Why did people ask "What is it about?" as if a novel had to be about only one thing. — Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Race doesn't really exist for you because it has never been a barrier. Black folks don't have that choice.

She rested her head against his and felt, for the first time, what she would often feel with him: a self-affection. He made her like herself.

With him, she was at ease: her skin felt as though it was her right size. She told him how she very much wanted God to exist but feared He did not, how she worried that she should know what she wanted to do with her life but did not even know what she wanted to study at university. It seemed so natural, to talk to him about odd things. She had never done that before. The trust, so sudden and yet so complete, and the intimacy, frightened her.