Love Interest(97)

I read four books in four days. Some meals I eat at restaurant bars—which hasn’t bothered me since my college days—and some I take to go so I can eat in bed with the TV for company. I email Gran to let her know I’m in town (I omit telling her I’ve moved here; that will probably go over better in person).

Did you download Bumble BFF yet??? Join a gym? Employee resource group?? Meet a kind stranger in a bookstore? Miriam texts me.

Give me some time to miss human interaction and then we’ll see, I text back.

On Friday, I have lunch with my new boss, Sinclair Austin (who I am not going to idolize beyond human fallibility the way I idolized Tracy). But despite my best efforts, I like her instantly. She has blue streaks in her black hair and is curvy, short, and engaged to be married to a woman named Austin (ha). She doesn’t even make fun of me when I mispronounce items on the café menu.

After we eat, she takes me on a tour of our office building, shows me the desk I’ll be claiming after orientation next Monday.

“What’s your first impression of the city?” she asks.

I smile at her, internally cataloging that Brits call London “the city” the same way New Yorkers call Manhattan “the city.” I’m gathering details one at a time to flesh this place out until I know it enough to call it home.

But I really, genuinely mean it when I tell her, “I think I’ve fallen in love. Again.”

London is cleaner than Manhattan, and much more sprawling. The beer isn’t pretentious, and the food is comforting—which will probably get tiresome but right now is exactly the vibe I need. Every block is steeped in centuries, giving the atmosphere a kind of transcendence. In fact, the only flaw I can hold to the city isn’t the city’s fault at all: if I had to assign London a feeling, it couldn’t be anything other than lovesick.

Sinclair is walking me to the front elevators when I spot a directory.

Archives: Floor 12.

“The Take Me There archives are kept here?” I ask. I had assumed they were all at the flagship office.

“Yes,” she confirms. “We’ve got every issue ever printed, all digitized.”

Like a broken record, my heart starts to skip. “Can I go?”

“Sure.” Sinclair shrugs. “You’ve got your badge now. Be my guest.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, calling the elevator.

This is some seriously masochistic behavior. Because whether I find Charlotte Yoon down there or not, it’s going to wreck me either way. But the pain has started to fade to numbness, and I’m not ready to feel numb when I think of Alex yet.

The archivist is a gray-haired cottage fairy, helpful as ever as she takes down the name I request and my best guess for when Charlotte may have started writing for the magazine. My hopes aren’t high. The woman disappears and leaves me at the front desk. The longer she’s gone, the farther my hopes fall. I sit down and bounce my knee, biting my lip until it bleeds.

“Well then,” the archivist says. “I’ve got some photocopies for you.”

I stand shakily, hands outstretched.

Nine. There are nine of them. All written by Alex’s mom.

“Can I stay and read for a minute?” I ask.

The archivist smiles. “Of course, dear.”

I sit back down, leafing through the articles. THE BEST HOTEL IN EACH DISTRICT OF SEOUL, AND HOW TO CHOOSE ONE. TIPPING ETIQUETTE IN THE 10 MOST POPULOUS COUNTRIES. PLANNING YOUR VACATION BASED ON FOREIGN EXCHANGE RATES.

EVERY THOUGHT YOU’LL HAVE WHEN YOU MOVE ABROAD ALONE.

I cannot believe this is real. And I also can’t believe my tear ducts haven’t declared a state of emergency based on drought. But when I start to read, the tears just flow. Because it’s not only Alex’s mom I feel with me right now. Mine is here, too.

It’s going to start with being overwhelmed and underwhelmed at the exact same time. Maybe you get lost on public transportation. Maybe you spot a spider in the corner the first night you move in. Or possibly, you overhear a couple having a fight about something totally ordinary. It’s going to humanize the place, demystify it from the version you built up in your head. And somehow, you’re going to think, This city is kind of a letdown, but also more enchanting than it was before. I can’t explain what I mean, but when you feel it, you’ll feel it.

At some point, you’re going to cry. Just trust me on this one. Maybe it’s because you’re trying to raise a toddler, or brokenhearted (or both, in my case). Maybe it’s because you’re leaving something important behind where you came from. Maybe it’s because you cannot find the right diapers to save your life. Whatever the reason, just cry, and don’t hold back if you’re in public. Nobody knows you yet, and I promise it’s cathartic.

Things are looking up now, right? You’ve mostly figured out how to get around, and you’ve nailed down all your “spots”: coffee, takeout, groceries, where to get pesticide. That one tourist attraction—the one you were worried might be oversold in all the travel guides—is actually stunning after all, and you’ve learned the main turns of phrase the locals use.

Hear me out. You’ll regress a little when you get lonely. And without a doubt, you are going to get lonely. It will feel like everyone around you has a fleshed-out life, and you’re only pretending to be a full human for a handful of hours per day.