American Panda(54)
I mimicked his bow for no reason. Maybe I felt the need to make up for my parents’ treatment of Esther. I could hear my mother yelling in my head about how Mr. and Mrs. Wong owed her a dowry—a huge one since Esther was so flawed. Practically a man.
“Mrs. Wong, what a beautiful dress you’re wearing,” Darren said.
She straightened her dark silver gown. “It was difficult to find Chinese formalwear without black flowers, which of course is forbidden since it brings bad luck.”
I took a quick survey, locating five black-flowered dresses within ten seconds.
Mrs. Wong’s gaze followed mine. “Oh, no, it’s okay for others. It’s forbidden only for the bride’s mother.”
I forced a smile and nodded, then turned to Esther’s father. “Mr. Wong, shouldn’t you go back and get ready to walk Esther down the aisle?”
He stiffened, then said through pursed lips, “It’s tradition for the most blessed and fortunate woman in the neighborhood to walk the bride down the aisle. Elder Wu will have that honor. She has one son and one daughter, both of whom are successful. A CEO and a doctor. She flew in from Taichung this morning.”
I thought I had experienced it all, but in the span of three minutes I had learned two new traditions that blew even my mind. The strangest part was that Xing had led me to believe Esther’s parents were more like Helen’s. During one of our visits, he had told me, tight-eyed and stiff-jawed, about how Esther’s “super-chill” parents had let her dye her hair, listen to rap, date. It had only emphasized to him just how strict our parents were, making him resent them more.
But it wasn’t so black-and-white, was it? Maybe the only lesson here was that I needed to stop comparing everyone.
When the pastor took his place at the lectern, I bowed to Esther’s parents, thankful for the interruption.
In our glaringly unfilled pew, I crossed my legs, hoping to calm the gnawing in my stomach. The numbness that prickled down my calf reminded me of my mother manipulating my limbs into this pose.
I uncrossed, accidentally kicking Darren with the bit of anger that shot out. In a silent apology, I placed my hands on his thigh, landing much higher than intended.
Jesus.
Sensing my inner (and outer) flailing, Darren draped his arm across the back of the bench, his fingers caressing my shoulder. Finally feeling safe, I curled up against him.
Xing stood at the front, dapper in his black suit and red pocket square. He caught my eye and smiled, the kind shared by two people bonded for life. My nose burned the way it always did pre-sentimental tears. I nodded to communicate my understanding, to signal I was here for him, to tell him in one sharp movement what I could never say aloud.
The ring bearer carried a stuffed Doraemon down the aisle, the rings tied to its blue, earless head. The doll was almost the same size as him, and by the end he was dragging it behind his pìgu until his mother rushed up to help. The bridesmaids were clones of one another in matching knee-length red dresses and sky-high charcoal heels that made them hobble down the aisle like little girls playing dress-up.
Xing fixated on his bride as soon as she and Elder Wu were visible. Instead of looking at Esther like every other guest, I was drawn to my brother. His eyes glowed as if he had seen an angel.
How could anyone oppose this union? Staring at him in that moment, I couldn’t fathom a world in which Xing had chosen our parents over Esther.
I thought about my mom and dad’s relationship. A lifetime of arguments, a lack of affection, no communication. Stifled by the predetermined husband, wife, and in-law roles, the unyielding expectations. Xing had escaped that—at a price, but a sacrifice worth making.
Esther’s veil was over her face, but her joy shined through the silk as she locked eyes with her soon-to-be husband. The moment was so private, the exchange so intimate, that it felt wrong for the rest of us to be present, watching.
The tulle of Esther’s ball gown devoured her, an odd choice for someone so petite—or was that just my mother’s influence seeping into my brain? She’d always had an if-you’ve-got-a-low-BMI-flaunt-it attitude.
I glanced at Esther’s father, whose pinched face betrayed his true feelings about not walking his daughter down the aisle. I wondered why they followed a custom they so obviously despised. Would it have been so terrible for Mr. Wong to accompany Esther?
Yes, I realized. To them it would have been disastrous. By pushing aside their feelings and bringing Elder Wu, the Wongs believed they were bestowing a lifetime of blessings onto their daughter. They’d made a selfless choice. Ridiculous, maybe, but selfless nonetheless.
At the front, Xing wiped his eyes with the back of his hand before lifting the veil. Esther bowed to Elder Wu and an usher led the hunchbacked woman to an empty seat. Holding one finger up to Xing and flashing him a playful smile, Esther dashed to her parents and embraced them. I watched them hug with total abandon, her parents squeezing with their eyes closed. None of the Lus know how to do that, I thought.
But then Xing stepped forward to hug the Wongs as well. No awkwardness. Only warmth. As if it were the hundredth time. Mr. Wong whispered something in Xing’s ear, then patted him on the back.
Tradition dictated that women leave their families to join the male’s in marriage, but the opposite had happened today as a result of tradition. How ironic.
My breath hitched as I wondered whether my parents would be present when (if?) I walked down the aisle. Would I have to ask Xing to take their place, as I was doing for him? Could they really let a moment like this pass?