House Woman


 Contents
 
 Cover
 Copyright
 Title Page
 Dedication
 Chapter 1
 Chapter 2
 Chapter 3
 Chapter 4
 Chapter 5
 Chapter 6
 Chapter 7
 Chapter 8
 Chapter 9
 Chapter 10
 Chapter 11
 Chapter 12
 Chapter 13
 Chapter 14
 Chapter 15
 Chapter 16
 Chapter 17
 Chapter 18
 Chapter 19
 Chapter 20
 Chapter 21
 Chapter 22
 Chapter 23
 Chapter 24
 Chapter 25
 Chapter 26
 Chapter 27
 Chapter 28
 Chapter 29
 Chapter 30
 Chapter 31
 Chapter 32
 Chapter 33
 Chapter 34
 Chapter 35
 Chapter 36
 Chapter 37
 Chapter 38
 Chapter 39
 Chapter 40
 Chapter 41
 Chapter 42
 Chapter 43
 Chapter 44
 Chapter 45
 Chapter 46
 Chapter 47
 Chapter 48
 Chapter 49
 Chapter 50
 Chapter 51
 Chapter 52
 Chapter 53
 Chapter 54
 Chapter 55
 Chapter 56
 Chapter 57
 Chapter 58
 Chapter 59
 Chapter 60
 Acknowledgments
 Back Cover
 
 
 
 Guide
 
 Cover
 Copyright
 Title Page
 Dedication
 1
 Acknowledgments
 Start to Contents
 
 
 
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 AN UNNAMED PRESS BOOK
 Copyright © 2023 by Adorah Nworah
 All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. Permissions inquiries may be directed to [email protected]
 Published in North America by the Unnamed Press.
 www.unnamedpress.com
 Unnamed Press, and the colophon, are registered trademarks of Unnamed Media LLC.
 Hardcover ISBN: 978-1-951213-56-5
 EBook ISBN: 978-1-951213-57-2
 LCCN: 2022949514
 This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are wholly fictional or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
 Cover design and typeset by Jaya Nicely
 Manufactured in the United States of America by McNaughton & Gunn.
 Distributed by Publishers Group West
 First Edition
 
 
 
 HOUSEWOMAN
 A NOVEL
 
 ADORAHNWORAH
 
 
 
 One afternoon at four o’clock we separated for a week only … And then – that week became forever.
 —C.P. Cavafy
 
 
 To Chika, for all the stories.
 
 
 
 1
 
 August 2019
 Nna let out a faint gasp at the sight of the woman in the kitchen. He took in everything – the small head, the big eyes, the pursed lips, the slender neck, the ankle beads, the measured steps, and the dull thumping of a heart, his heart, against a spindly cage. He rubbed his eyes and licked the bits of peeling skin on his lips. He wiped the soles of his Oxford mules on the welcome mat at the entrance to the brick-red mansion on a quiet street in Sugar Land, Texas.
 The house was a four-bedroom single family residence built in the early nineties. His parents, Agbala and Eke, took great pride in it as it was the only house they’d ever owned in America. Over the years, they’d hacked at its vestigial parts like the glass block wall that once stood in the foyer till the house bore the brassy gleam of modernity.
 Standing by the entrance to his parents’ house, Nna wished he’d listened to his mother, Agbala, who often reminded him to comb his hair. As the dusty black Toyota Camry that dropped him at the house began to pull out of the driveway, Nna fished in his pockets for his handy afro pick.
 The woman was clad in a thin beach towel that threatened to fall to the ground. He could make out the outline of her buttocks (small, firm). The dull thumping in his chest increased its volume. She was what Agbala – his hurricane of a mother – would fondly call a yellow pawpaw, to be shielded from the sun at all costs.
 But she was more than color, she was melody.
 She hummed an old Bright Chimezie number, one Agbala often hummed as she chopped bell peppers in the airy open-concept kitchen of the Nwosu family house. But Agbala did not hum the song like the woman in the kitchen. Agbala was not melody.
 Nna opened his mouth to introduce himself. A warm draft of stale air tickled his lips as he lowered his eyes to his torso. The Old Navy flannel shirt hung off his body like it didn’t ask