She had put off calling her mother for nearly a week, telling herself it was timing — the time difference, the right moment, wanting to have fully absorbed the news herself before delivering it to someone else. She understood, dialing the number on a Sunday afternoon with Josh's hand still a recent, warm memory against her own, that the delay had actually been something closer to fear, though she hadn't let herself name it clearly until the phone was already ringing.
"Zarina!" Her mother's voice came through bright and immediate, the particular warmth that always made the distance between them ache more, not less. "Afisa told me the news. A whole delegation, she said, come all the way to hear you speak. I have been telling everyone on this street. Mrs. Adeyemi's son works for a bank, did
