Elias nodded, holding me tighter. “Exactly. He always says he’s grateful for my mom, but I think he also resents the situation. When he’s really low, he becomes obsessed with the idea that he’s dying, and my mom either believes it or goes along with it to appease him. It’s a vicious cycle.” He gave a tired sigh. “That’s part of the reason why I deferred from Columbia. I didn’t want to leave her to deal with it on her own. My sister was living in Kenya for a few years and just came back. With her around, my mom has more support, and I can go to New York.”
That explained so much. I wanted to say more to ease his mind, but I had no idea what, if anything, could help. Still, I had to say something. “I know it may not be of much comfort now, but I think you made the right decision. This is too big of a chance to pass up, and you’ve earned it.”
He looked a bit unsure, but he bent his head to kiss me anyway. After a moment, he jumped as if something had startled him, then lifted his arm to look at his watch. “We have to hurry, or we will miss dinner with the group.”
I tightened my arms around his neck and groaned. “I don’t want to move, and I really don’t want to go listen to Sam droning on about how amazing he is.”
Elias laughed and squeezed me hard. “I know, but now that we’re roommates, the faster we get done with dinner, the faster we can come back, and I can show you how Ethiopians make up.”
That perked me up fast, and soon I was out of the bed and rifling through my bag for my shaving kit.
Elias just looked at me, amused. “Finally, Bonnie’s utter inability to make a proper reservation has reaped some benefits.”
Chapter 23
Once Elias and I sorted things out, it was like a fog had been lifted. We worked hard on that second survey, taking only a couple of days off the entire time. During the day we crisscrossed southern Ethiopia gathering data, and in the evenings, Elias and I slept in each other’s arms as if we’d been doing it for years. Now we were on our way back to Addis, and my time in Ethiopia felt like it was slipping through my fingers.
After almost two months I was down to my last ten days, which I would use to work on cleaning up the data we’d gathered, and then I was taking some time to travel around. We’d discussed Elias coming with me, but he had a lot to work out for his departure to the States, which included coming out to his family. He didn’t have much time to do it, either. His advisor at Columbia had requested he arrive early so he could assist with a seminar over the summer. Elias had to be in New York City in six weeks at the latest.
As for me, I still had no idea what I was going to do. We hadn’t talked about it explicitly, but given the conversations of the past few weeks, it was clear that we were both focusing on our separate plans and not wanting to write anything in stone when it came to us. It wasn’t for lack of wanting, though. I was itching to say reckless shit, tell him I loved him, that even if I ended up going back to DC, I still wanted to try to be together, but I didn’t want to muddy the already-complicated waters of his departure with my neediness.
“Konjo.” Elias’s soft voice brought me out of my thoughts, and I looked out the window to realize we were almost at my guesthouse. “What were you thinking? You looked very serious.”
I shook my head, forcing myself to let go of all the worrying for now. “Oh, just making a mental list of all the things I need to get done before I leave. But I guess I’ll just figure it all out while I’m in the office. It’ll be hard to say goodbye to Tsehay and Bonnie,” I said regretfully. “You’d think after years of doing this it would get easier. But there’s something about doing this kind of work. People bond fast and strong.”
He nodded in understanding and squeezed my knee gently. “First, we go on our hike to Entoto tomorrow. Then we can worry about the future.”
The lump in my throat didn’t let me respond with words, but I ran my hand over his thigh freely now that it was just the two of us in the truck—and I hoped that was answer enough.
We drove into the parking lot of the guesthouse in a comfortable silence, and within minutes I was standing in the lobby unsure of how to say goodbye after weeks of touching him until I had my fill.
He smiled at me, his hands in his pockets. “I have to spend the evening with my parents.”
I looked up at him, trying hard return the smile, despite the ache of the moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, right?”
He beamed at the mention of the hike. I knew he was excited to show me another one of his favorite spots in the land he loved so much. “I’ll be here at 8:00 a.m. Have a good night, konjo.”
He leaned in, and for a moment my breath caught in the way it did whenever he was about to kiss me. The anticipation was not a bit less electric even after so many of them. But he caught himself in time and raised a hand to me instead. His eyes were remorseful, and I mirrored his gesture as he turned to go.
The next morning Elias drove us up to Entoto on a paved road that ended across from a large Ethiopian orthodox church about halfway up the mountain. The church was stunning. Built in the shape of
