Zodwa held the open tin out to Thembeka but before her friend could take it from her, Zodwa accidentally dropped it. She instinctively reached out to grab it, trapping the tin between her hand and Thembeka’s chest. Zodwa flushed at the sensation of the swell of Thembeka’s breast against her palm, the steady heartbeat counting off the seconds of contact, and snatched her hand away so that the tin fell and got lost between them.

Thembeka merely laughed and then shook her head. “It’s okay. I don’t need the tin.” She leaned in with exquisite slowness, gently touching her lips to Zodwa’s. Zodwa closed her eyes, hardly daring to breathe as she savored the sensation of Thembeka’s mouth pressed against her own.

Is this a kiss? Are we kissing?

A dog barked from somewhere down the lane and a metal spoon grated against a pot’s surface in a shack nearby. The scent of frying onions competed with the smell of Vaseline and the talcum powder Thembeka used. Zodwa’s entire universe expanded and then contracted, and if ever there was a perfect moment in her life, then that was surely it.

“There,” Thembeka said. “You put too much on. That’s better.” She smiled at Zodwa, holding her gaze for a few moments as she smacked her lips together before returning to her homework.

It was such a tiny moment, just a few seconds, but it was so intimate that Zodwa couldn’t imagine that it could be anything else than a coded gesture. It was enough to make Zodwa work up the courage two days later to write a letter declaring her feelings, which definitely weren’t the platonic kind but rather were fevered and all-consuming.

It was this letter that Thembeka’s boyfriend, Mongezi, somehow managed to intercept before Thembeka could read it. And that was the beginning of everything unraveling, the moment when Mongezi decided that Zodwa should be taught a lesson about the kind of desires women should and shouldn’t have.

Zodwa wonders if there could ever have been a happy ending for a love so unnatural that it angered the ancestors enough to curse her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Ruth

11 May 1994

Verdriet, Magaliesburg, South Africa

When I get home from the shops, I’m laden down with bags of feeding bottles, teats, multiple brands of formula, dummies, disposable nappies, bum cream, lotions, wipes, and various other baby paraphernalia including a bassinet and a tiny bathtub.

Jesus, babies are materialistic little buggers.

The dog rushes out to greet me and follows me back and forth during the three trips it takes between the house and car to get everything inside. Where are Dee and the baby? I don’t want to call out—if the baby’s fallen asleep, it’s an absolute miracle—so I tiptoe to the door of Dee’s room and peer in through the crack.