Page 44 of Two’s Better

I was about fifteen, not long after we’d gotten our phones—though I couldn’t remember exactly what had triggered it—when Uzezi had called me during Easter break. I think he’d found a picture of us in one of his family’s photo albums, and he’d called to reminisce. Somehow, we’d found ourselves chatting all night. Then we’d proceeded to spend nearly the entire three-week period calling each other and talking for hours every single night, recollecting lost memories and sharing new ones, and discussing anything and everything under the sun.

Most Nigerian SIM companies at the time had been running a campaign where making a call to someone with a number from the same company was entirely free from midnight to six AM. Uzezi and I had gleefully taken advantage. Even though I’d had to wake up at ass o’clock every day to do my chores—and take care of the house in general—I hadn’t regretted it one bit.

Then we’d come to the UK. Obviously, the midnight call promotion didn’t exist here, and besides that we were busy making new friends, settling into our courses, and enjoying a new, all-consuming social life. It also helped that we saw each other practically every single day, so the calls soon lost their necessity.

I traced a finger over my sheets. “You asked me something ...” I swallowed like it could force down my nervousness. “... right before we had our first kiss.”

“Did I?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “You asked me if I’ve ever found you ... attractive. And I kind of avoided answering the question.”

He laughed softly. “Ah. Yes. I do remember that. I’m going to let you know now that I let you off the hook on purpose.”

I huffed out an amused breath. “I guessed as much.” Shit, why was my heart beating so fast? Uzezi had easily admitted his own first “Glitch”—the day with the orange bikini—so admitting mine shouldn’t be weird. Especially not now. Not after everything we’d done.

“Remember the night you called me after you and Hope broke up?”

“Right. Yeah. I remember.” His voice had gone low and deep, the sound making my toes curl.

That particular call had come after our final exams, when we’d gone home with prom and graduation and university applications in mind. Uzezi and I hadn’t gone to the same Secondary School; I’d gone to Igbinedion Education Centre in Benin, while Uzezi had attended Pacesetter’s Academy after his family had moved to Abuja.

Hope had gone to visit Uzezi during the break, wanting to have sex with him. When he’d told her point blank that he wasn’t ready, she’d taken it pretty personally. All his explanations had gone out the window; his wanting to wait meant he just didn’t want her; she accused him of cheating, then of being impotent—all vicious manipulative tactics just to get him to give in. The relationship died immediately after that.

Uzezi had called me the night of the breakup, understandably upset. He’d been dating Hope practically since his first year of Secondary School, and they’d stayed a couple even after he’d moved to Abuja while she’d remained in Jos. He’d genuinely thought he might marry her one day.

“Is it so bad to want my first time to be ... I don’t know. It might sound silly or childish or whatever, but is it so bad that I want it to be special? Like, I’m not trying to be unrealistic—I know it’s not going to literally be perfect, but why can’t it be more than something to just get over with? Or to just do on a whim?” He let out a sigh of frustration. “I know a lot of guys—and my girlfriend, apparently—ex-girlfriend?—think that it shouldn’t be a big deal, especially for a guy, but I call bullshit.”

I’d agreed with him wholeheartedly. “Nah, you’re right. I personally don’t care if it sounds unrealistic or childish or whatever. I’m going to wait for that special moment. And it’s not even just about the moment, is it? It’s about the person. Sex is a very vulnerable thing. I want to be in a place where I at least completely trust the person I’m doing it with. Where I know it’s guaranteed to be good, no matter what.”

“You get me,” Uzezi had said with obvious relief. I remembered his voice lowering even more, even though we were alone in our respective bedrooms, and it was past midnight, the rest of the world presumably asleep, “This might sound corny as fuck, but I’ve always dreamed it would go like this: When I eventually feel ready to take that step, I take my partner out—” We’d only come out to each other the previous Christmas, and only each other; considering Nigeria’s conservative climate, we hadn’t trusted anyone else with the information, not even our families—“make them feel loved and wanted—properly seduce them, you know? Then when the night is over, and they’re feeling all warm and loved up, they invite me back to theirs. Maybe we’re both nervous. We laugh about it. I’d like us to laugh, and it won’t detract from the moment. In fact, it’ll add to it. We’ll take it slow. Be comfortable enough to talk every step of the way, just to make sure we’re both giving each other what we need.”

I’d been almost panting by the time he’d finished. I remembered kicking my sheets off, my entire body strangely hot. When I’d tried to imagine what he was describing, for some odd, strange reason, my mind had immediately pictured us. Him and me. In my imaginary future bedroom after our imaginary perfect date, laughing as we kissed deeply and caressed each other gently, whispering our desires while we slowly took our clothes off.

For that brief, wild second—for the first time in course of our entire friendship—he wasn’t Uzezi, and I wasn’t me; he was a sexy, romantic guy literally reciting the first time of my dreams to me, making me swoon even though I was lying flat on my mattress.

“It’s like you literally read my mind,” I remembered saying, trying to be flippant, like I wasn’t freaking out about the absolutely batshit fantasy I’d just had.

“Yeah?”

“Described what I want to a T. Like, the slow seduction. That sweet buildup?”

“Yeah.” His voice had been gravelly, encouraging.

My insides had been going haywire. “That’s exactly what I want. Like, we go on a few dates—do things that get us not just falling in love, but falling in trust.”

He’d made a soft noise of agreement. “Trust is seriously underrated.”

“Abi? Just like you said, I want us to be able to laugh if it gets awkward, and that kind of laughter only happens when there’s real love and trust between us already, you get me? I … I especially want that moment after all the buildup, where we look into each other’s eyes and something just ... clicks. We’re completely at ease with each other—completely in sync, ready to hand each other our vulnerabilities with the certainty that it will be handled with love, care, and respect. That’s what I want.”

“Damn,” Uzezi said now when I finished relaying the memory.

“Yeah,” I admitted, a little sheepishly. “That was the first time I ever thought of you as an actual sexual being.” Even remembering it now made me feel ... things. “It was just so ... You revealing your inner desires like that made me see you in a different light. Just for a moment.”

“Damn,” he repeated hoarsely. Then, “Wait. That was the first time, you say?”

“Anyway—”

“Nah, run that shit back with immediate alacrity.”