Chapter 11 #3
As the meal goes on, Mebel is surprised to find that she’s actually enjoying the company of these youths.
Even though they are a third of her age, they possess an unexpected amount of wisdom and self-assurance that Mebel definitely did not have at their age.
Hell, she’s not sure she even has it now.
Part of her is jealous of their confidence.
Mebel has only ever been confident of one thing: that she was raised to be a trophy wife and therefore things like her interests and her sense of humor won’t be defined until she finds her husband, who will shape them for her.
But here, Gemma and Bella chat with as much passion as the boys do, their faces lit up and animated, full of passion as they touch on everything from politics to family life. How refreshing, Mebel thinks.
“Mebs, what about you?” Bella says.
Mebel blinks. “What about me?”
“Well, while you’ve been sitting there dissociating,” Adam says, “we’ve been talking about why we’re here. I’m here because I’ve wanted to be a chef ever since I watched Ratatouille, and Bella wants to be a chef—”
“Since I won my county’s baking competition at age nine,” Bella says with a confident grin. Mebel winks at her. She likes Bella. Bella’s smile widens before she turns to Bruce. “And Bruce here wants to be a chef because he didn’t make it into uni.”
Bruce, wineglass at his lips, sputters. “That is not true! I’m here because I want to learn how to cook.”
They all give him incredulous looks.
“What?” Bruce says.
“The number of times you’ve called cooking ‘menial labor’…” Adam muses.
“I’ve heard you calling chefs ‘the help,’ ” Bella says.
Bruce looks like he’s about to say something he’ll end up regretting.
Had Mebel been in her twenties, she would’ve gotten on the anti-Bruce ride, but as she watches Bruce’s face turning red in the dim lighting of Le Provencal, all she sees is an insecure, scared kid.
She sees Sammy at Bruce’s age, his cheeks still retaining much of the buccal fat of youth that makes him look like a little boy.
She recalls the terrifying sensation of free-falling that comes with graduating high school and not having a clear direction of where to go next.
In a way, Mebel had been lucky precisely because she’d been prescribed such a clear goal that she’d only been too happy to comply with.
Without one, she isn’t sure how she would’ve turned out.
And now, here is this young person flailing in an ocean, probably filled with self-doubt and wondering where the hell to go from here.
“Why you like cooking, Bruce?” Mebel says.
For a moment, it looks as though Bruce is about to argue or come up with some other response to save face.
Mebel keeps her face earnest, hoping she is channeling motherly concern and zero traces of judgment.
She sees the fight leak out of him. He sags a little, then says, “I don’t know.
I didn’t do well enough on my A levels to get into any decent uni, and I didn’t want to go to a technical school, so…
” He shrugs. “I know it’s not a great reason to go. ”
“Well, is better than my reason,” Mebel says. “Mine is to win back my husband from our chef.”
“What?” they all say in unison.
“Okay, there is so much to unpack here?” Adam says. “You need to tell us from the beginning.”
Even Bruce looks like he’s listening intently, his expression a cross between concern and curiosity.
And so Mebel does tell them, going as far back as when they first hired Wendy.
Mebel had been the one to find Wendy, and had been so proud of her decision to hire her.
Wendy had gone to culinary school in Thailand and was adept at cooking everything from Asian food to Middle Eastern kabobs to lasagnas, and Mebel had been so happy with Wendy’s dishes, had thought that hiring Wendy was yet more proof that she, Mebel, was the best wife that any man could hope for.
“I thought maybe because I cannot cook, so okay, I hire someone who can,” Mebel says, running the tip of her index finger along the stem of her wineglass.
“But then turn out she can do more than cook.”
“Shit, Mebel,” Gemma says after a long pause. “That sucks.”
“Yes, it does,” Mebel says.
“You are out of this man’s league,” Adam says.
“How you know? You haven’t see him yet,” Mebel says.
“I don’t need to,” Adam says. “I’ve seen you. Have you seen you?”
