The Thing Around Your Neck - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie [34]
“You’re bright today, Kam,” he said as he hugged her that evening. He sounded happy that she was bright. She was both thrilled and sorry, for having this knowledge she could not share with him, for suddenly believing again in ways that had nothing to do with him. She could not tell him how Tracy had come upstairs to the kitchen and how surprised she had been because she had given up wondering what kind of mother this was.
“Hi, Kamara,” Tracy had said, coming toward her. “I’m Tracy.” Her voice was deep and her womanly body was fluid and her sweater and hands were paint-stained.
“Oh, hello,” Kamara said, smiling. “Nice to finally meet you, Tracy.”
Kamara held out a hand but Tracy came close and touched her chin. “Did you ever wear braces?”
“Braces?”
“Yes.”
“No, no.”
“You have the most beautiful teeth.”
Tracy’s hand was still on her chin, slightly tilting her head up, and Kamara felt, first, like an adored little girl, and then like a bride. She smiled again. She was extremely aware of her body, of Tracy’s eyes, of the space between them being so small, so very small.
“Have you ever been an artist’s model?” Tracy asked.
“No … no.”
Josh came into the kitchen and rushed to Tracy, his face lit up. “Mommy!” Tracy hugged him and kissed him and ruffled his hair. “Have you finished your work, Mommy?” He clung to her hand.
“Not yet, honey.” She seemed to be familiar with the kitchen. Kamara had expected that she would not know where the glasses were kept or how to operate the water filter. “I’m stuck, so I thought I’d come upstairs for a little while.” She was smoothing Josh’s hair. She turned to Kamara. “It’s stuck right here in my throat, you know?”
“Yes,” 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