Page 48 of Two’s Better

I’d heard it all before, but I still dutifully laughed. “If you’d sent them down to Benin, you’d have missed them.”

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” I laughed again. “Anyway, I actually called you for a reason. As we both know, there’s only a few months left before you graduate.” Here we go. I tried to breathe normally, but I couldn’t help the way my heart had started slamming against my ribs. “And I’ve been discussing with Edafe”—Uzezi’s father—“You know how you and Uzezi—I hope he’s also doing well?”

“He’s fine, daddy.”

“Ehen. You know how you’re supposed to come home to do your one-year internship with our firm? We’ve decided perhaps you can do the internship abroad instead. It makes more sense, abi?”

“Right,” I agreed automatically, even though it felt like I was dying. I should’ve been relieved; this meant I didn’t have to go home to meet the weight of my father’s expectations, but all I could think was this was just a temporary relief. The location might have changed, but the grand plan was still the same.

“You can blame your mothers for this—both you and Uzezi. They’ve been the ones pushing for it, saying what’s the point of sending you both abroad if not for the opportunities, eh? What would be the point of getting that fancy British degree only for your fathers to drag you back to Nigeria to work for peanuts in their firm.”

“You don’t make peanuts, daddy,” I tried to joke. It felt like I was talking from outside my body.

“You know what I mean,” he said with a husky laugh. “Yes, we’ve all had this vision for a long time, you and Uzezi taking over the firm, but your mother has pointed out—wisely—that we needn’t control the journey to get there. And I tend to agree. God forbid, but we don’t know what can happen in the future. Yes, you and Uzezi will still take over at some point, as is your birthright, but I still want my first and only daughter to be secure in whatever future God might have planned for her. I will still support you financially while you find your feet, of course. So, if it’s possible, you and Uzezi should start thinking of applying for internships while you’re over there. I’m sure Edafe will call Uzezi to tell him the same thing, if he isn’t already calling him now.”

I was supposed to mindlessly agree with him as I always had. But while my mouth had opened, a single sound refused to come out.

“Ofure? Did you hear what I just said?”

“What if I don’t want to be an architect anymore?” The words were out before I could stop them.

“Sorry?” It was certainly phrased like a question, but we both knew it wasn’t. This was my old man daring me to repeat myself.

I was going to be sick. “I don’t know if I want to be an architect anymore, daddy.”

There was a stunned silence. My father was so shocked he switched from English to Isoko. “Ofure, are you aware of what you’re saying to me right now?” I tried to, but I couldn’t speak again. My throat was clogging up, my eyes burning. My father kissed his teeth. “What am I supposed to do with this information?” he asked, his voice rising slightly. “Eh, Ofure? What do you want me to do with this information?”

“I’m sorry, d-daddy.” I clenched my jaw shut to prevent the tears.

He kissed his teeth again. “What sort of nonsense is this, eh? What kind of—” With another annoyed hiss, he ended the call.

I dropped my phone in my lap, feeling numb. I brought the device back to my face and unlocked it.

I darkened the screen, but Uzezi’s reply came a moment later.

I inhaled a shaky breath.

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t reply. I felt Fiona’s concerned gaze on the side of my face, but I pointedly didn’t look in her direction. I exhaled a light breath of relief and gratitude when all she did was squeeze my knee, then turn back to her Kindle.

15

I hadn’t slept well last night. I’d known it the moment I’d blurted out wanting to continue this thing with Ofure that I was probably being a little too impulsive. No, I definitely was being too impulsive. But once the words were out, I didn’t want to take them back. Especially not after she’d said yes.

I knew we needed to actually talk about this. I knew I needed to actually think about this, but I didn’t want to.

I didn’t want to think about how my love for my best friend was morphing so fucking rapidly it made it hard to tell if the possibility had always been there, or if it was just that fucking easy for me to fall. Some part of me had a feeling it was the latter, and I didn’t know if I preferred that to the former.

All I knew was I was greedy for this—for her. And staunchly refusing to see any possible impending consequences of my selfishness heading straight toward me like a bowling ball in my periphery.

I spent the day listening to music and polishing my portfolio in an attempt to distract myself. As I worked, I couldn’t help but once again think about Ofure not wanting to be an architect—how she’d felt boxed into it from childhood. I couldn’t stop feeling I was probably in the same boat, because, as the only child in my household, I’d always done what I was told.

Unlike Ofure, I genuinely enjoyed what I was doing, which made it harder for me to determine if it was really what I wanted. I’d honestly never given it much thought. I was good at it, and it made me happy, therefore I must love and want it. Right?

Ofure’s bombshell came in the evening, when I knew her shift with Bernice and Fiona had ended. When she didn’t reply to my last message, my heart sank. Before I could think of sending another message, my father called.

By the end of the call, I could picture exactly how Ofure’s conversation with her own father had gone. My dad had spoken like he usually did—with a not-so-callous disregard for what I might want. He’d laid out the facts, and I was expected to follow like I always had. He hadn’t been interested in my opinion, if I’d had any, and to be fair, he probably didn’t think I did have something to say, which would have been true before. I probably wouldn’t even have noticed how easily he just expected me to go along with any new career plans he threw my way if my conversation with Ofure hadn’t forced me to pay attention.

My thoughts were racing after the call ended; I’d agreed to the new career plan, of course I had. I didn’t know what else to do. But I didn’t want to think about that right now.