Four Aunties and a Wedding

Jesse Sutanto

• Publisher: HQ
• Year: 2022
• Print ISBN:
  9780008445928
  9780008702182
• eBook ISBN:
  9780008445904
• Topic: Literature
• Index: Literature

They vow to make it a day to remember…

The laugh-out-loud new novel from the bestselling author of Dial A For Aunties, winner of the Comedy Women In Print Prize 2021

'Funny, razor-sharp and full of twists, this is a fantastic second novel from one of the funniest voices in fiction!' My Weekly

It's supposed to be the perfect day…
After getting away with literal murder, Meddy can't wait to settle down and marry the love of her life, Nathan. She's found the dress, got the dream venue at Christ Church College, Oxford, plus having a destination wedding comes with the added bonus of not having to invite her very large extended family.

…But is it even a wedding if nobody gets killed?
Although when her meddling aunties get involved, Meddy knows her wedding is going to be anything but quiet. Even though there's no dead body hidden in the freezer this time, for better or worse, it's certainly going to be a day she's never going to forget…

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Real readers LOVE Jesse Sutanto:

'Another rip-roaring laugh-out-loud comedy' ?????
'Get ready for wedding day hijinks like you've never seen before'?????
'I loved the zany plot, the aunties, and their banter'?????
'A delightful breath of fresh air' ?????
'Hilarious and addictive' ?????
'The aunties are brilliant characters, portrayed with such love that they avoid being stereotyped' ?????
'Perfect mood-lifter and the perfect antidote to the current state of the world' ?????
'The best book I've read so far this year' ?????
'Absolutely hilarious and had me in stitches' ?????
'Jesse Sutanto is rapidly becoming one of my favourite authors' ?????

Part One: Planning the Perfect Wedding (It’s all about the dress, really.)

1

I try not to breathe as the last corset hook is yanked into place. “Ow, that’s digging into my rib cage.”

Yenyen huffs a breath through his teeth and gives one last vicious tug, which forces a squeak out of me. “In the past, brides would break their ribs to fit into their wedding dresses,” he says, and it strikes me that he’s not saying it in a horrified tone, but rather a wistful one, which is somewhat worrying. “How do you feel?”

I risk breathing again, and to my surprise, despite the torturous time I had getting stuffed into the dress, once I’m in, it’s actually—dare I say it—comfortable. What sort of black magic is this? I could’ve sworn I would hardly be able to take even the tiniest sip of air. I blink at him in surprise. “I can breathe in it.”

I can’t quite see his eyes behind the round, purple-tinted sunglasses, but I’m pretty sure I hear them roll.

“Aduuuh, of course you can breathe in it, silly. Yenyen’s creations aren’t just beautiful, they’re also built for maximum comfort.”

I can’t help but smile at him. Yenyen has a tendency to refer to himself in third person, which should sound mildly deranged but actually comes off as somewhat endearing. His real name is Yenzhen, but nobody is allowed to call him that. Within the Chinese tradition, it’s common to have phonetically repeated names as a pet name, and as Yenyen says, he’s everybody’s best friend, so we must call him Yenyen.

“Now, are you ready to see it?” he says.

Am I? My heart rate rises. My cheeks grow warm. This will be the forty-millionth dress I’ve tried on. I swear I’ve tried on every wedding dress L.A. has to offer, and each time, there’s been something that Ma or my aunts didn’t like. Over the last few months, as we exhausted every bridal boutique in greater Los Angeles, their comments have seared themselves onto my brain.

“Sequin not shiny enough.”

“The lace look itchy, is making me itchy, is making you itchy?”

“Body too slutty.” (Second Aunt meant bodice. I think.)

And so on and so forth, until Nathan announced that he’d arranged for Indonesia’s premiere wedding dress designer to come to L.A. with custom-made dresses. Including—and this is the pièce de résistance—dresses for the mother and aunts of the bride.

I swallow and nod at Yenyen. “I’m ready.”

“Okay, keep your eyes closed, though!” He gathers the skirt behind me as I turn slowly to face the floor-length mirror. After a minute of rustling and fussing, he says, “Open your eyes.”

I do as he says.

