4
“Knock, knock.”
My heart thudded against my ribs. Since I’d made my decision last night, I felt like I’d been walking on eggshells around Uzezi, which was probably why I’d bombed my presentation today.
It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I was maybe re-considering my career choice—in the final year of my degree, for fuck’s sake—and it was messing with my already terrible social anxiety.
I answered Uzezi with a comical groan, the sound muffled because my face was buried in my pillows. Fiona or Bernice must’ve let him in. He burst out laughing when he let himself into my room and spotted me lying flopped like a limp starfish across my bed.
“Come on, Fure. Was it really that bad?”
I didn’t bother lifting my head from the pillow. “Did you think I was joking when I said I literally dissociated? Stop that. Stop laughing at me.”
Uzezi stopped, but he still sounded highly amused when he said, “I think you did … fine.” The pause was telling.
I lifted my head so he could see and feel the full impact of my unimpressed glare. Then my eyes landed on the familiar bag he’d set on my desk, and every inch of me lit up. “Oh my God, did you buy burritos? I swear, I’m this close to handing you the soul of my first-born child.”
He snorted, settling himself into my desk chair. “I think a ‘thank you’ will do just fine.”
“Thank you,” I said earnestly.
He smiled, looking pleased. “You’re welcome.”
“Would I ever know what true happiness feels like if it weren’t for you?” I teased as I sat up.
“My friend, if you don’t shut up and eat your burrito.”
I laughed, shifting across my bed until I was perched on the edge closest to the desk.
It never failed to stop being endearing how whenever either of us experienced even the slightest of inconveniences, we would head straight for food therapy; Uzezi ordered my favourites when I was stressed or upset, while I took my ass to the kitchen to cook for him when it was the other way around.
To us, there was nothing a good meal couldn’t fix, and so far, we’d never been wrong.
“Mm,” I groaned after I took a bite. “Yes. This is exactly what the doctor ordered.”
“Now you’re milking it.”
“I’m doing no such thing.”
“Okay, but seriously, it really wasn’t that bad. You just needed a little more …”
“… everything?” I bemoaned dramatically.
He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “I was going to say a little more oomph. A little more ginger. A little je ne sais quoi.”
“No be only je ne sais quoi,” I said, the pidgin making him laugh.
Uzezi shook his head, then his expression turned serious. Uh oh, here we go. “Look, Ofure, I think when you get nervous, your presentations become very ... matter of fact. ‘Here’s a building. Here are my designs. Here’s what it’s for. The end. Thank you.’”
“What’s wrong with that?” I pouted.
He gave me a flat look.
I groaned. “Yeah, yeah, okay, I suck, thanks. Can we eat our burritos? Presentation talk is hereby banned until tomorrow.”
Uzezi chuckled. “Think of it like this: three or four more presentations and it’ll be Easter break, then it’ll be our final portfolios, and then we’re fucking done.”
Are we really, though? I thought with a despair I quickly strangled.
After our undergrad, there was going to be our Masters, then applying to become members of RIBA, A.K.A.
the Royal Institute of British Architects—with two years’ worth of internships between each degree—then possibly going back to work in our fathers’ joint firm in Nigeria.
Almost every time my father called to ask about how I was doing and how school was going, he made sure to outline the entire “plan” for me, like he was afraid I’d forget.
I never forgot; it was practically branded behind my eyelids at this point, glaring at me each time I blinked.
“Don’t forget our tech and humanities submissions,” I said lightly, focusing intensely on my burrito so Uzezi wouldn’t notice me freaking out.
He waved me off. “Oh, that stuff’s easy.” He was right, but I didn’t have to like it. “What I’m trying to say is, you still want that first class, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.” It was the least I could do, if I really was considering ... I didn’t know. Wasn’t it a little too late to be thinking about this? Especially when I didn’t even know what I actually wanted to do if I did decide this path wasn’t for me.
Uzezi grinned, though his eyes were boring into me, seeing right through the carefree facade I’d hastily erected. I took a large bite of my wrap, refusing to meet his gaze.
“Exactly,” he said. I still felt relieved, even though I’d known, no matter what he saw in my expression, he wouldn’t push.
Not until I was ready. “And while our portfolios cost most of our grade, we’re still judged a little on how well we can present our work.
These last few presentations are going to be crucial.
” As he stopped talking, he got that look on his face he did when he had a problem he desperately felt he needed to fix.
I felt a swell of fondness. “Uzi, let’s not worry about this right now, abeg. For God’s sake, you’re ruining the vibe of my burrito.”
