My aunt handed me a rough, mustard-yellow dress made of coarse stiff polyester and told me I was wearing it to the Senior Heritage Gala.
I sat on my bed, the mustard dress draped over a chair, while Kevin paced my small room. The letters lay spread out on my desk, tangible proof of our mother’s foresight and Aunt Coi’s deception.
“We can’t just rip it open yet,” Kevin insisted, running a hand through his hair. “It has to be at the right time. For maximum impact.”
His pragmatic approach clashed with my urge to tear off the hideous casing immediately. But I knew he was right. This was bigger than just my humiliation.
Just then, Aunt Coi paid a visit to our father’s dry-cleaning shop. The hum of the industrial machines filled the small space, usually a soothing rhythm. Today, it felt like a heavy weight.
She arrived with a plastic container of her famous spring rolls, a calculated gesture of peace. Minh, weary from a long day, offered her a cup of tea.
“Minh,” Aunt Coi began, her voice low, but carrying across the shop floor. “I’ve been hearing things. About Chloe.”
Minh flinched, his shoulders tensing. He knew about the whispers at the community center, the coldness from my peers.
“Just teenage drama, Coi,” he said, trying to wave it off.
Aunt Coi shook her head, her expression one of deep concern. “No, Minh. This isn’t just drama. This is disrespect. To our heritage. To our family.”
She paused, taking a delicate sip of her tea. “You know, this shop, Minh… it’s a good business. Our family relies on it.”
Minh nodded, wiping his hands on a clean towel. He had poured his life into this business since arriving in the US.
“I’m glad your sister, Lien, helped you get started,” Aunt Coi continued, a subtle twist of the knife. “And I have always supported you.”
Minh’s gaze drifted to the framed photos on the counter: Lien, beaming, me as a baby.
“But a business needs stability, Minh,” Aunt Coi pressed, her voice becoming firmer. “And reputation. Any hint of… scandal, or public defiance, especially from family…”
She let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished. Then she delivered the real blow.
“You know my name is still on this commercial lease, Minh,” she said, her eyes fixed on his. “It helps keep the rent low, a favor I provide. But if there’s any disruption from Chloe at the Gala, any scene… if she refuses to wear the dress I selected in front of the community…”
Minh’s blood ran cold.
“I would have no choice,” Aunt Coi finished, her voice hardening, “but to terminate the lease immediately. Think about that, Minh. Your livelihood. Our family’s honor.”
Minh’s hands, usually so steady with fabric, visibly trembled. He pictured the shop empty, the machines silent, his life’s work gone. It wasn’t just about me anymore. It was about everything.
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