“Tch, no thanks, I don’t believe in that old-fashioned TCM stuff,” Fourth Aunt says.
Ma glowers at her. “Traditional Chinese medicine is real medicine!” She launches into one of her usual tirades about how TCM has been medically proven to work and is much better than Western medicine and so on and so forth.
I’m stuck in a nightmare. I know it. Maybe I got a concussion from the accident. Maybe I’m actually in a coma, and my coma-brain is coming up with this weird-ass scenario, because there is no way that I’m actually sitting here, in the kitchen, watching my oldest aunties eat a mango and Ma and Fourth Aunt argue while Jake lies cooling in the trunk of my car. Just when I’m about to scream, Big Aunt puts down her fork with a meaningful clatter.
Everyone sits to attention.
“So,” she says, turning to me and switching to English. Behind the kindly wrinkles that I know so well I could sketch them in my sleep, her gaze is eagle sharp. “Tell Big Aunt what happen. Start from beginning.”
I don’t hesitate. There’s just something about Big Aunt, a mix of firm authority and motherly warmth that nobody can say no to. I’m feeling so guilty about having them rush here in the middle of the night—to help me with a dead body, no less—that I try relaying the story in Indonesian. But not even one sentence in, Second Aunt tells me my atrocious Indonesian is giving her a headache and I should just stick to English. With some relief, I tell them about my date with Jake, about how he insisted on driving me home, and the things he said.
My aunts and mother cover their mouths with horror and shake their heads.
“How could you set Meddy up with such a douchebag?” Fourth Aunt snaps at Ma.
Ma’s face is as red as a Louboutin sole. “He was so nice online! Perfect gentleman, even offer to cook terong for me—er, for Meddy.”
“What’s terong? Is that fermented shrimp paste?” I say.
“Tch, no,” Ma says, switching to English. “Shrimp paste is terasi. Terong is eggplant.”
Something clicks inside me. “He offered to cook me eggplant? That’s weirdly specific.”
Ma nods furiously. “It’s why I think, wah, this boy is meant for you. He even know what is your favorite food.”
“I need to see these chat messages.”
Ma takes her phone from her pocket, and my aunts all take out their glasses. As Ma hands the phone to me, Fourth Aunt swipes it from her hand.
“Hey!” Ma says.
Fourth Aunt ignores her and starts scrolling. Her eyebrows shoot up, almost disappearing in her hairline, and she bursts into hysterical laughter.
“Why you laugh? What is so funny?” Ma snaps.
Still laughing so hard she can’t catch her breath, Fourth Aunt pushes the phone to me. I skim through the messages, and . . . Oh. My. God. It is so much worse than I thought.
Jake1010Hotelier: Hey
Meddelin Chan: Hello!
I look up at Ma, aghast. “You used my real name on this site? And is that—” I tap on the little icon next to my name, and it enlarges to show an actual picture of me.
“I don’t know you are supposed to use fake name! How am I supposed to know that?”
“Maybe by not pretending to be me and making a fake dating account? I mean, for god’s sake, look, Jake didn’t upload any pictures of himself!” Ma looks so hurt that I immediately regret saying that. “I’m sorry, Ma, I know you just wanted to help.”
She gives a tiny nod, and I resume reading.
Jake1010Hotelier: Love your pic
Meddelin Chan: Thank you!! You so sweet!!
I grit my teeth in an effort to not snap at Ma again. How many exclamation marks can the woman use in a single reply?
Jake1010Hotelier: So, wedding photography, huh? That must be interesting.
Meddelin Chan: Oh yes! Very interesting!! What do you do?
Jake1010Hotelier: As you might have guessed from my screenname, I’m a hotelier. I own hotels. Many of them, actually.
Meddelin Chan: Wahhh! So impressed!
It goes on like that for a while, Jake bragging, describing in great detail each and every one of the hotels he owns, and Ma replying in the most bimbotic way that’s humanly possible. Anyone reading this would think I’m desperate for Jake’s approval, but I know that this is Ma being polite. This is how she’s raised me, to encourage others to talk about themselves, and then find the good things in what they say and show appreciation. I can’t tell whether it’s a Chinese thing or an Indonesian thing, but whatever it is, it worked on Jake. After only a few days of messaging back and forth, he sends this message: