Finding Joy: A Gay Romance

by Adriana Herrera

  Elias’s back went up at that and I knew I’d said the wrong thing. Did he think I’d also been disrespectful to Mr. Dawit?

  “I think it’s best for Tsehay to talk to Mr. Dawit.” His tone was friendly, but final. He must’ve noticed my reaction because when he spoke again it was softer. “We have to manage those relationships. We should be the ones to go back and make sure everything’s okay with the woreda office.” He came closer and I caught a whiff of the cologne he used, which smelled like the beach. Here I was thinking Sam was unprofessional while I was seriously considering licking a coworker’s neck. “You don’t have to worry about fixing this. Tsehay and her team know what to do.”

  “Fair enough,” I conceded, and honestly, as far as dressing-downs went, this was one of the kindest ones I’d gotten.

  “Are you going to have the ravioli again?” he asked with humor, clearly done with the conversation.

  I decided to let go of my annoyance and take Elias’s lead. “Of course I’m getting the ravioli—it’s insanely delicious and I can get a gigantic bowl for the equivalent of two dollars.”

  Elias grinned at my enthusiasm for the pasta dish I ordered every time we ate here. Italy’s influence in Ethiopia was well-reflected in their coffee and cuisine. I’d discovered that many restaurants had at least one pasta dish, and so far they had all been winners. This restaurant in particular had delicious homemade spinach ravioli.

  As we got to the second-floor terrace of the hotel and spotted our large table in the back, I looked up at Elias. “I won’t let you shame me into changing my order, Elias!”

  He barked out a laugh, already back to being his sunny self, and my heart started trying to beat right out of my chest.

  As we got to the table, Tsehay joined in on the teasing. “Eshi, Desta, your ravioli should be here any minute. As soon as the server saw you getting out of the car, he told the cook to start your food.” The rest of the team guffawed at my expense, and I grinned at her ribbing.

  “Did he get my drink order too? Because you know I like my half Ambo, half Coca with the ravioli.” My mention of the Ethiopian sparkling water mixed with Coca-Cola drink that Elias had introduced me to got them all going again. In just one week, I’d grown so comfortable with everyone—except for Sam, of course. The whole team was open and kind, and so good at what they did. They cared about the program, the children and families we were working with, and despite the arduous nature of the work, Ethiopia so far had been an amazing experience.

  This type of project either made people fast friends or made you sick of each other pretty quick. After all, we were usually together almost 24/7 except for sleeping and a few hours here and there. We ate meals together, travelled in the field together, and at the end of the day reconvened for a debriefing and dinner. Typically after a few days I found myself desperate for some alone time, no matter how much I liked the team. But so far I’d been eager for the times with the group. I wasn’t going to give a certain logistics coordinator all the credit either. Almost everyone so far had been awesome.

  “Do we need to eat at this place again?” Sam’s voice got my positive thoughts from the last week on a decidedly different track as I took my seat next to Tsehay.

  When I opened my mouth, I took a page from Elias’s book, whose entire approach to life seemed to be kill them with kindness. “This is the only place for miles and miles that serves non-Ethiopian food, and yesterday you complained about not wanting more injera.”

  Sam pulled up a chair and slumped into it like the petulant asshole he was, scoffing at my words. “Whatever, man.”

  He was such a jerk.

  I turned my attention to the conversation happening on my right side and proceeded to ignore Sam, who was in the midst of asking his usual thousand questions to the server. Every meal required at least two bouts with an interpreter because he had to ask about every ingredient the food was made with, and had various specifications. I got that sometimes people had food allergies or special diets, but he didn’t have to be so fucking rude.

  I was blessedly distracted by Tsehay, who brought her head closer to mine to ask a question. “How did it go this morning? Other than the clinic.” The when Sam acted like a jerk and almost got us in trouble with the town officials was implied.

  I nodded as I took a drink from my Ambo/Coca. “It went well. I was impressed by the clinic staff—they are doing really great work with the families. I like that they’re doing some counseling with the mothers too.”

