“The one I’m dating, Mummy,” I clarified, practically bouncing between them. “You’d met him and his sisters lots of summers ago when you visited, remember right?”
“I meet a lot of people, Yesoh,” she replied coolly, her gaze flickering back to Wynter, “it's nice to meet you again though. You’ll be staying here?”?
“Yes, Mrs Yeo, I hope that is okay with you,” he affirmed, his expression unwavering. “I could always stay at a nearby hotel if there isn’t enough room for me.”
“Depends on how well you take up space in my house,” she clarified, a double meaning to her words.
“Of course you’re staying, Wyn, don’t let her sike you out.” I grabbed ahold of his arm. “Mummy, don’t be like that.”
“Like what?” She hummed absentmindedly.
“Oh brother, this will be a long trip,” Soleh grumbled. “Hello, Mother!”
“My Soleh.” She smiled and hugged him close.
“You can say that again.” Cahya sighed, lugging the bags inside. “Long trip.”
I turned to Wynter and gave him a thumbs-up, whispering, “You survived the first round!”
“Barely,” he muttered, but I caught the faintest twitch of a smile as he followed me inside. “Cooking Mamawas easier.”
The rest of the day passed in a whirl of activity. Cahya helped our mother organize things in the kitchen while Soleh and I dragged Wyn around the house, showing him everything from my old room to the little garden in the back.
“See that tree?” I pointed proudly at the mango tree in the corner. “I planted that when I was eight. It’s like my tree. Isn’t that cool?”
“It’s a tree,” Wyn said flatly, though I could see the way his lips twitched like he was holding back a laugh.
“You’re the worst,” I told him, grabbing his arm and dragging him closer to the tree. “You have to appreciate it! Look at how tall it is now. That’s all thanks to me.”
“Clearly, you have a gift,” he said, his tone as dry as the Jakarta sun, but his hand lingered on mine just a little longer than necessary. “A true green thumb.”
“Thank you for recognizing my prowess.” I smiled, accomplished.
From the kitchen window, I could see Mom watching us, her sharp gaze softening just a fraction. Maybe Wyn didn’t notice, but I did—and it gave me hope.
By the time dinner rolled around, the tension had eased slightly. Mom served up a feast—plates of nasi goreng, rendang, and sambal that had Wyn’s eyes widening slightly when he tasted the spice.
“Your home is lovely, Mrs Yeo,” he said after a moment, his voice steady but his ears turning red from the heat. “This is delicious.”
“It’s okay if you can’t handle it,” Soleh teased, smirking as he piled more sambal onto his own plate.
“I’m fine,” Wyn said stoically, but I noticed him reaching for his glass of water a little too quickly.
“See?” I whispered to him, grinning. “I told you she liked you. She made the spicy sambal. That’s how you know you’re in.”
“Stop spreading misinformation,” Cahya whispered over.
“If this is her liking me, I’d hate to see what happens if she doesn’t,” he muttered back, but there was a warmth in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
Soleh was blissfully focused on his plate, Cahya was quietly observing the tension like a smug spectator, and I was doing my best to fill the silences with cheerful chatter.
“So, Cahya, how is your final year?” Pat questioned, and Cahya nearly choked on air.
“Definitely the most demanding. I’ve been working on a self-composed piece.” He explained.
“Tell me about it?” she asked. “You never tell me about your compositions anymore.”
“You never really ask, you’re not there,” he clarified and then a silence fell over the table. “But, if you must know, it’s inspired by the works of Bach.”