My mouth drops open. “Yenyen—” My breath catches in my throat. There are no words to describe this dress. I know, in that moment, that this is it. This is The One. The bodice is swathed in the softest, most delicate lace that looks like it was sewn by fairies using spider silk. The skirt is a gorgeous frothy affair that somehow remains light enough for me to move around in. The entire thing hugs my body in all the right places and accentuates my curves in a way that is at once sexy and conservative. I feel as though I’m wearing a cloud. Tears rush to my eyes. “It’s perfect,” I whisper.

Yenyen waves me off, but it’s obvious he’s fighting off a huge smile. “Shall we show your family?”

Here we go. Deep breath. I don’t know what I’ll do if they say they don’t like it. I steel myself, tightening my hands into fists. I’ll fight for this dress. I’ve acquiesced to their never-ending laundry list of complaints, despite many of the dresses I’ve tried on being perfectly fine. This one isn’t just perfectly fine, though. It’s actually perfect. And I won’t let them ruin it for me. I won’t. I—

“Ta-da!” Yenyen cries as he yanks open the bedroom door with a flourish.

I grit my teeth, awaiting the cascade of complaints, but there are none. In fact, there is nobody around. The sofa and chairs arranged in a semicircle in Ma’s living room are empty.

“Aduh,” Yenyen cries, throwing up his hands. “Yenyen can’t work like this. You know how important a good entrance is? This isn’t just a dress; it’s an experience!”

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know where they went. Maybe to the bathroom?” I’m about to call out for them when footsteps thunder down the hallway.

“Meddy? That you? Sudahan ya?” Ma calls out.

“Yes, she is done!” Yenyen snaps. “Please take your seats so your daughter can show you her beautiful wedding gown.”

“Eh, tunggu! Meddy, you close your eyes!”

“What?” Yenyen’s face is turning red. His whole moment is being ruined, poor guy.

“Just go with it.” I pat him on the shoulder.

“Unbelievable!” he snaps, but takes control of himself and arranges my skirt and train so it cascades flawlessly across the hardwood floor.

“Ready or not, ah?” Second Aunt shouts.

“Yes.” I close my eyes, half-dreading what I’m about to see. Ma and the rest of my aunts come out of Ma’s bedroom giggling like schoolgirls. But before they get to the living room, Yenyen mutters, “This feels wrong,” and rushes over to the hallway to see them.

His gasp can be heard all the way over in Santa Monica. “Those are not the dresses Yenyen brought you!”

“No, it’s the dresses Jonjon brought them,” someone else says regally.

Okay, not even the strongest-willed person can keep their eyes closed through this. I crack one eye open just as a tall, thin man wrapped in a tight-fitting snakeskin suit emerges from the kitchen.

Yenyen gasps again. “Jonjon. How dare you!”

“What’s going on?” I say.

“Hello, nice to meet you. I’m Jonjon, you might have heard of me? Voted most avant-garde fashion designer in Indonesia? I was featured in Tatler and Vogue?” He extends a hand dripping with various chunky rings. Unsure what to do, I shake it limply. “Your family asked me to design their gowns for your wedding.”

“But Yenyen designed their gowns!” Yenyen cries.

Jonjon snorts. “Those lumpy brown sacks? I don’t think so. These ladies deserve better. Ready to see them?”

“Wait, wait!” Yenyen grabs a wool blanket off the couch and throws it around me. “Okay, when the time is right, throw off the blanket with a flourish, ya?”

“Um. Okay.” I hug the blanket tight around me and nod at Jonjon, half-dreading what I’m about to see.

“Behold!” Jonjon waves grandly, taps on his phone, and tinny pop music plays as, one by one, my family struts down the hallway.

I turn around. And stare in shock-horror at the spectacle before me.

Big Aunt, Second Aunt, Ma, and Fourth Aunt are all decked out in the most blinged-out, most aggressively purple dresses I have ever laid eyes on. Ever. How do I describe the particular shade of purple? It’s as if flamingo pink and electric blue had a baby and then that baby snorted a line of coke and proceeded to punch you in the face. It is a lot of purple. And it’s a lot of different kinds of material. I’m talking taffeta, and embroidery, and sequins—oh god, so many sequins. With every move my mother and aunts make, crystals and jewels flash and threaten to blind me. And that’s not even the worst part.

“What are those things on your heads?” My voice comes out hushed with horror, but Fourth Aunt must have misheard it as awe, because she simpers and flutters her fake lashes at me.

“Aren’t these just gorgeous?” She pats the—the thing on her head gently. “It’s called a fascinator. They are a must-have for English weddings. We’re going to fit in so well.”