  Tsehay smiled at my comment. “They do a nice job there, and it’s our biggest one in the program. They see almost five thousand families a month.”

  I whistled at the impressive number. It was a huge setup, with nearly a few dozen workers.

  Soon we were talking data, and when our food came everyone tucked in, hungry after a long morning in the field. I was so distracted enjoying my delicious lunch that I didn’t notice the situation happening at a table on the other side of the terrace—until I saw Elias push his chair back loudly to walk over there.

  Tsehay uttered what I suspected was a curse word in Amharic as we both turned our heads, looking to where Sam was seemingly having an argument with two men who had been in the middle of their meal.

  “What the fuck?” was all I could say. I leaned to take a closer look as Elias rushed over. When I finally realized who the man was, I groaned, hoping this didn’t end up a complete disaster. When I turned my head to look at Tsehay, I saw she was also watching the unfolding scene with a horrified expression.

  “Please tell me Sam didn’t interrupt Mr. Dawit’s lunch to pick a fight,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice down.

  Tsehay sighed as she got up. I stood as well, deciding they might need reinforcements. There would have to be some damage control, that I was certain of. This man oversaw all the supplements and food delivery the clinics got. It was not a relationship we could afford to lose.

  What was Sam thinking?

  “Sam, what are you doing?” I was almost proud of myself for managing to get that out without a string of expletives.

  Meanwhile, I noticed Elias quietly speaking with the other gentleman at the table as Mr. Dawit sat there, a bite of his lunch still in one of his hands. He looked annoyed and completely put off by Sam’s presence.

  “What do you mean, what am I doing?” the asshat in question asked me, his hands crossed over his chest. “I was just following up about the clinic. I wanted a straight answer about who oversees the distribution of supplements on the government end.”

  And he thought interrupting the man while he was eating lunch and yelling at him in a crowded restaurant was the way to do that?

  I looked over at Elias and Tsehay, who were now tag teaming the table, and got closer to Sam, figuring I’d heed Elias’s words and deal with the American while they cleaned up the mess Sam had made. “This is not how you approach these things. You’ve been doing this work long enough to know that being aggressive and overly direct is not the way to go. You’re being rude,” I said as quietly as I could. I was pretty sure both of the men at the table spoke English.

  Thankfully, something of what I said must have landed, because Sam moved away from the table and stood with me to the side. I smiled and lifted a hand to the men at the table, and gestured for Sam to follow me to where our team was witnessing the whole sordid scene.

  When we finally sat down, it seemed Sam had realized that he’d completely mishandled the situation. “I just need this guy to tell me when he’s going talk to us.”

  “Now is not the time,” I bit off, still watching Elias and Tsehay, who were now bumping shoulders with the officials and nodding at whatever they were being told. After a moment they walked off, heading back to our table, leaving the two men to their now almost certainly cold lunch.

  Sam looked like he was about to argue some more when Elias and Tsehay came back to the table. As they sat down, I leaned over to Elias and said, “Thanks for helping with that.”

  He g
ave me a tight smile and turned to Sam. “He said we can come to the office next week.” He cleared his throat, as if unsure how to deliver the next part of the update. He didn’t shy away from Sam, though—he looked at him straight in the eyes when he spoke. “He asked that either Tsehay or Desta attend the meeting, though.”

  Sam immediately got red in the face, his expression turning cold. “Who told you to get involved in this?”

  I sucked in a breath at the callousness in Sam’s tone. His words clearly implied that Elias, being a lowly logistics coordinator, had no business talking on our behalf. Even though so far this week, Elias had made sure things ran smoothly in every way possible. Not to mention that if he had not intervened just now, there probably wouldn’t have been any chance at an interview with anyone.

  I was about to say something, but once again Elias stood his ground. “I got involved when I saw there might be an issue with the way we were communicating. Mr. Dawit has been working with Aid USA for a long time. I know him from other program visits. Personal relationships are important here.”

