handsome' Big Uncle would certainly love, as well as stir-fried bamboo shoot slices. It almost makes attending the weekly jajangmyeon worthwhile.

When Ajumma places the bamboo steamers in the centre of our table, Big Uncle nods his approval, and I feel compelled to beat my chest and crow.

Those shrimp dumplings were mine! Me!

"Atilia, eat more," Big Uncle adds in Korean, "You should keep your strength up for tomorrow, Biscut." He then places two pieces of grilled Korean beef on my plate while I gently set dumplings on everyone else's plates and poured tea.

Second Uncle cuts the buchimgaes in half and serves one half to each person. Since the table is round, all of the dishes are equally accessible to everyone, but Asian family meals aren't complete unless everyone serves food to everyone else. This expresses love and respect, so we all need to do it in the most attention-seeking way possible.

What good does it do Big Uncle to give him the biggest buchimgae if no one else notices?

I dutifully place some kimchi on his plate and say, "Thank you, Big Uncle," Second Uncle claims that hearing me struggle with Korean or any other language raises his blood pressure, so I always respond in English, regardless of which language my family is speaking, "You eat more as well. Tomorrow, we're all relying on you. And you, Second Uncle."

Second Uncle gets the second-largest portion of kimchi. The third largest is given to Third Uncle, and the final one is placed on Ma's plate. That proves Ma raised me properly, teaching me to think of others before myself.

With a wave of his hand, Big Uncle dismisses my clichés, "We're all relying on one another." Nods from heads with pretty dark hair. Third Uncle has the most beautiful hair, which Ma always complains about to me in private.

Ma once said something that was both terrifying and hilarious: "Always such an attention hole." When I questioned her where she heard the word 'attention hole', she said she heard it from our next-door neighbour, Mrs. Hale, which is a complete lie, but I've lived with Ma for twenty-seven years and know better than to argue with her. I just told her it's 'attention ho' not 'hole' and she nodded and mumbled "ho, like ho ho ho" before returning to her scallions-chopping tasks.

Big Uncle claps once and says, "All right," everyone sits up straighter. Big Uncle is older than Second Uncle by three years, Ma by four years, and Third Uncle by seven years, but he basically raised his sister and brothers while Halmeoni went to work. "How about your hair and make-up?"

"Oh andwae, the name of that app—Tily make me use for hairstyle," Second Uncle says as he clumsily pulls out his phone. "Pin-something."

"Pinterest," I pipe up. "I can help you find it—"

I wilt when Big Uncle gives me a severe look. "No, Biscuit. You must not assist. We'll definitely lose face if Second Uncle can't find the app tomorrow while he's with the bride. We're meant to be pros."

At least, that's what I assume he says.

I'm having trouble keeping up with him since he speaks so quickly, but I did catch the Korean words for 'lose face,' which is one of his favourite phrases. The corners of Second Uncle's mouth purse, and his left cheek twitches slightly.

Just as Third Uncle irritates the crap out of Ma, Second Uncle and Big Uncle have a lot of squabbles between them. I'm not sure why; perhaps it has something to do with being the two oldest.

Perhaps it has something to do with their tangled pasts. My mother's family has had a lot of turmoil, especially back in Kuala Lumpur. Over the years, I've heard bits and pieces, mostly from Ma.

"Ha!" Second Uncle crows, his phone brandishing Pinterest as if it were a sword he'd just wrested from a stone. "It's all right. This is the look that the bride opted for. I did some practice on Tily's hair, and it turned out great." He looks at me and switches to English. "Tily, did you get the picture of your hair I took?"

I swiftly take out my phone and say, "I do." When I call up the photo, Second Uncle holds the two images side by side on his phone, proudly displaying them to everyone.

"Wah," Ma exclaims. "It's just like the model's! Joonie Oppa, you've done a fantastic job."

Second Uncle gives Ma a warm smile.

"Yes, they're nearly identical," says Third Uncle, nodding and responding in English. "How impressive."

Even though Ma's English is greater than her brothers', he has the finest English of all of them. Third Uncle, Ma claims, has a habit of using large words (i.e., anything with more than two syllables) solely to irritate her.

I believe Ma is correct, but it is simply one of the many truths we will never know.

