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.”