“With that thing on your head? I mean, what—I—but—” I sputter.

“Aiya, you hate it!” Ma wails. She turns to her sisters. “I tell you, I say, Komodo dragon is not good choice, we should have gone with flamingo!”

My mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. What does one say when faced with four women wearing ten-inch-tall Komodo dragons on their heads? Well, not actual live ones, at least. I think. “They’re not real, are they?” I don’t know that I’d be able to forgive my family if they were.

At this, Jonjon smiles smugly. “They look real, don’t they? I understand why you’d think they are; the craftsmanship is flawless, isn’t it?”

Again, no words come. The dragons are in various positions, each one weirder than the last, but also somehow compatible with each woman’s personality. Big Aunt’s dragon is standing on its two hind legs, the front ones akimbo, like an Asian auntie who disapproves of your life choices. Second Aunt’s dragon is—of course—stretched into some bizarre Tai Chi pose. Ma’s is sitting down, primly sipping tea. Yes, there is an actual tiny teacup in its paws. And Fourth Aunt’s is doing karaoke.

I turn to Yenyen. Maybe he can play bad cop for me and shoot this whole ridiculous getup down in flames. Like me, he’s also staring openmouthed at their fascinators. He extends an arm and touches Fourth Aunt’s dragon gingerly as though expecting it to come to life and take a chunk out of his hand.

“Amazing,” he says.

I sidle over to him and whisper, “Don’t you mean ‘ridiculous’?”

His gaze flicks over to me and I see belatedly that the expression he’s wearing isn’t so much shock as it is wonderment. “Look at the craftsmanship. The scales, those eyes!”

“You mean how they follow you around the room?” I can’t help but shudder.

“It’s called the Mona Lisa effect,” Yenyen says.

My mother and aunts preen.

“You do realize he’s calling the dragons Mona Lisa, not you,” I point out. Which is probably a petty thing to say, but really, now. There is no way in hell I can let this happen. I can’t have them meeting Nathan’s parents wearing Komodo-freaking-dragons on their heads.

“Okay, yang bener ya. Serious time,” Big Aunt says, straightening her back and smoothing down the front of her ruffled skirt. “What you think, Meddy?”

I tear my eyes from the tops of their heads to her face, and that’s when I realize it: Big Aunt is nervous. It’s the first time I’ve seen that vulnerable look on her face. Well, I guess I have seen it one other time before, when she had to move the body of a man I’d just killed. The naked worry and hope in her face make my chest squeeze painfully. My eyes move from Big Aunt to the others and find all of them wide-eyed with anticipation. Ma is wringing her hands, and Second Aunt looks like she’s one mean comment away from plunging into a Tai Chi pose. Fourth Aunt is studying her nails, but now and again, she steals glances my way, and I know then that she’s just as nervous as the others.

Well, crap.

“Um.” My voice falters. I clear my throat and try again. “Well. Um. More importantly, what do you think, Big Aunt? Do you feel good in it?”

She starts to nod, but Jonjon shrieks, “Be careful!” and she jerks her head upright. Her Komodo dragon wobbles precariously for a few tense seconds as we stare with bated breath. Then it rights itself.

Sensing an opportunity, I pounce. “Well, uh—as incredible as they look, if you can’t move freely in them, then I don’t know if they’re a good idea. I want you to feel completely comfortable at my wedding, Big Aunt.”

“True…” she says.

Hope flutters in my chest.

“Oh, not a problem. On the day of, you just tell your hair and makeup artist to sew the fascinators to your wig,” Yenyen says. “That’s how most celebrities get them to stay on, you know.”

“Thanks, Yenyen, very helpful,” I hiss through gritted teeth. He’s supposed to be on my side.

“So you like?” Big Aunt says, her eyes searching mine.

“I…” Six pairs of eyes bear down on me like six searing-hot laser beams. I know when I’m defeated. “If you like them, then I like them too.”

Ma and the aunties’ faces melt into huge grins, and for ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• About the Author
• Booklist
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Note to Readers
• Dedication
• Contents
• Author’s Note
• Part One: Planning the Perfect Wedding (It’s all about the dress, really.)
• Part Two: Making Sure You Enjoy Your Wedding (Is it even a wedding if nobody gets killed?)
• Part Three: How to Deal With Wedding Day Hiccups (Murder: Always a good option!)
• Epilogue
• Acknowledgments
• Extract
• About the Publisher