"With Asian hair, the curl does not show up well," Big Uncle explains. Since he's speaking English, he's aiming his reprimand half-directly at me. Even though this is clearly not my fault, my insides throb with remorse. "How come you have blonde hair?"

Second Uncle glowers. "I didn't make the decision. The bride has the last say. Remember how the customer is always right?" He stabs a piece of grilled Korean meat and savagely chews it.

"Hmm." Big Uncle lets out a sigh. "Should have told her that Asian hair works differently on blonde hair. But," He adds, when Second Uncle appears to be about to explode, "Never mind. Too late now. Moving in—"

"On," Third Uncle grunts.

"Eh?" Big Uncle says.

"On. It's moving on, not moving in. Moving in is what you do when you move houses."

"Moving on. Okay."

Big Uncle smiles at Third Uncle, and Third Uncle returns the smile with such enthusiasm that he could be a child again. Big Uncle's favourite is Third Uncle, according to Ma, since he's the family's baby and was such a needy baby that he took Big Uncle's heart right out of his chest.

Ma has grumbled numerous times, "He snatch it right out."

I didn't ask whether Ma, as the second-youngest sibling, had been Big Uncle's favourite up until the arrival of Third Uncle.

"Flowers?" Big Uncle says in Korean once more.

I relax a little.

Ma straightens her back. "Everything is taken care of. Lilies, roses, peonies. In the morning, Seojoon will transport everything to the island."

The island she's talking about is Santa Lucia, a huge, privately owned island off the coast of Southern California that features pure golden beaches, majestic cliffs, and, as of a month ago, the Ayana Lucia, one of the world's most luxurious and exclusive resorts.

Tomorrow is the start of a two-day wedding weekend extravaganza for Amber Zahra, daughter of Malaysia's largest textile company, and—I kid you not—Harry Styles.

Tan, that is.

Harry Styles Tan is, in fact, the groom's name. I checked.

It's the type of thing that American-Chinese like to name their children after—famous people and/or brand names (I have a relative called Gucci who migrated as soon as he was legally able to), or a misspelling of a prominent Western name.

Anyway, Harry Styles Tan's parents own... something.

Something large— plantations of palm oil, coal mines, and such like. So, it's a wedding between two rich families at a brand-new resort, which is obviously nerve-wracking for Big Uncle and the rest of us.

I'm not sure how we got these folks on board as clients.

Well, I do. Let me get this straight— Third Uncle's wife is Amber's cousin's father-in-law's sister.

As a result, we're practically related.

Everybody in Asian culture is somehow linked to everyone else, and connections are made because someone's in-law knows someone else's friend's cousin.

I expected the bride and groom to be put off by our cheesy-as-hell corporate motto—Don't leave your big day to the rookies, leave it to the Kims!—but they laughed it off.

It just strengthened their resolve to engage us to cater their big day, they said.

Ma rattles on about how she's managed to get the rarest flowers. "The arrangements are going to look—what do you say in English, Tily? Exsqueezed?"

"You mean exquisite?" Third Uncle says, and Ma gives him the most lethal side-eye ever seen in the history of side-eyes.

"Very good," Big Uncle says hurriedly, breaking Ma and Third Uncle's poisonous stares. "And the last one, are the songs all right?"

Third Uncle's expression changes from an icy stare to a contented grin, "Of course, the band and I have been rehearsing at all hours of the day and night. You know, people keep stopping by the studio to listen to me sing."

The life narrative of Third Uncle has two interpretations—

The first version depicts him as a famous kid prodigy with a voice praised as "angelic" and "a national treasure" by tabloids. He was on his way to becoming a celebrity, but he opted to leave it all behind when his big brothers and sister moved to California. In the other, he is portrayed as a mediocre singer who persuaded his entire family to go to California so that he could follow his pipe dream of making it big in Hollywood.

Third Uncle's version is one, while Ma's version is the other.

"How about the cake?" Second Uncle says, side-eyeing Big Uncle.  "Unlike that disaster you produced for Kang Heechul's daughter's wedding, our centrepiece must be flawless," He gives a dramatic sigh. "No one has a face these days."

That can't be right, can it?

In my brain, I carefully decipher the words. I believe he's implying that Big Uncle has caused us all to lose face. I really need to brush up on my Korean.

