Elias chuckled at my horrible attempt at telling him he was clever in Amharic. I looked down, trying not to make too much of the change in the mood. Trying not to ruin it by doing something that was unwelcome.
Then I felt Elias’s fingers caress the side of my face. I pushed into his touch, almost ready to sob from the contact. I missed his hands on me. His warmth. The way he was firm and gentle at the same time. Elias’s touch made everything so much simpler.
“Elias,” I said, breathlessly as our eyes locked.
“Can I kiss you, konjo?”
I didn’t answer, just stood and climbed onto his lap. He immediately grabbed me roughly.
“Desta.” My name coming out of his mouth sounded like a prayer. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.” I pushed my body against his, holding his face between my hands before going in for a kiss. Our tongues tangled together, bodies pressed tightly. I rocked my hips against him, and I could feel him harden. I reveled at being able to touch him like this. To run my hands over his warm skin. To feel him react to me.
I shuddered out a breath as I pulled back for some air. Elias’s fingers were digging into my flesh like he never wanted to let me go. I laid my head on his shoulder, pressing my lips to his neck. “I’m sorry I pushed you away.”
He shook his head as he moved us, dislodging me from his lap for a moment so we could move farther up the bed. He sat with his back to the headboard and I climbed right back on his lap, huffing as I got comfortable again. “This is where I want to be.”
He laughed, but then his face got serious again. “Konjo, next time you’re feeling like you want some distance, please tell me what you’re thinking first. At least give me the chance to decide for myself.”
I nodded, rattled by how scared I’d been when I thought I’d done something unforgivable. Elias had made such a huge decision this week: he was going to leave his country, the people he loved, and everything he knew, in the hope of finding a place where he could be himself. “You’re so brave. I wish I could be that strong.”
He squeezed me tight as I spoke. “You are brave. Look at what you’ve done, the work you do all over the world. Going to places so far away without hesitation and doing hard things. Coming here because it was important to your father and your mother. All those things are brave.”
I shrugged off his compliments. “It doesn’t feel brave. It feels like hiding. The longer I avoid telling my mother I don’t want to do this work anymore, the longer I avoid dealing with the possibility that maybe social work in the States won’t fulfill me either. That I’m not suited for any of this.”
Elias leaned back so he could look at me. “I’ve been working for Aid USA for almost five years and I’ve seen dozens of international consultants come through here. None of them have been as respectful and thoughtful in doing their work as you. All the local staff have mentioned how much they’ve liked working with you.”
My chest warmed at his words and the sincerity with which he said them. “Thank you for that.”
“You’re welcome, but it’s the truth.”
We held each other for a while longer, and I looked at him again. “Is your dad really doing better?” Since the chat with Tsehay the other night, I’d wondered if there was more going on that I didn’t know.
The way Elias brought me closer to him before he spoke told me I was right. “My dad has severe anxiety. It’s always been manageable—with its ups and downs, of course—but his heart condition in recent years has really exacerbated it. When he’s very stressed, he starts feeling ill, and then becomes terrified he’s dying. We take him to the hospital so he can get checked out.”
I took one of the hands he’d fastened across my chest and held it. “That can’t be easy for any of you.”
He lifted a shoulder, his face resigned. “There’s a lot of stigma around mental illness here, so he won’t even consider getting help for any of it.” He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “The ironic part is that it’s my profession, you know? I could help him get some care, but he says people will think he’s crazy or weak.”
I nodded sadly. “I can’t imagine how hard it is for you to see your dad suffer like that,” I said, looking up at his face, which had been happy a minute ago and now was marred with worry. “Things are changing in the States, but there is still a lot to do when it comes to mental illness. It’s not taken nearly as seriously as it should be. Society acts like it’s just something people should be able to ‘get over.’ It’s fucking ridiculous.”
Elias exhaled, and I could feel the tension in his shoulders. “It’s affected my family a lot. My dad is a pianist, but he stopped working or making music when I was in elementary school. Said he couldn’t do it anymore.” He shrugged, but I could tell how all this weighed on him. “My mom supported the family, for the most part. It’s too hard for him to stay in a job, so he feels useless because he doesn’t contribute financially to the home, though none of us care about that. He took great care of us growing up while my mom worked, but it’s hard for him to see that.”
I listened to him as I ran my hands up and down his thighs, which were on either side of mine, wanting to ease what was clearly painful for him. “I imagine there’s also the issue of the expectation for him to go to work and provide for
