“Sorry, ma’am,” he says, “but which course do you teach?”
“Oh!” Mebel laughs. “No, I am not teacher here. I am student, just like you.”
There is another long silence, this one accompanied by confused back-and-forth stares.
“Are you a first-year student, then?” a girl says.
“Yes,” Mebel says cheerfully.
They look more relaxed at this, which gives Mebel a false sense of security.There, she thinks,I’m fitting right in.
“What’s your name?” the girl says.
“I tell you already. Ms. Tanadi.”
“No, like, what’s your first name?”
Slightly taken aback by the question, Mebel says, “Mebel. But you call me Ms. Tanadi.”
But then the teenage-looking boy says, “Thing is, Mebel, we’re all third years here. We’re taking advanced classes.”
Mebel’s mind has short-circuited at being called by her first name by this young chit of a boy.Aiya, she thinks,he’s barely out of diapers, and look at him, sitting there and calling me by my first name. What European nonsense is this?
At her silence, he continues talking. “I think the first years are sitting over there. You’d be quite lost at this table, Mebel. You should sit with your peers.”
“My peers?” Mebel mutters, blinking. She turns to look at where he’s pointing. It’s the table two rows down, at which even younger-looking kids are sitting. She recognizes some of the students from her class. She didn’t pay too much attention to them back in the classroom, but here in the cafeteria, they look even more youthful. She could’ve sworn their faces still have yet to lose the fat of babyhood. Mebel utters a quick prayer of thanks for the filler injections she’s had done in Seoul six months ago. Thank god her own face has been beautifully rejuvenated, her cheeks plumped up; otherwise, she would be roiling with envy at the sight of all that collagen just being flaunted at her.
“Yes.” The boy is still talking in an obnoxious voice as he looks down his nose at her.Collagen, Mebel thinks,is wasted on youths.“I think you should go on and join them, Mebel.”
“And I think you should respect your elders!” Mebel snaps.
The boy’s mouth drops open.
“I can be your mother,” Mebel says. “And you sitting thereand calling me by my first name? Give me your mother telephone number. I am going to call her and tell her she needs to discipline you better.”
“I—uh—” He looks around at his seat mates, who are exchanging glances with one another, but none of them comes to his aid.
“Now, you all can call me Ms. Tanadi and we continue eating.” With that, Mebel picks up her fork and knife and begins to eat her chicken daintily. Really, what she would very much like to do is stab the piece of chicken to drive her point home, but she’s been a trophy wife for way too long to let go of her table manners.
The rest of the lunch resumes in silence. Mere minutes later, everyone at the table seems to have finished their food. Glances are exchanged, mouths are wiped, and one by one, they stand, retrieve their trays, and leave the table. Soon, Mebel is left all alone. She’s not delusional enough to fail to realize that she’s just been excluded, and the pain of this hits her unexpectedly hard. When was the last time Mebel had been rejected in a social setting?
Well, the last time would be Henk choosing to walk out on their marriage. But other than that, she really can’t think of another occasion where she was the one being excluded as opposed to being the one who was excluding someone. To be fair, though, Mebel has always prided herself on being inclusive. Whenever she plans functions, she makes sure to invite those who would normally have been left out. Because Mebel may be a queen bee, but she is not a cruel one. And so the fact that she is now being left out stings. She’s surprised by how humiliated she feels, how exposed, sitting all alone at this long table,painfully aware of the curious stares from the other students around her. Perhaps she shouldn’t have threatened to call the boy’s mother? But, no, she thinks. If Sammy were being rude to an elder, she would expect them to inform her about it so she could discipline him and tell him how he’s disappointing his ancestors.
Mebel has lost her appetite now. She stands, avoiding everyone’s eyes, and returns her tray to the collection table, then she walks out of the cafeteria, feeling everyone’s gaze crawling across her back like curious ants. To her credit, she manages to keep from bursting into a run. Outside, she locates the bathroom and locks herself in one of the stalls. She rests her face in her palms and counts her breaths. One, two…it’s okay. Three, four…these are just teething problems. Five, six…hasn’t she always managed to fit in? It’s one of her many gifts, the ability to integrate into most social situations and establish herself as an asset to the group instead of a liability.
After a few minutes of silent pep talk, Mebel finds enough strength to walk out of the stall. She splashes some cold water on her face and pats it dry before fluffing up her hair. Then she reaches into her handbag and pulls out her Chanel lipstick. She’s wearing number fifty-six today, because the bright red color gives her courage.
“You can do this,” she murmurs to herself as she stares into the mirror. “This is nothing. It’s just a silly class. A silly, silly class.”
But it isn’t just a silly class, is it?the hateful voice in her head says.It’s a class that’s supposed to win Henk back. So the stakes are very high. They’re not just you getting a good grade. The stakes are…well, you losing your marriage.
“I know,” Mebel says to the voice.
And also your access to money, which would mean you losing everything you hold dear.
“I know!” Mebel hisses to the voice.
The houses, the apartments, the incessant traveling in business class, the—
