Dragon Chica by May-lee Chai

Author:May-lee Chai
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: GemmaMedia
Published: 2011-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

Red Lobster

For Sourdi’s engagement party to Mr. Chhay, Mr. Chhay insisted on treating us all at the Red Lobster in Sioux City, Iowa. He rented the entire restaurant just for the occasion.

There wasn’t an official announcement in the town paper with a photograph of them smiling, Sourdi leaning on his shoulder like all the other brides-to-be, on account of Sourdi being underage. But Ma said it was official all the same; her word made it so. And this party did, too, apparently, even though it was conveniently located in another state. At any rate, Ma said everything would be fine by the time they were to be married in the summer after Sourdi’s sixteenth birthday. The wedding was legal then. Ma said she’d asked around.

There were lots of strange people at the party. They were strangers to us, but they also were strange. In addition to some of the Gangsters from Omaha—I recognized Uncle Chapeau and Big Nose—there were a lot of girls with super long nails painted with elaborate designs: the American flag, stripes, flowers, spiders, and even letters that spelled out S-U-P-E-R-S-E-X-X-Y when one of them held all her fingers out. Apparently these were employees at Mr. Chhay’s series of nail salons. They brought their boyfriends along too, thick-necked Asian guys with too much gel in their hair and lots of tattoos. (One poor soul had the word “Star Boy” emblazoned on his bicep.) They reminded me of the gangbangers we used to see in East Dallas.

Mr. Chhay gave a long speech into a microphone set up at the front of the restaurant about how everyone here was like family to him. And that’s why he wanted to introduce us, his new family, and share his joy. Then he pointed to all of us and called out our names, and Ma made us stand up one by one as Mr. Chhay’s bored looking family-like employees clapped very carefully so as not to spoil their nails.

Then it was buffet time. I could tell Ma was casing the competition, trying a little of everything to figure out the recipes so she could introduce them on the Palace’s menu. Later I saw her talking to one of the waiters, a white girl with a long brown ponytail. Ma was pointing at various items on her plate, and the girl nodded or shook her head accordingly as Ma tried to figure out which items were most popular with the regular customers.

Mr. Chhay had gone all out for this party. Not only had he invited every single person he knew in America, it seemed, but he’d also rented a karaoke machine and deejay, who told jokes between the songs. All the strangers had a turn, singing mostly country western tunes but some in Khmer, too, while blurry images of Angkor Wat and jungles showed behind them on the portable screen. Even Sam asked to take a turn, choosing to belt out “Fight for your right to paaarty!” while dancing around the floor

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