“You are a snack,” Bella says, nodding.
Mebel laughs. When she meets Bruce’s eye, her laughter dies a little. Bruce is looking at her like he’s slightly shell-shocked, like his understanding of her has shifted in some imperceptible way. “Your husband cheated on you?” he says finally.
Mebel picks at invisible lint on her dress. “Yes.”
“And you’re here to learn how to cook so you can win him back.”
“Yes.”
There is a pregnant pause, then Bruce says, “Well, that’s rather pathetic, isn’t it?”
“Bruce!” Bella snaps.
“What the fuck is your problem?” Adam says.
Mebel clears her throat, which, to her surprise, is somewhat thick with tears. “Yes, I think is quite pathetic if you look at it in certain way. I like to think of as me fighting for my happiness.”
Bruce shrugs. “I dunno, I just think it’s pathetic, is all. He doesn’t want you.”
“All right, that’s enough,” Gemma says. “Bruce, shut the fuck up. Mebel, you and I are going to the ladies.”
“I’ll go with you,” Bella says.
As they stand, Adam hisses to Bella, “You’re leaving me alone with him?”
“You can handle it,” Bella says, then she and Gemma tuck their arms into Mebel’s and lead her to the restroom.
Mebel, half-dazed by the wine, is only too happy to follow.
She can’t remember the last time she’s had such a good evening.
Even with the heaviness of the topics and Bruce’s judgment, it’s refreshing to be out with these people and not talk about the things she usually talks about with her friends back home.
She tries to remember the usual topics of conversation she’d have with her friends.
Ah yes, the subject of kids used to take up a huge chunk of their conversations, and when the kids grew up and started their own families, it turned to the subject of grandkids.
Then there’s the topic of where to go on vacation.
Most Chinese-Indos travel at least twice a year—once at Christmas and once during Ramadan.
Even though most Chinese-Indos are not Muslim, most businesses in Jakarta shut down during Ramadan, which makes it a good time for them to travel overseas.
Even then, the topic of travel is often dictated by “Well, Henk would really like to go to Turkey this year” or “Henk has been wanting to go to Guangzhou” and the other wives are the same.
And because Henk’s choices have always been wonderful—who wouldn’t want to go to Turkey?
—Mebel has never felt the need to voice her own opinions.
Inside the bathroom, Gemma and Bella study their reflections and dab at their faces with tissue. Gemma glances over and says, “I hope you don’t take what Bruce said to heart.”
Mebel shrugs. “Aiya, my dear, you don’t worry about that. If I take everything anyone say to heart, I won’t be here.”
Bella’s mouth quirks up into a half smile. “Are you really here because you want to win your husband back?”
Mebel nods.
“I think that’s kind of sweet, don’t you?” Bella says, taking out lipstick from her purse.
“I do too,” Gemma says. “But if you don’t mind me asking, why do you want to win him back? You’re fabulous all on your own.”
At this, Mebel has no answer. Well, that’s not quite accurate.
She has too many answers. Because they’ve been married for forty years and that’s something worth saving.
Because what in the world is she going to do without Henk?
Because she’s spent her entire life being raised to become a trophy wife, and what is a trophy wife without a husband?
Because of a dozen other equally compelling reasons.
But somehow, none of them seems to suffice at this moment.
Bella finishes swiping her lipstick on, then offers it to Mebel. “I call this one siren red,” she says. “I think it’ll suit you.”
Mebel dabs it on and stares at her reflection.
“Siren red” is an appropriate name for it.
She looks brazen, dangerous, a wild creature.
Henk would be very scandalized by it. Mebel decides she kind of likes it.
Maybe it’s because of all that wine she’s been drinking tonight.
Whatever it is, Mebel finds herself wearing a coquettish smile as she and the two girls leave the restroom.
God, just one month ago, if someone had used the word “coquettish” when referring to Mebel, she would’ve just perished. And look at her now.
As the kids would say, she does not hate it.