I’m the first to realize what must have happened. “I think it was just trapped air from inside him coming out. It’s part of the dying process.”
They all look at me with a mixture of horror and awe.
“Meddy, how do you know such things?” Ma says.
I shrug. “The Internet? I don’t know, there is lots of random information you come across just by surfing the web.” Or, more accurately, by spending your evenings stuffing potato chips in your gob and going through Reddit.
Big Aunt nods, still looking shocked. “Very good, Meddy, you study so hard.”
And again, part of me wants to crow, “Big Aunt thinks I study hard!” A small part, though. Tiny.
Ma practically preens when Big Aunt says that, and Fourth Aunt rolls her eyes.
“Okay, let’s do it again,” I say, emboldened by my knowledge. “And don’t be shocked if he burps again. Or farts.”
Grimacing, we all tiptoe back to the cooler. I guess we’re all tiptoeing because even though logically we know I’m right about gas merely escaping a dead body, we’re still half-expecting him to leap out of the cooler and, I don’t know, attack us for killing him. Which I realize makes zero sense, but it’s hard to be logical when it comes to moving a guy you killed the night before.
“Okay, so. Everyone take a limb.” And this time, they actually do what I tell them. I don’t think I’ve ever ordered Big Aunt to do anything before, and it’s an incredible feeling when she takes Ah Guan’s right leg. We lift him up once more, and this time, no noises come out of him, thank god. We stagger toward the nearest bed and drop him on top of it, then step back and survey our handiwork.
“If we want to disguise him as a drunk guest, we’ll have to clean him up a little.” Luckily, there’s not so much blood on him. There’s just a bit of dried blood on the side of his neck from his ear. Once we get that off and put sunglasses and a suit on him, he’ll look the part.
A suit. Sunglasses. Where the hell are we going to get those?
“Need to dress him nicer,” Ma says, as if reading my mind.
“Dress him nicer? You mean put him in a suit?” Fourth Aunt says. “Where are we going to get a suit from?”
“Is not bad idea,” Big Aunt says. She’s taken out a toothpick from somewhere—Big Aunt always has toothpicks on her—and is cleaning her nails with it. She always has sugar and fondant and stuff stuck under her nails, which makes sense. Usually, seeing her clean her nails grosses me out a little, but right now, it’s surprisingly calming. Like, the sky could be falling and there’s a dead body on my bed, but by god, Big Aunt will have clean nails. “I can get suit.”
We all stare at her. She’s not even looking at us; she’s all focused on her nails. “Where, Big Aunt?”
She frowns as she maneuvers the toothpick through a tricky bit. “I notice laundry room next to kitchen. Guest send their dress and suit to laundry room to dry clean or iron. I go inside, take suit, done!” She looks up, smiling.
Could it really be that easy? But then again, it’s not like we have any other choice. “Thank you, Auntie. That—yeah, that would be amazing. I have to run now, I need to get back to the bridal suite, but I’ll get back here as soon as I can.”
“Okay, you go, I check on flowers,” Ma says, waving me off.
“I guess that leaves me to look after the corpse, then,” Fourth Aunt mutters.
I grimace. “I’m so sorry, Fourth Aunt.”
“Meh. Could be worse.” She settles on the other bed, making herself comfortable, and grabs the TV remote. “Don’t be too long.”
We all promise we’ll be back soon, and off we go to handle the next crisis. One thing I can say about the weddings we do: they are certainly never dull.
17
The bridal suite is a mess. I find Second Aunt in her work corner, trying to put the finishing touches on Jacqueline’s hair while Jacqueline visibly tries not to cry. Maureen holds Jacqueline’s hands tight, speaking to her in a low, comforting tone of voice.
“I can’t believe he’s drunk,” Jacqueline says. “On our wedding day!”
“I know,” Maureen says, rubbing Jacqueline’s arms. “But I think he’s sobering up right now. He’ll probably be okay.”
Second Aunt brightens up when she spots me. “Ah, photographer is here, you no cry anymore, okay? Later ruin picture.”
“Who cares about pictures anymore? My groom is a dumbass!” Jacqueline cries.