American Panda(55)
My gaze fell to the empty space on my right.
The pastor raised his arms and the guests rose.
“I will magnify You . . . I will glorify You . . . ,” everyone sang.
Well, everyone else sang. I wasn’t familiar with the Christian praise song. Xing and I had been raised Buddhist, with idols around the house and yearly visits to the temples. I was glad my parents weren’t present to storm out in protest.
Once the guests were seated again, the pastor began his monologue. In Mandarin. I peeked over at Darren, but his lips were curved slightly and he appeared to be appreciating the beauty of the language. I wondered what it sounded like to his ears. He heard sounds, while I heard words, sentences, meaning.
His serene face relaxed my own, and I directed my attention up front. I was finally ready to be a part of today. Ready to enjoy my brother’s happiness. Ready to accept whatever repercussions arose from my attendance.
Pastor [in Chinese]: Marriage is a huge step. The men have to learn how to listen to the wife nagging and the wives have to get used to their dirty husbands.
<Chuckle, chuckle, chuckle>
Bridesmaid [translating to English]: Marriage can be terrible. The women nag and the men are dir—
Pastor [in Chinese]: I’d like to share a story with you.
I wondered if the pastor didn’t speak English or was just impatient.
Suddenly, the sanctuary doors burst open and Aunt Yilong marched in, a warrior storming a castle.
With an accusatory finger at Xing and Esther, Yilong filled the chapel with her hoarse yells, which were amplified by the silence. “You murdered Nǎinai! And her ghost will haunt your marriage forever.”
CHAPTER 22
MURDERERS
EVERYONE WAS SILENT, LIKE NO one knew what to make of the clusterfuck that was still unfolding.
Yilong looked through everyone with unfocused eyes. Her voice was almost too calm as she said, “Anyone here in support of this marriage will have three years of bad luck.”
Panic struck many faces.
I wanted to stand and announce it was just a ruse to stop the wedding. That this wasn’t even the first time Yilong had accused a family member of murdering one of her parents. To this day she blamed Yéye’s death on my mother because Xing was named after him—an honor to many, but a death sentence to the Lus. My mother, who hadn’t heard of this tradition, had no idea that her in-laws would believe Xing had to take Yéye’s place to equilibrate the universe. Never mind that Yéye had been dying from emphysema prior to Xing’s conception. No, Yilong treated my mother as if she had forced Yéye to smoke unfiltered cigarettes for thirty years.
Xing’s voice cut through the strained silence. “Is Nǎinai really dead?”
I held my breath as my pulse accelerated, the two combining into a dizzy spell. No. The answer had to be no.
“Yes. You all murdered her. She died this morning because you disrespected us”—Yilong pointed at me—“rebelled”—Xing—“and deprived her of grandsons”—Esther.
My heart pounded in my ears.
“Nǎinai died because she was ninety,” Xing said, his words confident but his voice thin.
“Nǎinai died from heartbreak! She was as strong as an ox, her zodiac sign, and would’ve outlived us all. But no, dead overnight. Because of you! How could you do this after she gave you everything? She loved you the most, Xing! For the last four years, her days were spent staring at your pictures, crying. She didn’t shed a single tear over Yéye, but for you—a river. Was she worth it?” ?The pain in Yilong’s eyes turned to anger as she scoffed at Esther.
Mrs. Wong’s heels banged an angry rhythm as she marched down the aisle, followed by the wedding line. It took all five groomsmen to usher Yilong out, her wails somehow increasing in volume as she disappeared down the hall.
Darren placed a reassuring hand on the small of my back, but I barely noticed. He said something, which registered only because I saw his mouth move in blurry slow motion. I was too far removed. My mind had shut down to protect me. The background commotion buzzed faintly as if everyone were at one end of a tunnel, and I, alone, at the other.
Darren’s hand stroking mine eventually returned me to unwelcome reality. I surveyed my surroundings. Xing and Esther were nowhere in sight, and people were conversing in hushed whispers, a frantic burble enveloping the room. Some guests, mostly from the bride’s side, glowered at me. I didn’t blame them.
Xing and Esther reappeared to a round of applause. They returned to their places by the lectern, Esther’s three-foot train held by her maid of honor (the longer the train, the more good fortune).
I barely heard Xing’s vows. He slipped a tiny band onto Esther’s finger, and a tear escaped, sliding down his face like a kid at a waterpark. During Esther’s vows, I stared at the resolve in Xing’s eyes. He was completely sure, not an iota of doubt.
As they leaned forward to seal their vows with a kiss, I clutched my seat, not breathing. In that moment, it would be done, the bond between my parents and Xing completely severed. How could something this significant happen so quickly?
Their lips met.
Cheers and whistles exploded from the guests, everyone celebrating. Everyone except me. My eyes flooded, the only sad tears in the building.
I followed the other guests in a haze, trudging through three blocks of snow to the Chinatown reception.