Big Aunt’s face lights up when she sees us, then falls when she spots the cooler behind us. “What happen? Why that thing back here again?”
I tell her about the pebble path and the impossibility of wheeling the cooler on it, and she sighs, leading the way to the walk-in fridge.
“Push it there,” she says, pointing to a corner. I do as I’m told and then we put containers of pastries on top of the cooler. “Maybe is okay there for now.”
We survey the cooler. It looks so exposed here, in a place where people are constantly coming in and out. Just as I think that, one of the hotel chefs comes in, pausing when he sees us.
“Essential personnel only,” he says.
“They with me,” Big Aunt says coolly, and he frowns but doesn’t say anything else. He grabs a crate of vegetables and leaves the fridge.
“We should get out of here,” I say. “It’s obvious we don’t belong here.” Not me in my photographer’s outfit and Fourth Aunt in her sequined-flamingo outfit.
“You no worry, I keep eyes on cooler,” Big Aunt says, as we walk out of the fridge.
“I really need to go do the bridal photos now, but once we have free time, we should meet here and move the cooler out.”
The three of us nod, Big Aunt says she’ll let Ma know of the plan, and I rush off to the bridal suite to update Second Aunt. And do my job.
* * *
? ? ?
The bride, Jacqueline, is radiant even before Second Aunt finishes doing her makeup. Her skin has the kind of glow that only years of meticulous, expensive skin care can achieve, and her nose has the perfect arch and slight upturn that only the best surgeon can give. She catches me staring at it and says with a wink, “Souvenir from Seoul.” I like her immediately.
After the round of introductions—I’ve obviously met the bride beforehand, but there are many new faces here, including her mom and what seems like twelve hundred bridesmaids who are all wearing bathrobes and walking in and out, sipping flutes of champagne. The bridal suite is huge, easily bigger than my and Ma’s house, with two bedrooms, a gorgeously decorated living room, and a dining room with a large chandelier. It’s also a mess; every available surface has been covered by a carelessly flung dress, or heels, or handbags, or mascara, or champagne glasses. A waiter swans around with trays of champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries.
Second Aunt has set up a makeup station near the window for the best possible lighting. Next to her, her two assistants have their own work stations and are busily dabbing at bridesmaids’ faces.
I take out my trusty Canon and fit my favorite lens on it—a fixed 50mm f/1.2. I bought it for myself as a Christmas present last year, and it’s worth every goddamn cent. The pictures come out lush, the focus crisp and the background melting into a delicious blur. I usually have to settle for the 35mm when shooting inside hotel rooms because I need the wider angle to take everything in, but this suite is so huge that I can easily fit everything in with the 50mm. Heaven!
“Can I take photos of the wedding gown, please?” I say to Jacqueline.
“Of course! Miss Halim here will help you. She’s the best maid of honor.” Jacqueline grins up at a tall, slender bridesmaid, who rolls her eyes.
“She only says that to butter me up. I’m Maureen. Nice to meet you,” Maureen says, with a wry smile.
“Yes, but it works so well,” Jacqueline laughs.
“Only because I love you, you brat.” Maureen turns to me. “Come, I’ll help you with the dress. It’s a two-person job.”
She’s not kidding. The dress is huge, and it takes the two of us to pull it off the mannequin and hang it up against the floor-to-ceiling window. The sunlight at its back makes it almost translucent, and every lace detail shines through. I was expecting a Vera Wang or an Alexander McQueen, but the silk label says Biyan, which is a nice surprise. An Indonesian designer. It makes me like Jacqueline even more. It strikes me, as I take pictures of the dress from various angles, that this is the first time I’m photographing a wedding dress by an Indonesian designer, and it feels special somehow. It rekindles the love I have for photography and why I decided to join my family’s venture in the first place. If only wedding photography could be all about the intimate details—just me, my camera, pretty dresses, and happy couples, instead of the family obligation and drama that come with it. But now is so not the time to think about leaving the family business.
I take photos of all the other details: the bride’s red-soled Louboutins, which will no doubt kill her feet, the luscious bridal bouquet Ma has created, the invitations.