The conversation continued for several more minutes, Bash’s tone alternating between gentle reassurance and barely concealed worry. By the time he hung up, tension radiated from every line of his body.
He stood there for a moment with his back to me, shoulders rigid. I wanted to offer comfort but would it be welcome? We’d been physically intimate, but that didn’t necessarily mean he’d want emotional support from me.
“Everything alright?” I asked carefully when he rejoined me at the table.
Bash was quiet for a long moment, staring into his coffee cup. “My mom has lung cancer,” he said finally. “She had surgery and is now in the middle of her second round of chemo, and it’s not easy.”
The simple words carried so much weight that I felt something twist in my chest. “I’m so sorry, Bash. Is the treatment helping?”
“Doctors say it is, but it’s hard to tell sometimes. She tries to stay positive for Dad and me, but I can hear how tired she is.” He looked up at me, and I could see the worry he’d been trying to hide. “And the financial worries don’t exactly help either. The medical bills are substantial, and she’s nowhere near done yet. She had surgery, radiation and now chemotherapy, plus all the scans and tests and whatnot. Insurance only covers part of it, and it’s more than my parents can afford. I’m doing what I can to help financially, but we’re talking tens of thousands of dollars.”
That was a problem I was not familiar with. I had excellent insurance, obviously, but in general, medical debt was not a thing in the UK. We had the NHS, the National Health Service, which might not be perfect and definitely not always efficient or fast, but one did not end up having to declare financial bankruptcy from bills. Having to worry about how to pay for the life-saving treatment one needed was a cruel reality Americans had to deal with that was completely foreign to most of the world.
Understanding hit me. This assignment of protecting me wasn’t just about Bash’s career. It was about his mother’s life, his family’s financial survival. The extra salary he received for this was helping to pay for her ongoing treatment. The weight of that responsibility, the pressure he must be under, made my chest ache with sympathy.
“That’s why this assignment is so important.”
Bash nodded. “It’s enough to cover her treatment and then some. After this contract, my parents would be debt free.”
The implications of what he was saying settled between us. If our relationship complicated things, if I got him fired or caused problems with his professional reputation, it wouldn’t merely affect his career. It would affect his mother’s access to life-saving treatment.
I reached across the table and covered his hand with mine, not caring about the professional implications anymore. Right now, he wasn’t my bodyguard. He was someone I cared about who was dealing with an impossible situation. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Bash’s smile was grateful but sad. “Don’t get yourself kidnapped or killed on my watch. That would really complicate things.”
His attempt at humor didn’t hide the very real fear underneath. I squeezed his hand, wishing desperately that I could do something more substantial. That I could write a check or make some calls or use my ridiculous inherited wealth to actually help someone who deserved it.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” I said instead, trying to inject some lightness into my voice. “I promise to be the most boringly well-behaved protectee you’ve ever had.”
We fell back into our routine after that, attending classes, then getting lunch. After lunch, we headed to a study room in the library to meet Jessica and Tom for our International Relations group project. The assignment was straightforward enough—research and present on a specific diplomatic approach—but we hadn’t settled on a topic yet.
We found Jessica and Tom surrounded by an impressive array of textbooks and what appeared to be the remnants of several coffee runs.
“Finally!” Jessica exclaimed as we approached. “We were starting to think you two had gotten distracted.”
My cheeks heated, but Bash grinned and settled into the chair next to me with easy confidence. “Just running a bit late. What did we miss?”
“Endless debate about what angle to take,” Tom said, gesturing at his notebook which was covered in crossed-out ideas. “We’ve considered economic diplomacy, cultural exchange, military deterrence, but none of them feel particularly inspired.”
“Plus, everyone’s going to do economic diplomacy,” Jessica added. “It’s the obvious choice.”
She was absolutely correct. We needed something original, something that would offer a wholly fresh perspective. What was something unique that I had come across in my readings? An idea popped into my head. “What about humor in diplomacy?”
“Humor?” Tom repeated, sounding skeptical. “Like, making jokes during peace negotiations?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “Some of the most successful diplomatic breakthroughs have involved moments of levity that broke through formal barriers and allowed negotiators to connect as human beings rather than just representatives of opposing interests.”
Jessica looked intrigued. “Can you give us some examples?”
“Absolutely.” I leaned forward. “There’s a story of an American diplomat meeting his counterpart from North Korea. Obviously, the relationship was tense at best since they had no formal diplomatic relationship, but then the North Korean diplomat claimed he’d met with President Bush. The Americans were stunned because that was absolutely impossible. But then the North Korean pulled out his wallet, took out a picture, and showed a photo of himself with his arm around a cardboard figure of a smiling President Bush in front of the White House. The ensuing laughter relaxed the whole room and made some small headway possible.”
“That’s actually brilliant,” Tom said, making notes. “What else?”
“Well, there’s the famous ‘Make Chai Not War’ Tour, where the US Embassy in India sponsored a tour of three Indian-American comedians who performed in some of India’s biggest cities, poking fun at religious intolerance and sharing some positive experiences about growing up in the States. It was all about breaking down prejudices, and it worked well.”
“I love that,” Jessica said. “We should definitely do this.”
“But isn’t humor also incredibly cultural?” Bash brought up. “I can imagine that attempts at humor can also backfire when the humor doesn’t translate or comes across as offensive in another culture.”
