Chapter Two
You’ve got this, Dani Tsai. Today, you become the master of your fate.
I repeat this mantra in my head and take a deep, slow breath to calm my nerves.
I’ve been buzzing with excitement all morning, picturing a version of myself three months from now, eating street food in Myeongdong and volcano hiking on Mount Bromo.
I hum a tune to myself as I minimize an article on my laptop and run a Google search for popular cafés in Seoul.
Adagio magazine, my daily grind for the last three years, feels brighter than ever.
The offices occupy the top floor of a building on Union Square, and the view of the park below looks renewed today.
New York in the fall is already a sight to behold, but this morning, even the dead leaves have luster.
I find a subdued melody in the keyboard clicks and murmurs of my colleagues.
Everything is putting me in a good mood.
And I love this place because it’s where I met my coworker Charlotte, and Charlotte is about to change my life, potentially.
They say if you can imagine a scenario, it already exists somewhere in the multiverse.
I’ve never been remarkably lucky in my native one, but I think this time, it’s finally throwing me a bone.
Last week, Charlotte told me about a job opportunity at Modrix, a trendy online publication.
They’re looking for a correspondent who will globe-trot across Asia and write a dedicated column with features and travel tips.
It’s a contract position, but I’d get to travel for half a year and write about my adventures in Shanghai, Ho Chi Minh City, or Kuala Lumpur.
Charlotte has an in with the editor and set me up with an interview today.
I like my current job as a copy editor. I really do.
Adagio is a “slow journalism” magazine focused on delivering news at an unrushed, meaningful pace.
The content is sincere and thought-provoking, and most importantly for my Asia plans, the publications are quarterly.
My boss, Lindsay, has approved the potential contract gig, as long as I can still work remotely to meet deadlines. I promised her I’d manage.
I’ve never asked the universe for much—I’ve been careful about that.
For all the spoils the hand of fate may bestow, I also know what it’s capable of taking.
Moving to New York was the one and only selfish act I asked the universe to bless.
After ten years in the city with a remarkably quiet life, I don’t think it would count as overstepping if I manifested the correspondent position now. I’m allowed to want this.
“Ready for the big interview?” Savannah pops over to my desk like a living exclamation, long-limbed and striking in her red pantsuit. She always looks like she got lost on her way to interview for Vogue and ended up with us instead. I’m sure Condé Nast would still take her.
“I think so.”
“Don’t be modest. You’ve already started on your itinerary, haven’t you?”
With a sheepish smile, I turn my laptop around.
“I’m so excited for you!”
“Let me guess: Dani found a new PBS documentary and is in for a wild weekend!” Tae-woo slumps into the desk chair next to mine.
I’m pretty sure his suit is new. And his watch.
With a penchant for the finer things, he lives his life with his settings configured to two modes: expensive and unbothered.
Tae-woo thought my name was Daniella when I started at Adagio, and when I informed him that he was only half correct, he called me Ella for two months.
“Even better. If I play my cards right, I can get two men to fly me around the world.” I waggle my brows impishly. He doesn’t bite. “I’m kidding, it’s a job interview.”
“Ah.” He gives a cursory nod as he scrolls on his tablet. I can tell he doesn’t find me compelling. “Ugh, Lindsay finally got back to me on my Pierre Gagnaire feature. She said bringing it to the editors now would be like ‘passing at the one-yard line.’ What the hell does that even mean?”
“She’s saying it’s pointless,” I tell him. “The one-yard line is one yard from the end zone, right before the touchdown. I think the Seahawks tried that at the Super Bowl, and it cost them the win.”
Savannah cocks her head. “I didn’t know you were into football.”
“I’m not,” I say, resuming my Google search. “Football was a pretty big deal at my high school, that’s all.”
“Dani!” a singsong voice calls, and I spot Charlotte, my beautiful beacon of hope, rushing over. Her blonde curls bounce like a shampoo ad. “The Modrix guys got us a table at Picotea tonight! I’m so excited. I’ve been trying to get a res for weeks!”
I tap a finger against my chin. “Is that one owned by an oil heiress, a reality TV star, or an influencer?”
“Knicks player,” Tae-woo interjects.
Charlotte puffs air through her nose. “I’ve had my res canceled three times because some athlete with VIP status always gets priority over me.”