He let out a little laugh. “Yeah, all right. We’ll figure it out anyway, after all, two heads …?”
“Are better than one,” I completed with a grin, some of my anxieties dissipating at our mantra.
“Mm. God, I miss Danjam shawarma,” he said after a few bites. “Making it over here—it just doesn’t taste the same.”
“Of course it doesn’t. Not with Tesco’s sorry excuse for pepper.”
“Not really what I meant, but okay.” He laughed. “We should go out tonight.”
It was my turn to laugh. “We can’t keep going out every time I survive a presentation! Barely.” I added that last word under my breath.
“Yes, the fuck we can.”
“How can you tell me my presentations suck and then celebrate me after, eh? You’re going to give me some kind of complex.”
“Now, who said anything about celebrating?” Uzezi had finished his burrito. He balled the thin paper it’d been wrapped in and threw it at me. I ducked, laughing. “It’s not my fault Afrobeats night at Sound Control just so happens to coincide with the day of our presentations.” He winked.
“Wow, that makes me feel so special.”
He laughed again. “I’ll send a message to the group chat. Get ready.”
I finished my wrap and checked the time on my phone. It was nearing six in the evening. My phone buzzed in my hand as Uzezi did as promised, the speed and frequency of the responses telling me our friends were all in. Excitement fizzed in my blood.
Yeah. Uzezi was right. A night out was definitely what I needed.
I glanced up at him, at his mouth, my stomach trying to tie itself into a knot.
Yeah, I needed a night out, and perhaps some liquid courage.
I should’ve had more to drink, I thought when we got back to our street, and the guys—Uzezi, Prince, and Dayo—along with Tamara and Ezra, who lived closer to the city centre—followed me, Bernice, and Fiona to ours.
I felt mildly ill as we gathered in the sitting room, gisting about nonsense, while I was hyperaware of the fact that I was going to ask Uzezi to kiss me before he left tonight.
Fuck. Was this a good idea? Why had Fiona put this shit in my head? I couldn’t so much as look at my best friend without feeling too big for my skin.
“Hey.” I nearly had a heart attack. I turned to find Uzezi perched on the armchair I was sitting on, laughing silently at me. When had he gotten here? “You look a little out of it. Do you want to call it a night?”
Oh God.
Fuck it. Fuck it.
“Yeah. I think so.” I stood. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. “Think I’m going to call it a night, everyone.”
My friends echoed their goodnights, and my stomach lurched into my throat when Uzezi stood to follow me upstairs.
I spared a glance for my heels sitting messily with the rest of our shoes in the tiny entryway but resolved that I’d grab them to put back in my wardrobe tomorrow; the girls and I didn’t like clutter at the front door.
When we got to my room, I sat at the foot of my bed. Uzezi closed the door behind him, then came to sit beside me, on my left. He took my hand in both of his, his usually comforting touch doing barely anything to quell my rattling nerves.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” he whispered, giving my hand a comforting squeeze. “You’ve been off practically all day. I didn’t want to push, but if you’re—”
“I think we should kiss.”
I heard his teeth click as his mouth snapped shut. His hands spasmed around mine. I couldn’t look at him. We were silent for several moments, the only sounds our hushed breaths and the muffled noise of our friends in the sitting room directly below us. I gave him time to let the words sink in.
Then I said in a rushed breath, “You said—what you said—suggested—before. I’ve been thinking about it. I’ve been ... considering it. And I thought, maybe, just to ... be sure we don’t mess up our friendship or what have you, that we should ... kiss. Just to ... see.” Well, I’d explained that badly.
I peeked at him from the corner of my eye. My stomach went from knotting itself to trying to light itself on fire.
His eyes were dark, serious. The moment my eyes met his, he said, “You know what? I think that’s a good idea.” He gave my hand another squeeze. “Just ... give me a moment.”
I blinked in confusion, clenching my hand to get the warmth back as he let go and stood, took two steps to the light switch, and flicked it off.
We were plunged in immediate darkness. My curtains were still open—I hadn’t shut them before we’d gone out—but the pale light of the moon outside and those of the neighbouring houses were just barely enough to make out his shape in the darkness.
He sat beside me once more. I tried not to squirm nervously. The darkness made me feel hyperaware of myself, of my skin. Of the solid warmth of his body right next to mine.
He twisted around slightly to face me, and, after a moment of hesitation, I did the same.
“Hi,” he whispered with a crooked smile, which immediately made me relax.