The Candid Life of Meena Dave(57)

Zoe looked at her. “Not just a text; you have to flirt with him. If he flirts back, you must keep at it. For three months.”

“What’s the point?” Meena asked. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back in Boston. It’s not really fair to start something . . .”

“You are practicing,” Zoe said. “Not diving into a relationship. Just see what it’s like.”

Meena closed her eyes. The thought of flirting with Sam over text, she liked it. Too much.

“It’s not a big deal,” Zoe said. “Ask him about his dog, tell him about wherever you are. Send a selfie, ask for one back . . . I mean, you have interacted with the male species. It’s not that complicated.”

Meena chewed on a cuticle. “He did say he was interested in me.”

“There you go. He’s not an idiot,” Zoe said. “Do something about it.”

Meena stood and stretched. “I’ll think about it.”

“I’ve written it down in here,” Zoe argued. “This means you have to do it.”

“If you make it through all of your January cleanse.” Meena crossed her arms. “I’ll do it.”

“You’re not waiting until the end of January. And this time I will make it.”

Meena took the planner from Zoe. Flipped to where Zoe had written things out. “There’s one-year and five-year goals in here too.”

“We’ll fill those out after you finish this one.” Zoe stood. “I’m going to shower. You’re on salad duty.”

On impulse, Meena leaned in and gave Zoe a quick hug. She laughed when her friend stood there in shock.

“I’m practicing,” Meena said.

She went to the kitchen and thought about what she would say to Sam as a first text. “Happy New Year” felt a little too late. She chopped carrots and let herself think about him. His face was kind. She could hear the deep timbre of his voice. She thought of how sometimes he wore glasses, square black frames, and other times nothing blocked the deep-brown eyes. He touched easily, a gentle palm on top of her hand, the warmth of his skin on her arms as he tried to comfort her.

She didn’t deserve him. He was meant for someone as uncomplicated as he was. Not the internal mess Meena had made of her life. She put the chopped veggies in a bowl and cut a lemon in half. It was best to keep moving, to put him in a slot as a casual friend. Seoul was next, and she wouldn’t think beyond that.





CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO


Seoul. It was a young city built atop ancient culture. The city was uniform, organized with precision without sacrificing the past. Tall, gleaming structures sat alongside Buddhist temples. Hypertechnology was the marrow that allowed this city to overperform in education and conformity without sacrificing its traditions. It was a city of contrasts that fed off one another, the tensions not obvious.

It was the middle of the night, the bass thumping heavy under techno pop, giving the crowd on the dance floor a beat. Multicolored laser lights flashed in rhythm to the music as DJ Tyno mixed on a platform overseeing the party scene. Club NB was ranked one of the best clubs in the world. Located in the exclusive neighborhood of Gangnam, it was the mecca for K-pop fans around the world.

Meena snapped a few shots of women in tight dresses and shirtless men who switched from dancing to downing shots. Then she headed back to a table in the VIP section.

“This is where I feel most at home.” Kini, a woman with pink extensions, raised her glass of champagne. “It’s expensive, but I save up for nights like tonight.”

Meena took another photo of the group around the table. Five women from Chicago, LA, and San Diego had moved to Seoul recently. Their jobs were remote. They’d known each other for three years after meeting online as fans of the K-pop band BTS.

“Some people say we’re Koreaboo, like we’re too obsessed with Korean culture in a negative way.” Jennifer touched up her dark purple lipstick. “But it’s not like that. We’re fans of Korea, especially BTS, but we’re expats who want to be a part of this culture.”

Lauren, a paralegal, said with a thick Chicago accent, “I still vote in the US, and my family is there.”

Kini and Jada worked for Google; Jennifer and Tasha were in website development.

“OMG,” Jennifer screamed. She ran from the table to the railing to dance in her red heels and sleeveless white dress. “This is my favorite song.”

“She’s a V fan,” Kini explained. “He’s in BTS.”

Meena nodded and took photos of Jennifer singing into an imaginary mike. “Do you understand Korean?”

“I’m conversational in it.” Jada stopped singing to respond. “I started learning it a few years ago, as soon as I discovered K-pop. Living here, it’s gotten a lot better.”

Meena took notes along with photos. This was her last shoot for her Rolling Stone assignment on American women living in Korea, motivated by their love of K-pop. She’d been with these five women for a week, in their homes, at their workplaces, on dates with their Korean boyfriends, and out in clubs. In their late thirties, these women had found something they’d been missing. Permission.

“We’re not embarrassed or ashamed that we like a boy band,” Tasha said. “We own it. Like, who decided we had to outgrow our teenage selves? And let’s be clear, I’m not chasing boys. I love their music, yes, of course I find them sexy, but not in a way that’s icky. I have an age-appropriate boyfriend. And part of me is like, This is what I want to do, and you can suck it if you don’t like it. It’s like BTS gave me this confidence where I live on my own terms.”