“Tonight?” Savannah repeats. “What kind of interview is scheduled after work hours?”
“Um, well, since the editor is a friend of mine, he and his associate agreed to meet Dani over dinner. Think of it like a casual business meeting. I’ll be there too—you know, to talk you up.” Charlotte beams, green eyes flitting over me. “You’re going to change, right?”
I glance down at my go-to office fit, a blazer and straight-leg pants. “What’s wrong with this?”
She makes a disapproving sound, and I catch Savannah rolling her eyes.
Her theory is that because Charlotte shares a name with a character from Sex and the City, she believes she’s destined to climb New York’s social ladder.
She’s also infinitely more interested in her Instagram feed than the lives of her coworkers, so her enthusiasm does strike me as odd.
But I blow past the thought. Even Charlotte must have a yearly quota for acts of good will.
“Fine, I’ll change.”
“Do something with your hair too. Give some life to that thing,” Tae-woo says, like he’s tagged in for a jab at me, and a little too eagerly at that.
Savannah purses her lips. “It might help if you curled it.”
I pull a face at them and grab for the compact in my purse.
I’ve had the same hair and makeup routine since college: minimal effort, quick enough to get me to morning classes on time.
Sure, I immediately fade to the background next to my peers who treat Tuesdays like the Met Gala, but it’s never been my desire to stand out anyway.
If anything, it’s kind of fun to be in the position of admirer, to hear the echoes of wow when Savannah steps onto the 6 train—although I do wonder sometimes what it’d be like if once, just once, a man were to look at me and think the same thing.
“And don’t wear your reading glasses.” Tae-woo is still picking me apart like an article he’s been assigned. “I know you think they make you look smart, but they don’t.”
“He means your eyes are your best feature,” Savannah adds mercifully. Sharp and pretty, like a cat, C? used to say.
“Okay, relax, everyone. It’s an interview, not a date.” I look over to Charlotte. “So, meet at seven?”
She’s on her phone, already mentally checked out. “Hm? Oh, yeah.”
I have some time after work to get changed before the interview.
I’m jittery the entire subway ride to Brooklyn, and once I’m above ground, I sprint to my apartment, expertly weaving among the swarm of bodies on the sidewalk.
From the Columbia dorms to a fifth-floor walk-up in Sunset Park, I’ve seen many a New York rental before landing in a studio in Bed-Stuy.
On a day when my legs have the endurance of jelly, I’ve never been so grateful to live in an elevator building.
As I browse my closet frantically, my phone dings with an email alert.
The body is simply a link to an article, “101 Tips for a Successful Job Interview,” with the prefilled signature James Tsai, Data Engineer, AWS Certified Data Engineer—Associate.
Before I can type a reply, Dad is already calling me.
“I sent you something you should read before your interview.”
Do I have the time or mental capacity to read all 101 bullet points before tonight? Definitely not, but I lie. “Sure, Dad.”
“Have you eaten yet?”
“Not yet. I’m meeting the editors for dinner.”
“Right, you mentioned that.” He sounds distracted, and from the rhythmic tapping of a keyboard, I can tell he’s in his home office. “Don’t get home too late—and don’t take a rideshare, they’re not safe.”
It’s the kind of comment you’d expect an Asian parent to make to a twenty-eight-year-old who left the nest a decade ago.
It’s also never stopped me from ordering an Uber before, but he doesn’t need to know that.
I’ve learned to pick my battles by now and don’t need to think twice to reply, “Okay, Dad.”
“If you get the job, will you go to Taiwan too?”
This question, however, gives me pause. There are two topics my father would rather sidestep forever than talk about directly: my love life, and my mother.
From a young age, I learned to read between the lines with him, and right now, that space in between is asking, Are you planning to see your mom?
“I don’t know yet,” I say, truthfully. I tap the speaker icon on the screen so I can open the LINE app on my phone.
I downloaded it solely to keep in contact with Mom, since it’s the preferred messaging platform in Taiwan.
The last time she reached out was a couple of months ago, to show me a mural she’d painted for the Banqiao 435 Art Zone in New Taipei.
My limited Mandarin could only produce so many synonyms for amazing in reaction to the vivid city skyline and banyan trees.
“If you go . . .” He hesitates.