All Plans Must Fail

His parents were upstairs talking to my parents in our modest living room.

Tea was served with biscuits and saltine crackers. The television was on, but no one was paying it any attention. Two small umbrellas stood guard by the door, in case it rained.

They were talking about something entirely not related to us. It could have been about politics, or the rising crime rate, or the new penghulu's drug-addict son. There were laughter and giggles and all-out cries for more laughter and giggles. My father was feeding on his mother’s jokes, jokes about newlyweds and honeymoons and first-night fumbles, and his father fanned my mother to laugh out even louder.

The rattling of their jewelry, hanging down from their necks, sounded like a train crossing.

My younger sisters had earlier been chased out of the house so as to not to embarrass themselves in front of the honored guests. Father had finally washed his 1986 Corolla. Mother had changed all of the old curtains in the house. I made myself presentable as best as I could without making it appear too obvious.

"Would you like some coffee?" I offered him.
"Uh, yes, please. But half a cup, thank you."

My voice had startled him. I am sorry, sayang, I did not mean to. But you should cut back on your silent ponderings. It is not good for you. It is not good for us. You should change that habit.

Slowly, I poured the hot coffee into his cup until he gestured to me with his hand to stop. I rested the pot onto the stove and I nestled down next to him on the small dining table to serve him a saucer full of curry puffs that I learned to make that morning to impress his mother.

"Try one,” I whispered, pushing the saucer towards him. “I made these myself. Just for you."

He hesitantly picked one, and he took a small, careful bite out of it, and pastry crumbs immediately rained down onto his work pants like dry, flailing snow flakes.

"Oh, your pants!"

“No, no. It’s fine, it’s just a little... I’ll dust them off myself”, he assured me, as he politely brushed my hands away from his littered thighs. I told him that “It’s okay, sayang, just dust them off to the floor, I will sweep the floor afterwards.”

He looked up and he saw his mother looking down, checking on us both in the kitchen.

He quickly looked away.

His mother smiled when I made eye contact with her. I returned her caring smile in kind as I offered his son another round of coffee. He politely refused by saying that he was still okay. Carefully, he drew his mouth close to the cup and he took a quick sip of the hot coffee and he quickly savored it, his lips trembling, his eyes down.

My fiancé held the warm cup in his hands like he was holding on for dear life.