“MJ!” he crowed, his shoulders now moving to the music.
He swiveled his head, emulating Michael, and started singing along a bit faster than the version from the Civil Wars. Before I could overthink it, I started to sing along too, the intensity of the previous moment left behind.
We belted out the lyrics as we drove through the Ethiopian countryside, and for the first time since I’d landed, I thought this trip might have been exactly what I needed.
Chapter 3
We listened to the rest of the playlist, singing along when the inspiration hit us, and when it finished, Elias turned to me for a second. “You’re our official DJ now. Do you have more music from them?”
I shook my head regretfully, already finding it hard to deny Elias anything. “Nope, they stopped making music together a few years ago. Sounds like they didn’t get along.”
His face turned serious again. “Sometimes, creating something so beautiful it ends up using up all the joy you get from it.”
“Yeah,” I said with a sigh, feeling once again like everything Elias said seemed to come from some deep and wise place. Every word deliberate. It was unnerving. I didn’t think I could handle that level of depth if the conversation veered toward me. I sank into the seat of the car, considering what he’d said, and it hurt a little.
I’d never made anything beautiful with someone else. I was always so eager to “make a connection.” So busy finding ways to be noticed or liked by others that I forgot to think about whether we were even a good match. Exhibit A was the disaster with my ex, Miguel.
We’d met at a bar in DC just a few weeks after he’d started a master’s program at American University. I’d been working at Aid USA headquarters. He was smart, funny, and sexy as hell, and I fell fast. But it wasn’t just the sex. Not for me, at least. He was also Dominican, and we’d talked for hours on end about our common roots.
Being born and raised all over the world, I’d always been fascinated by mother’s homeland. She had a complicated relationship with her country. We never really visited, and she wasn’t very close to her family, but she loved it, and spoke of it passionately. Even now, almost forty years after leaving the DR to go the States for school, she’d still cry when certain songs that reminded her of home came on the radio.
Miguel, on the other hand, did not do complicated. He’d come to the States for school, but loved his life in the DR. I never stopped to think that meant he was just having a bit of fun with me, and never planned to stick around. When I asked him what we’d been doing for the past two years, he’d looked at me in astonishment and said, “Fucking.”
And in the end, he was right. He’d never promised me anything. He constantly talked about how much he missed his comfortable upper-middle-class life in the DR. How he could go back to a job that paid him enough to live like a king, while in the States he would have to do the grind like everyone else.
I mean, yeah, he was a two-timing bastard who kept his girlfriend in the DR on the side the whole time we dated. But I’d had every opportunity to see the writing on the wall. To notice he just nodded distractedly whenever I talked about the future. I’d ignored all of it and pressed on. I didn’t even have the strength to hate him now. I was too fucking exhausted from carrying our relationship single-handedly for two years.
That train of thought put me back in a funk, and to make things worse, I started feeling guilty about not emailing Lucía to let her know I got in okay. I had to call her tonight or tomorrow morning because she was probably ready to roll out the search party.
I tried to get out of my head and turned to Elias, who’d been driving and listening to the Bob Marley playlist I’d switched to while I’d brooded. “Hey? Is it seven or eight hours’ difference to the East Coast? I know there’s a change during Daylight Savings Time, but I can’t remember how it goes.”
“We’re eight hours ahead of DC. We always have to keep that straight, since we have so many people travelling through here from headquarters. Sometimes they’ve been to so many countries in a single trip they have no idea what time zone they’re in when they arrive.”
I nodded, relating strongly to that feeling. “I’ve been there, and thanks.” I grabbed my phone, ready to switch up the music if he wanted something different. “Are you okay with this, or do you want me to change it?”
He shook his head and smiled, facing the road. “I can always listen to Bob.”
I could not argue with that. “Me too.”
After a moment he spoke again. “We’ll stop for lunch at Lake Langano soon. It’s one of the bigger lakes in the Rift Valley, and there are a few hotels around it with nice restaurants.”
I nodded excitedly, grateful for the distraction. “I can’t wait. I’ve been reading about the lakes. What kind of Nile perch should I get at the restaurant?”
“Fish goulash,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. Elias certainly knew what he liked.
“Like the soup?” I asked in surprise.
He lifted a shoulder, his face amused. “It’s more like fried fish in a tomato-based sauce, which you eat with injera.” The of course was left unsaid, and I found myself grinning again.
“Naturally, it would involve injera,” I deadpanned, eliciting a sexy laugh. “But why goulash? That isn’t an Amharic word. Also, more injera is fine with me. I could eat it all day, every day.”
He laughed again, still focused on the road. “I’m not sure where goulash came from, but that’s what it’s been
