“Ah, good for safety!” Winston remarked.

“You would know, lah, if you have your own seh kia!” Auntie Choo Neo retorted.

“Ma! Enough already. I told you that we are not interested in children! How many times already?”

“Or you cannot!”

“We can, Ma. But please, stop.” Winston turned to John and me in the back seat. “Anyway! You all must be hungry. My driver in the other car is taking your things back home, and I’ll take you for lunch. Lily, Ma told me you like kolo mee and karipap. I’ll take you to Menglait, Gadong. Veronica is already waiting for us there.”

John elbowed me and mouthed, karipap?

I whispered, “Curry puffs.”

John nodded knowingly.

“My favourites. I can’t wait!” I said, smiling.

Luckily, I had taken the diaper bag as we watched the other SUV drive off with the rest of our things. The air conditioning was welcome, but it soon turned the vehicle into a fridge, and I was glad that I had the muslin baby blanket to wrap around my shoulders.

Winston parked his car in front of a strip mall and ushered us into a small restaurant teeming with people. We met Winston’s wife, Veronica, who was already waiting for us at a table. He shouted something in Malay to the staff, and nods were exchanged. Winston turned to John. “You can handle spicy?”

“I love spicy,” John said.

In minutes, the table was filled with all kinds of food. Flaky, puff pastry filled with potato and curried ground meat sat on a plate in the middle of the table. I had always thought Father mangled the name curry puffs because of his accent, but when I heard Winston order them, he said them exactly the same way: karipap. As I bit into one, I relished the crispy coating and made a mental note to apologize to Father for insisting he was pronouncing the name wrong all these years.

My mouth watered as I looked down at my kolo mee, a Sarawak dish of dried noodles tossed in a savoury pork and shallot mixture. But I also coveted Auntie Choo Neo’s curry laksa. Her noodles were wrapped around the tiger prawns, balancing on the fish cakes, poking out of the coconut milk and lemongrass broth, taunting me. Veronica saw me eyeing it and prodded Winston to order me a bowl. Now I had two lunches in front of me. John asked if he could try my laksa and Winston interjected, “I ordered you one already, lah!” The entire table erupted in laughter.

A young woman my age walked into the restaurant, jet-black hair straightened to perfection. Her nails were manicured, and she was carrying a luxury Birkin bag on her arm. Her butterfly-sleeved, navy shift dress fit her like a glove, and she was in impeccable shape. It was like she had walked out of a magazine. She sat down at the table next to us and motioned to her Filipino helper to sit next to her with the baby in her arms. She reached over and stroked her child’s cheek, and then greeted another woman entering the restaurant who also looked stylish and fresh. I glanced at the baby again. She could not have been much younger than Leo.