Anyway, Second Uncle has struck a low blow. Hana Kang's wedding is his favourite topic since she wanted a pretty challenging cake—a five-layer upside-down tower with the tiniest layer at the bottom and the largest at the top. Big Uncle was confident in his abilities, having worked as the chief pastry chef for the Ritz-Carlton Korea for many years. However, something went awry. I'm not sure what happened; presumably he didn't provide enough structural support, or perhaps it was simply an impossible task for a beach wedding in the thick of the Southern California heat.

Whatever it was, the colossal tower had toppled over in slow motion before toppling on one of the flower girls, much to the guests' horror. It was the one and only occasion we'd ever gone viral, and Second Uncle hasn't let Big Uncle forget about the incident since.

Big Uncle's nostrils flare, "I'm just here to buy soy sauce."

Okay, it can't possibly be right.

"Why is Big Uncle talking about getting soy sauce?" I murmur, leaning up close to Ma.

"Tch," Ma says. "This is why I always say to you: pay attention in Korean class! Big Uncle is saying to Second Uncle to mind his own business."

"Thank you for being sooo caring, Namdongsaeng," Big Uncle says. Phew, he's extremely enraged now. He only refers to the rest as namdongsaeng—little brother—when he wants to remind them who's the eldest. "Of course, everything is ready. The cake will be perfectly fine; please don't worry about me." He turns his attention to me after giving Second Uncle a smile that I can only describe as 'so lovely it's murderous.'

I shift in my seat.

Like his title, Big Uncle is broader than his siblings.

That's what twenty years as a pastry chef does to you. He wears his size wonderfully, and it adds to his magnificent, powerful presence. There's a reason he's the one who meets with potential clients. I despise the idea of failing Ma, but the idea of disappointing Big Uncle keeps me up at night.

It could be because I grew up in the same house as my mother and her brothers for most of my childhood.

Ma and I just moved into our own place a year ago, after the family business began to make a consistent profit. We all still live in the same neighbourhood, a ten-minute walk away, and I feel the weight of their expectations on my shoulders, as if I had three dads and a mother who had placed all of their dreams and expectations on my shoulders.

Caffeine and familial guilt are the two things that keep me going.

My spine reflexively straightens as Big Uncle turns to face me. He offers me an encouraging grin and switches to English for my benefit, so perhaps he feels how worried I am about tomorrow, "Tily-ah, everything okay with camera, right? You ready for big day?"

I give a nod.

Yesterday, I double-checked my camera, backup camera, and all five of my lenses. They'd all been sent for maintenance and a thorough clean-up weeks before the wedding. I despise the fact that I am responsible for documenting my family's hard work—Big Uncle's gigantic cakes, Second Uncle's complicated haircuts and perfect makeup artistry, Ma's beautiful flower arrangements, and Third Uncle's dynamic performances.

I strive to catch everything at every wedding, but I always miss something. At the previous wedding, I failed to photograph Third Uncle from his "good side, the one that makes me look twenty again," and at the wedding before that, I missed photographing the centrepiece at table 17, which was significantly different from all the others.

"My gear is in perfect condition," I assure them, "and I've memorized the list of pictures I need to take for our social media."

Big Uncle exclaims, "You good, filial daughter, Tily-ah," and I force a grin.

Filial piety, ah, the bedrock of Asian parenting. I've been taught to put my elders—that is, Ma and the uncles—above all else since I can remember.

It's why, out of seven children in my generation, I'm the only one still working in the family business, despite my strong desire to leave. For their sake, I pretend to enjoy it all—the commotion, the massive production, everything—but it's steadily destroying my love for photography.

For months, I've considered leaving the wedding business and reverting to what I love about photography—being able to take my time and experiment with different lenses, lighting, and angles rather than racing to take shot after shot of the same thing.

Not that I can ever reveal any of this to my family.

Ma chirps in Malaysian, "Ye, kamu seorang gadis yang baik berbakti," Ma and the uncles are bilingual (Korean and Malaysian) and can switch from one to the other with ease. She had a massive smile on her face.

Uh oh.

What is the reason for her smile?

"That's why we have a surprise for you."

My uncles are now all beaming down at me. I reclined in my seat, my siu mai turning to stone in my mouth.