  Sam had a nasty grin on his face when he spoke again, his eyes intentionally trained away from Elias. “Next time I’m trying to do my work, I’d appreciate if the support staff would keep to their jobs.”

  The tension at the table was palpable, and it was harder and harder to not yell at Sam. I almost did, but when I opened my mouth to do so, Elias caught my eye and shook his head. His gaze was weary but surprisingly unaffected, like Sam’s vitriol was more tiring than anything else. I wondered how many times he’d had to deal with people like Sam. Despite the urge to rail at Sam for his stupidity, I acquiesced to Elias’s request and quietly went back to my lunch as everyone else did the same.

  When I was done, I looked over at Elias and saw he was limply holding a piece of food in his eating hand as he stared at something in the distance. Of course these things affected him. Of course he felt frustrated. He just couldn’t show it. He had to swallow the words I was sure were trying to crawl out of his throat. Because if he got into something with Sam, he most likely wouldn’t win.

  The rest of the afternoon was blessedly uneventful. After the awkwardness of lunch, everyone split off to go do the second part of the village visits, and by the time we got back to the hotel, dusty and exhausted, we all seemed to have shaken off the worst of the day.

  As Elias pulled into the hotel, I heard his phone chime a few times with the sound that I recognized as his text messages notifications. I heard Yohannes and Abraham’s phones do the same. Mine was buried somewhere in my bag, so if it was a message from the Addis office, I’d just hear it from them.

  It was Friday night and most of us had decided to stay in the field for the weekend instead of doing the five-hour drive to Addis and returning Sunday evening. I was running through the list of shows I’d downloaded on my computer, considering which one to watch after dinner, when Elias called my name. And like it happened whenever I heard the word coming from his lips, my chest lurched.

  “What’s up?”

  He was grinning and going between typing a message and looking at me. “Tsehay is organizing an outing. There’s a new place that has traditional dancing in town, and she was wondering if you wanted to come.”

  I perked up at that, my Netflix downloads instantly forgotten. It’d been a long week and relaxing with a beer or two sounded amazing. “Sure, I’m in.” Then I thought better of it and wondered if Sam would get an invite too. I was not in the mood for his bullshit, though a chance to be with Elias for the evening was pretty damn appealing.

  I must’ve been pulling a face, because a moment later I heard a small laugh coming from Elias’s side. “It’s just a few of the Habesha staff coming, and you.”

  My mother always told me I would never win at poker. My feelings had a tendency to show up right on my face. So I was sure I was sporting a ridiculous grin when I nodded in answer to Elias. “I’m definitely down. What time?”

  Elias looked back at the guys, who were about to jump out, and asked a question before turning to me. “There’s dinner there too, so maybe an hour?”

  “See you then,” I said with a smile, and he answered with one just as radiant.

  Oh Desta Joy, you are playing with fire, and you don’t even care.

  Chapter 6

  I walked into the lobby of the hotel in my usual jeans and long-sleeve T-shirt ensemble, since I had not really planned for an evening outing while I was here. At least I was wearing leather Chucks instead of muddy hiking boots. I wasn’t sure what type of dress code we’d have, but I figured that they’d give the farenji a pass for showing up underdressed. I looked around but didn’t see anyone from the group. I was glancing at my watch, wondering if I was late, when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

  “Hey.” Elias smelled like bay rum and the beach, as he always did, and I actually had to restrain myself from leaning in to sniff him.

  “Hey yourself. Are we the first ones down?”

  He shook his head and pointed in the direction of the hotel entrance doors. “Tsehay’s out there getting a taxi. We didn’t want to use the Aid vehicles since we’re not going to be working tonight. Shall we?”

  The question was delivered with a wave of his hand and a very mischievous smile. And he looked so good. Also in jeans, but on his feet he had his black Birkens. I’d noticed those were his evening footwear of choice here in Awassa, where the nights were definitely warmer than in Addis. His shirt was a traditional Ethiopian tunic—white with black, red, green, and yellow embroidery on the collar, hem, and sleeves. Like always, his curls sprung in every direction. It was hard to focus with him this close, but somewhere in the recesses of my mind I knew he was probably waiting for a response that wasn’t a moan or me pawing at his chest.

