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.