"What's going on?" My voice coming out even smaller than usual with my family.

Ma says, "I found the perfect husband for you!" At the same time, all of my uncles say, "Surprise!"

I blink. "Sorry, you found what now?"

"Perfect husband!" Ma crows.

I cast a glance behind me, almost expecting Ma to walk up behind me with some man she'd undoubtedly ambushed at the Ranch 99 market.

"Eh, he's not here, silly girl," Ma says.

"Is he tied up in the trunk of your car?"

"Don't joke, Atilia," Big Uncle tuts. "Your mama is doing all of this so that you can have a good life."

I apologetically nod.

Even though I'm an adult, all it takes is a single reprimand from Big Uncle to make me feel like a three-year-old again, "Sorry, Ma. But I don't—"

"Don't but this but that," Ma says. "Why is it so difficult to get you to date? I tried setting you up with Mr. Song's son, but no, you didn't let me. I tried setting you up with my lily supplier, Seojoon—Park Seojoon is very handsome, you know—but you refused that too. Didn't even want to meet him."

"Tily is probably cautious because the last time you attempted to pair her up with Bang Sihyuk's kid, he turned out to be, you know," Third Uncle explains.

Ma waves an irritated hand. "Why do you keep bringing up Sihyuk's son? So, he turned out to be some maniac. How was I supposed to know?"

"Kleptomaniac," I mumble. He'd taken my makeup bag from my purse and, somehow, one of my shoes by the time our date was over. You have to give it to him, even if he's an asshole. Or let him steal it.

"Anyway, sayangku," Ma adds, referring to the Malaysian term of affection she saves for special occasions, like the day I graduated from UCLA. "No one, I assure you, is better than him. He is really attractive, nice, and intelligent! Aaand..."

Oh god, here it comes.

The final nail in the coffin.

What is it going to be this time?

With any luck, he'll turn out to be a second cousin or something along those lines.

"He's the hotel owner!" Third Uncle cries.

Ma gives him a cold stare. "That's exactly what I was going to say. You stole my thunder!"

"You were taking too long," Third Uncle says.

They all turn back to me, grinning expectantly.

"Uh," I put down my chopsticks. "I mean. Is it meant to make me happy? It appears to be a huge liability. Is it necessary for me to remind you of how terrible I am at dating? What part of this is a good idea, exactly?"

"Ah," Ma says, smiling smugly. "I know you're not so good at dating—"

Big Uncle loyally says, "It's because you're such a wonderful girl."

Second Uncle nods. "You aren't a whore, which is why you have such a hard time dating."

"Oesamchon!" I cry, "Please, no slut-shaming of women."

Second Uncle shrugs, showing no remorse.

"Anyway," Ma says, "It doesn't matter. It's okay that you're terrible at dating, because this boy, oh, he is so in love with you, Tily sayang. He knows all your flaws and how awkward you are in person and everything, but he says it makes him like you even more!"

"Whoa, whoa," I raise my hands. "Hold up. Okay." I take a deep breath. "There is so much here. Can we please switch back to English? Because I'm pretty sure I'm misinterpreting everything. First of all, he knows all my flaws? What the f—what gives, Ma? How does he know any of this stuff about me?"

"She met him on the internet!" Third Uncle proudly weeps. His entire face is beaming with enthusiasm, so I assume he'd been bursting with the secret the whole time. "Your mum went on a dating site and talked to him for weeks!"

"What?!" Oh my god, so it's not a loss in translation. She really did go and find me a random guy to go out on a date with. "Ma, is this for real?"

"Yes, that's a wonderful idea, right? You and him will get to know each other better this way before the date, which is tonight."

"Tonight?" I squawk. "But I don't know him! I know nothing about him, apart from the fact that he's been speaking with my mother for weeks, I know nothing about him. I mean, good grief, that is some messed-up shit, Ma."

"That why I tell you now," Ma says, completely unfazed. Meanwhile, my cheeks are melting off my face because they're so hot. "Oh, he is such a good boy, so respectful to his elders."

"How would you know?" I realize how loud my voice is when heads at the next table swivel round. Being loud enough to attract attention in a jajangmyeon restaurant during the lunch rush is damn near impossible, which just goes to show how fucking pissed I am.