  “Sure, let’s go.”

  I swallowed hard as he smiled at me, leading the way outside. Sometimes I felt like Elias had to think I was a weirdo, because every once in a while I’d catch him giving me a look that was somewhere between curiosity and something very close to bewilderment. Like he was still not sure what I was, but he was getting a kick out of finding out. That was as far as I went on that particular mental exercise, because nothing good was going to come from me deciding Elias saw me as anything more than an expat who was mostly okay to deal with.

  Once outside we joined Tsehay, and I looked around our small group. “It’s just us?”

  Tsehay rolled her eyes as Elias negotiated a fare with one of the taxi drivers at the hotel. “Some of the staff have family who live in towns close by and went to stay with them for the weekend, and the others said they’re too tired.” She grinned at me. “So you’re stuck with us. Are you ready to do the Eskista?” she asked as she popped her shoulders back and forth.

  Elias turned around in that moment and laughed as he gestured for us to get in the car. “Leave him alone, Tsehay. He might not want to do traditional dances.”

  Despite my mother being Dominican, I wasn’t the most avid of dancers, but as per usual the desire to impress Elias had me wanting to act a fool. Once inside the taxi, I said to Tsehay, who was still trying to bop her head from side to side despite the cramped backseat, “I’m up for learning. But I’m not sure I can move my shoulders or my neck like that.”

  Elias turned around and grinned at us. “We’ll teach you, Desta. You have your name to live up to, after all.”

  My stomach clenched every time Elias looked at me like he and I were in on the same joke. It felt intimate in a way that freaked me out a little bit. Every minute I spent with him had me throbbing with a want I knew very well I could never ever act on.

  We got to the place and were seated at a tall, round table, which was surrounded by low wooden stools. I glanced around, taking in the scene. The place looked more like a big event hall than the bar I expected, and there were a lot of people there already.

  A server came by soon after we sat down to ask if we needed anything. Elias looked over to me and asked very seriously, “W
ould you join us in a coffee ceremony?”

  I was already pushing it with the amount of coffee I’d had that day, but we had off tomorrow and I was not turning down anything Elias offered me at this point. “Sure,” I said with more perkiness than warranted.

  Once we’d placed our orders, we turned our attention to the big stage and the performers who were dancing in the style of one of the Ethiopian tribes. I leaned over to ask which one it was and noticed that Elias and Tsehay were talking with their heads close together. They were sitting right next to me but were speaking in Amharic, and I had no hope of understanding a word they were saying.

  I almost interrupted them when I saw the ghost of a smile on Elias’s lips at whatever Tsehay was telling him. It looked intimate. From out of nowhere, a flare of jealousy burned in my gut. I wanted to be the one sharing a secret with Elias, the only person to put that smile on his face. I wondered if there was something between the two of them. And the flare turned into a full-fledged fire.

  Was I chaperoning a date?

  A tap on my shoulder pulled me out of the hot mess going on in my head.

  “The bunna’s here.” Elias’s smile was cautious, like he could tell something was bothering me.

  I tried to smile back as I turned to look at our server, who was busy setting up, and tried to focus on the many things she was doing to get our drinks ready.

  Coffee ceremony in Ethiopia was not in any way figurative. It was a communal and drawn out event, performed with great care. It was all done at tableside, and it had all the trappings of a ritual.

  After observing for a moment, I sank into the warmth of Elias’s body as he leaned in closer to explain, “She’s going to roast the raw beans for us.”

  I was very proud of myself for not shivering when his breath fluttered against my ear. His closeness making me forget my moment of jealousy.

  Once I’d gotten it together and was mostly sure a moan wouldn’t come out of my mouth, I pointed at the clay pot that looked like a giant version of one of those oil and vinegar bottles. In the most controlled voice I could manage I asked Elias, “What’s this called? My mom has a few of them at home, but I forgot the name.