The Thing Around Your Neck by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie Page B

Kamara said, although she did not know. Tracy was looking right into her eyes in a way that made Kamara’s tongue feel blubbery.
    “Neil says you have a master’s degree,” Tracy said.
    “Yes.”
    “That’s wonderful. I hated college and couldn’t wait to graduate!” She laughed. Kamara laughed. Josh laughed. Tracy riffled through the mail on the table, picked up one envelope and tore it open and put it back. Kamara and Josh watched her in silence. Then she turned. “Okay, I guess I better get back to work. See you guys later.”
    “Why don’t you show Josh what you’re working on?” Kamara asked, because she could not bear the thought of Tracy leaving.
    Tracy seemed taken aback by the suggestion for a moment, then she looked down at Josh. “Want to see it, buddy?”
    “Yeah!”
    In the basement, a wide painting leaned against the wall.
    “It’s pretty,” Josh said. “Right, Kamara?”
    It looked like haphazard splashes of bright paint to her. “Yes. It’s very nice.”
    She was more curious about the basement itself, where Tracy practically lived, the slumping couch and cluttered tables and coffee-stained mugs. Tracy was tickling Josh and Josh was laughing. Tracy turned to her. “Sorry it’s such a mess in here.”
    “No, it’s fine.” She wanted to offer to clean up for Tracy, anything to remain here.
    “Neil says you’ve only just moved to the States? I’d love to hear about Nigeria. I was in Ghana a couple of years ago.”
    “Oh.” Kamara sucked in her belly. “Did you like Ghana?”
    “Very much. The motherland informs all of my work.” Tracy was tickling Josh but her eyes were steady on Kamara. “Are you Yoruba?”
    “No. Igbo.”
    “What does your name mean? Am I saying it right? Kamara?”
    “Yes. It’s a short form of Kamarachizuoroanyi: ‘May God’s Grace Be Sufficient for Us.’”
    “It’s beautiful, it’s like music. Kamara, Kamara, Kamara.”
    Kamara imagined Tracy saying that again, this time in her ear, in a whisper. Kamara, Kamara, Kamara , she would say while their bodies swayed to the music of the name.
    Josh was running with a paintbrush in his hand and Tracy ran after him; they came close to Kamara. Tracy stopped. “Do you like this job, Kamara?”
    “Yes.” Kamara was surprised. “Josh is a very good boy.”
    Tracy nodded. She reached out and, again, lightly touched Kamara’s face. Her eyes gleamed in the light from the halogen lamps.
    “Would you take your clothes off for me?” she asked in a tone as soft as a breath, so soft Kamara was not sure she had heard correctly. “I’d paint you. But it wouldn’t look much like you.”
    Kamara knew that she was no longer breathing as she should. “Oh. I don’t know,” she said.
    “Think about it,” Tracy said, before she turned to Josh and told him she had to get back to work.
    “Time for your spinach, Josh,” Kamara said, in a voice too loud, and went upstairs, wishing she had said something bolder, wishing Tracy would come up again.

    . . .
    Neil had only just begun letting Josh have chocolate sprinkles, after a new book claimed his sugar-free sweetener was carcinogenic, and so Josh was eating his dessert of organic frozen yogurt dotted with chocolate sprinkles when the garage door opened. Neil was wearing a sleek dark suit. He placed his leather bag down on the counter, said hi to Kamara, and then swooped down on Josh. “Hello, bud!”
    “Hi, Daddy.” Josh kissed him and laughed when Neil nuzzled his neck.
    “How did your reading practice with Kamara go?”
    “Good.”
    “Are you nervous, bud? You’ll do great, I bet you’ll win. But it doesn’t matter if you don’t because you’re still a winner for Daddy. Are you all set for Zany Brainy? It should be fun. Chum the Cheeseball’s first visit!”
    “Yes.” Josh pushed his plate aside and started to look through his schoolbag.
    “I’ll look at your school stuff later,” Neil said.
    “I can’t find my shoelaces. I took them out in