Crazy Rich Asians

“No, they really can’t,” Rachel replied.

“The future is in Asia. Nick’s place is here, don’t you think?”

Nick knew Rachel was headed straight into an ambush, and interrupted her before she could answer. “I have always said that I would return to Asia, Ah Ma. But right now I am still gaining valuable experience in New York.”

“You said the same thing six years ago when you wanted to remain in England after your studies. And now you’re in America. What’s next, Australia, like your father? It was a mistake to send you abroad in the first place. You have become far too seduced by Western ways.” Rachel couldn’t help noting the irony in what Nick’s grandmother was saying. She looked and sounded like a Chinese woman in the most traditional sense, and yet here they were in a walled garden straight out of the Loire Valley having English afternoon tea.

Nick didn’t know how to respond. This was a debate he had been having with his grandmother for the past few years, and he knew he would never win. He started to pick apart the colored layers in a piece of nyonya kueh, thinking he should excuse himself for a moment. It would be good for Rachel to have some private time with his grandmother. He glanced at his watch and said, “Ah Ma, I think Auntie Alix and family will be arriving from Hong Kong any minute now. Why don’t I go welcome them and bring them here?”

His grandmother nodded. Nick smiled at Rachel, giving her a look of assurance before stepping out of the conservatory.

Su Yi tilted her head to the left slightly, and one of the Thai lady’s maids immediately sprang to her side, bending in one graceful motion onto her knees so that her ear was level with Su Yi’s mouth.

“Tell the conservatory gardener that it needs to be five degrees warmer in here,” Su Yi said in English. She turned her attention back to Rachel. “Tell me, where are your people from?” There was a forcefulness in her voice that Rachel had not previously noticed.

“My mother’s family came from Guangdong. My father’s family … I never knew,” Rachel answered nervously.

“How come?”

“He died before I was born. And then I came to America as an infant with my mother.”

“And did your mother remarry?”

“No, she never did.” Rachel could feel the Thai lady’s maids staring in silent judgment.

“So, do you support your mother?”

“No, quite the contrary. She put herself through college in America and is now a real estate agent. She’s done well for herself and was even able to support me through my university studies,” Rachel responded.

Su Yi was silent for a while, considering the girl before her. Rachel didn’t dare to move at all. Finally, Su Yi spoke. “Did you know that I had quite a few brothers and sisters? My father had many concubines who bore him children, but only one supreme wife, my mother. She bore him six children, but out of all my siblings, only three were officially accepted. Myself, and two of my brothers.”

“Why only the three of you?” Rachel ventured to ask.

“You see, my father believed he had a gift. He felt that he was able to ascertain a person’s entire future based on their faces … the way they looked … and he chose to keep only the children he felt would go on to please him. He chose my husband for me this way as well, did you know that? He said, ‘This man has a good face. He will never make any money, but he will never hurt you.’ He was right on both counts.” Nick’s grandmother leaned in closer to Rachel and stared straight into her eyes. “I see your face,” she said in a hushed tone.

Before Rachel could ask what she meant, Nick approached the conservatory door with a cluster of guests. The door burst open, and a man in a white linen shirt and bright orange linen pants bounded toward Nick’s grandmother.

“Ah Ma, dearest Ah Ma! How I’ve missed you!” the man said dramatically in Cantonese, dropping to his knees and kissing her hands.

“Aiyah, Eddie, cha si lang!”[73] Su Yi scolded, withdrawing her hands and smacking him across the head.

2 Nassim Road

SINGAPORE

“God is in the details.” Mies van der Rohe’s iconic quote was the mantra Annabel Lee lived by. From the sculpted mango popsicles handed out to guests lounging by the pool to the precise placement of a camellia blossom on every eiderdown pillow, Annabel’s unerring eye for detail was what made her chain of luxury hotels the favored choice for the most discriminating travelers. Tonight the object of scrutiny was her own reflection. She was wearing a high-collared champagne-colored dress woven from Irish linen, and trying to decide whether to layer it with a double strand of baroque pearls or an opera-length amber necklace. Were the Nakamura pearls too ostentatious? Would the amber beads be subtler?

Her husband, Peter, entered her boudoir wearing dark gray slacks and a pale blue shirt. “Are you sure you want me to wear this? I look like an accountant,” he said, thinking his butler had surely made a mistake in laying out these clothes.