“So you’re a graduate student?” Dr. Bob asked.

“Just finished my second year, anthropology,” she said.

Dr. Bob was cute, in a geeky way. He wore glasses and had a crooked nose and sandy stubble across his chin.

“And Mary says you study burial rituals; that’s fascinating.”

Josie smiled and sipped her wine.

Devesh had not yet arrived, and Josie could sense Mary’s apprehension. Before the party, Mary had spent almost two hours getting ready: putting her hair up, then down; trying on different outfits. Finally, she had held a long red dress up to her body. “Too much?” she asked Josie. Josie shook her head and watched Mary slip her shorts, tank top, and then bra to the floor. With the red dress on her arm, she was strikingly beautiful. Her skin was pale and her breasts heavy, and Josie followed her curves to her belly. It was small and round and Josie had a sudden urge to press her lips softly and slowly against it. “When you have a baby, you’ll have a belly too,” Mary kidded. Josie blushed. “No,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking that,” but she didn’t know exactly what she was thinking, and she suddenly felt young and ashamed. She had often watched her mother dress for an evening out, wishing she could touch the skin that was normally covered, wondering if it felt somehow different from the papery smoothness of her arms.

“I’ve never seen a Ghanaian funeral,” Dr. Bob said.

“Neither have I.” Josie smiled. “Not yet, at least.” She finished her wine and set the glass on the table.

“Can I get you some more?” he asked.

She could already feel the first glass swirling its way around her head, but she hadn’t been drunk in a long time, and it felt good to have someone wait on her. “Sure,” she said.

Dr. Bob walked to the kitchen, and Josie scanned the room. Mary was still talking to the dean of the medical school, looking serious and nodding, when her expression suddenly changed. Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly, and Josie followed her gaze to the front door.

His hair was still wet from a shower—brushed back tight against his head—and he looked smaller framed by the doorjamb. He was dressed in cream linen slacks and a white button-down shirt that made his skin all the darker. Her heart quickened, and she shrank down into the couch, but he had seen her, and he smiled. She blushed and then blushed harder. What was this adolescent embarrassment? She didn’t know why he was so fiercely affecting, but he made her feel surprisingly exposed. Josie gritted her teeth and looked away.

“Here’s your drink,” Dr. Bob said, and handed her the glass.

“Thank you.” She tried to take a sip, but the wine sat in her mouth like medicine.