"He buy his parents house! A mansion in San Marino, very good location."

My three uncles all give serious nods. San Marino is my family's Holy Grail—close enough to SGV for late-night Korean bubble tea, yet far enough away from non-immigrants. Since their arrival in this country, Ma and her brothers have had their eyes on San Marino.

"And he loves cooking," Ma says, with a pointed glare at me, "Very good because no matter how many times I teach you, you still don't know how. How can you be good wife, you can't even cook rice?"

"Stay on the topic," Third Uncle says.

For the first time in history, Ma actually listens to him.

"He has two dogs. You always want dog. Now you can have two! They are so well-groom. Look!" She brandishes a photo of two glossy golden retrievers that are so golden and so perfectly shaped they look like they could be pet magazine models.

"I tell him, 'I'm a wedding photographer,' and he says, 'Wow, that's fantastic!' and I say—"

"Wait." I had to pause for a moment to allow the words to sink in. "Did you just—Ma, did you—go on a dating site as me?" I sit there with my mouth open, not breathing or blinking or anything.

"Of course, she did!" Second Uncle says. "How else can she meet the boy? If she say her real age, forty-nine—"

"Forty-seven," Ma interjects.

Third Uncle snorts.

Second Uncle explains slowly, nodding and smiling encouragingly at me, "If she says her true age, she will match with guys her age. Do you see what I mean? That's why she needs to act like you."

Right now, I'm unable to do so.

What is the meaning of my life?

Ma regales me with more of Jackson, the hotel owner's deep, emotional messages as my head sputters to catch up with the situation. He's viewed my photos and says they're 'breathtaking.'

"Do you have any photos of him, at least?"

"I ask him, but I think maybe he a bit shy," Ma says.

"Do you understand that this indicates he's a total troll?" Third Uncle grunts.

Ma dismisses him with a wave. "I believe it is because he is so attractive that he does not want to show off photos. Instead, he wants to make sure that you fall in love with him, not his face."

"Also, he's Korean, so his Korean very good," Second Uncle adds. "Maybe you can improve your Korean with him. Whenever you speak Korean, alamak, give me headache."

"Sorry," I mumble. I'm so flustered by everything they're throwing at me that I don't know how to react. "I need to—can I see these chat messages?"

"Alamak, no time for that," Ma says. "You trust me, okay, this one is very good boy. Very good. If you don't go, you miss out."

And, to my horror, despite everything's ugliness, a part of me is being won over, implying that I've gone insane.

But I haven't been on a date since...

Wasn't it last summer? Wasn't it last fall?

On a cracker, Christ.

Is it true that it's been that long? Let's not even talk about the last time I got laid.

"Girl, you need to get some before that thing closes up shop for good," my best friend Emma often reminds me.

I look down at the 'thing' in my lap.

Why can't Emma just say "vagina"? You're not gonna close up shop for good, are you?

Okay, I've just started conversing with my vagina.

Perhaps Ma is right. I desperately need to go out on a date. So what if it's put up in the weirdest, most awkward possible sense?

"Must go, tau," Ma says, oblivious to the fact that I've quietly told myself—and my vagina—to agree.

"Must not cancel," Big Uncle says, "It's really insulting if you cancel at the last minute."

"So insulting," Second Uncle says. "But we know you not do that. You are nice girl."

"Fine," I let out a sigh. "Tell me all I need to know about my date tonight."

The words in italics are in Korean, while the words in italics and bold are in Malay.

Ajumma (아줌마) = married, or middle-aged woman
Halmeonis (할머니)= grandmas
Andwae (안돼) = <way of saying no>
Oppa (오빠)= older brother <females speaking to older males>
Namdongsaeng (남동생) = younger brother
Oesamchon (외삼촌) = uncle <uncle in mother's side regardless of marital status or age>

Ye, kamu adalah gadis yang baik berbakti = Yes, you are a good, filial girl
Sayang/Sayangku = Love/ My love <term of endearment>
Alamak = <exclamation of surprise: ie. Oh no, damn, etc>
Tau = <a slang for confirmation, known as right in English>
Wah = <exclamation of surprise: ie. Wow, woah, etc>

Previous Chapter
Overview
Next Chapter