As I’m leaving, I nearly forget to remove the slides. Practice, I remind myself. I’ll get it in time. Back in the bedroom, I trade my sweatpants for a pair of jeans and a pale pink knit shirt that I bought at H&M. It’s a little chilly out so I find my favorite oversize cardigan sweater and shrug it on. Finally, I pull out my phone again. Flopping backward onto the mattress, I text Mom.

ME: I’m at the rental. It’s nice. Looks like the pictures.

Because I know she’s going to want a proof of life, I take a selfie and then a few snaps of the room. Mom’s reply comes so swiftly that I feel guilty for not sending her a message earlier.

MOM: Thank goodness. How is the neighborhood? Is it safe?

ME: There are a thousand steps to get to the apartment. If I was a criminal, I’d choose an easier victim.

MOM: ?? Are you saying it looks dangerous? Should I book a hotel?

ME: Kidding. Bad joke. Lots of stairs. No criminals spotted.

MOM: Don’t joke about your safety. You’re thousands of miles away. I worry about you!

ME: I know. Sorry.

If I tell the car story back home, Mom cannot ever hear of it. She’d lock me in my childhood bedroom and throw away the key.

MOM: Is everyone nice?

My mind immediately flits to Yujun.

ME: Very

MOM: I’m happy then. You must be exhausted. Get something to eat and then go to bed. Call me in the morning! I love you.

ME: I love you too

I allow myself one last minute of lying on the bed before pushing to my feet. Let me get some food inside my body and then I’ll rest. I make my way to a small outdoor patio off the kitchen, where Anna, Jules, and one other girl are seated around a small table a foot off the ground. In the middle of the table rests a grill. The redolent smell of caramelized meat travels at lightning speed into my nose and down to my stomach. It rumbles loudly as introduction.

“Climb on up,” Anna instructs, patting a yellow cushion beside her. “You’re in time for some samgyeopsal.”

“I have no idea what that is but it smells amazing.” I cross my legs and scoot close to the table.

“It’s pork belly. You’ll love it. Our chef tonight is Mel. Mel, this is Hara Wilson from—”

“Iowa,” I supply.

Anna snaps her fingers. “I knew it was one of those vowel states. She’s renting Sara’s room for the next two weeks.”

Mel waves her tongs in the air. “Hey. Here for work or fun?”

“Fun,” I say because I don’t want to launch into a long explanation of why I’m here. “I have friends here,” I add. It’s not a complete tale. Boyoung is a friend. Yujun from Seoul was very friendly and so he counts, too—at least for this argument.

“Awesome.” Mel reaches across the table and places a piece of meat on my plate.