Page 31 of Two’s Better

That made her laugh, a little more genuinely this time. I smiled.

“Sorry,” she whispered, quickly wiping her cheeks. “I don’t know why I’m even crying.”

“Hey,” I said softly. “Don’t do that.”

She ducked her head again. I placed a thumb underneath her chin, encouraging her to meet my eyes once more.

“How long have you been having these doubts?”

She shrugged jerkily. “Not long. Just ... just as we get closer to graduation. I think I saw a post or something online, where someone was talking about how, as a child, their future career was sort of ... superimposed on them because of whatever hobby they were fixated on at the time. For me, since I practically came out of the womb, I’ve loved art and drawing and I’m amazing at it. Oh, look, my father’s an architect, which means, obviously, that I’m going to be an architect, too. The evidence is literally on the walls! And I never went against it because I couldn’t think of anything else I might want to do. Even now, with all this discontent I feel, I don’t know what I’d choose to study if I decided I didn’t want to do this anymore.”

“Who said you had to study anything?”

“Uzi, come on,” she scoffed, and I deflated. I liked to think our parents had grown less strict over the years, especially after sending us abroad, but they weren’t that open minded. If Ofure decided she didn’t want to become an architect, and they accepted it without argument or pushback—impossible—they’d simply ask—read: force—her to pick something else—something that would result in what they considered a “respectable” degree that would eventually lead to a well and steady-paying job.

They were only looking out for their children, I knew, but I could see how making that kind of lifelong decision could be paralyzing.

And to be honest, Ofure’s talk just now about how she’d been an amazing artist as a child, and in turn, had this career superimposed on her just because her father was technically also an artist, hit hard. Because that was exactly my story, too.

Right from childhood, any time someone asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I hadn’t so much as hesitated or given it a second thought. I had a talent, my father had that same talent, and he just so happened to be an architect, so, naturally, that was what I’d become, too. Right?

But had there been any point where I’d personally wanted this? Had this just been a career that had been decided for me as a kid, and I’d just happily run with it?

“Look, Uzi, don’t take me too seriously,” Ofure said, bringing me out of my mini-spiral. “I think I just needed to rant for a bit. I feel fine now. Maybe I’m just ... I don’t know. Scared of graduating because it would unofficially make me an “adult”?” She let out a tiny laugh. I noticed she might’ve been looking at me, but she carefully wasn’t meeting my eyes. “I don’t know. Ignore me.”

“I think you should tell your dad.”

She jolted, her eyes flying to mine, wide with shock.

I shrugged, but I was dead serious, and she knew it. “He’s not an unreasonable man, Fure. Maybe he’ll be a little upset at first, but if you tell him everything you’ve just told me, if you ask for some time to think about what you actually want to do, I know he’ll be more than happy to help you achieve whatever it is.” I bopped her playfully on her nose. She scrunched up her face, and the sudden desire to kiss her was so intense it actually froze me in place. Which was good, I told myself furiously. I really couldn’t go kissing her any time I felt like it, especially not outside the bounds of our … agreement. “You’re his precious baby girl, after all.”

Ofure rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, the curve of her lips soft and genuine.

I slid my palms in a gentle caress down her shoulders and arms until I had her hands loosely clasped in mine. “And besides, whatever happens, you have me. Talk to me, all right? If you want to brainstorm ideas on what else you might like to study, or how you should approach your dad when or if you eventually want to tell him, let me know. After all, two heads ...?”

Her whole demeanour brightened. It felt like looking at the sun.

“... are better than one,” she finished with a grin.

10

It was only when I decided I was going to plan our next date that I realised what Uzezi had meant when he’d said he wanted what I wanted. All the ideas I came up with that I thought he’d enjoy were things I coincidentally wanted and knew I’d also enjoy. When he’d said he wanted to wine and dine and seduce me—the word still made me blush, despite myself—he’d genuinely been stating his desires, not just what he thought I wanted to hear. With the shoe now on the other foot, I completely understood.

I was over at the guys’, a few minutes before Uzezi and I had to leave. We were in the tiny kitchen pre-drinking, even though we weren’t going partying; I just thought the activity I had planned would be so much more fun with us a little ... loosened up. Prince and Dayo were in the sitting room arguing over what might’ve been a video game; I couldn’t be bothered to pay attention.

I pretended not to notice the way Uzezi was staring at me. God, having him look at me like that was such a rush. I was resting against the only free counter in the kitchen, which meant, from this angle, I wouldn’t be seen from the sitting room. But Uzezi, resting opposite me against the fridge, was in clear view of his housemates.

He was being so obvious. But I didn’t want to tell him to stop. Instead, I peered at him from underneath my lashes, licking the seam of my lips before I took another sip from my drink.

We’d had Studio earlier today, and to absolutely no one’s surprise, Bonnie and Harper, our tutors, decided to spring a surprise mini presentation on us. And, also to absolutely no one’s surprise, I’d done terribly. But after my talk with Uzezi yesterday, I hadn’t felt as awful as I usually did after I bombed a presentation. And, even though it had apparently still been too stiff, too impassioned, and too brief, Bonnie had given me an actual compliment during our one-on-one session, saying that, although there wasn’t much to compare it to, that was probably the best presentation I’d ever given in my entire history at Architecture School.

The compliment had, not for the first time, had me doubting my doubts, so to speak. Whenever I got yet another first, whenever I was praised on my meticulous portfolios, my unique and detailed designs, my aesthetically beautiful presentation sheets, along with the thorough research I put to my Tech and Humanities assignments, I began to question my discontent. Did it really have anything to do with the degree itself? Or was I simply being a scaredy-cat about the future, and this was the only reason I could think up for why I felt that way?

Don’t do that, I could imagine Uzezi saying. You’ve given this proper thought, haven’t you? Don’t go doubting your own gut, now.

I bit back a smile at the inner voice. I didn’t know what I was going to do. Did I decide to quit this path that had been carefully planned out for me—to only stick it out until I graduated, then tell my father all the money he spent and stress he’d gone through was all for nothing? Did I brainstorm some new career choices with Uzezi so I at least had a plan before then so my father wouldn’t be too upset, probably thinking I was planning on doing nothing with the rest of my life?

Or should I just stick to the entire seven-to-ten-year plan because what else was I going to do? I mean, once I became an architect, as long as I was making enough money, I could manage, right? Our parents’ firm was pretty successful back home; most of the jobs our fathers took on were government jobs, and the government didn’t pay chicken change. Earning that kind of money would surely offset the discontent? Surely, it’d inspire some kind of passion for the work itself, right? It should at least inspire excitement for the next big paycheck, an excitement that would just have to be enough for me to be able to do it for the rest of my life.