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“Hello?”
The lack of television sounds from their tiny living room usually means that her boyfriend isn’t home, but Nabulungi is later than usual and she doesn’t remember Arnold mentioning that he had plans tonight. She waits another moment to see if there is a reply, her arm raised and her woolen cap still in her hand, then gives up waiting and throws it onto the hat rack and begins to shrug out of her winter coat.
A couple of minutes later she is flicking the light switch in the living room, then pauses. “Uh. Arnold?”
“Mm,” comes the muted reply from–whatever it is. Their bedspread, a patchwork of bright fabrics from Uganda, is draped over the couch and what Nabulungi assumes to be their kitchen chairs, forming a little private space on the carpet.
She kneels, lifts the corner of the bedspread and peers into the fort, finds her boyfriend on his back on the floor with his head propped up on a pillow as he stares at the makeshift ceiling. “Arnold?”
His eyes flicker to her for second, then back up. “Hey.”
Nabulungi waits a second for an explanation that doesn’t come, then begins to crawl inside, poking at Arnold’s shoulder until he moves enough for her to share his pillow. She lies down on her side, looking at his profile through the dim light. “What is the matter?”
He is silent for a moment, then replies with a dullness in his voice that is unusual for him. “I didn’t get in.”
It takes her less than a second to understand, but at least five to reply. “Oh.”
She doesn’t know what else to say, so she listens to the sound of his breathing for a while, sympathy weighing heavy in her chest.
“I don’t know what to do,” he says finally, and Nabulungi can hear his voice tremble. “I’m not really good at anything else. And apparently, I’m not good enough at writing, either.”
Nabulungi drapes her arm across his chest. “I’m sorry, Arnold. There are other writing classes.”
“What if they don’t want me either?”
“Then we’ll figure something else out.”
“It’s not just because it’s what I want to do. I'm—I’m just not good at anything else, you know?” He is still staring at the ceiling. “My dad was right when he said I should’ve been more like Kevin. He’s good at everything he does.”
It is the first time she has ever heard Arnold express any kind of bitterness over his best friend’s successes, academic or otherwise. Apparently it doesn’t help that Kevin sounds stressed more than anything else when he talks about school. “Except for converting people, you mean?”
Arnold doesn’t laugh.
Nabulungi sighs. “Well then. If you were Kevin, I wouldn’t want to do this.” She leans close and pecks his cheek. “Or this.” She tightens her arm that is resting over his chest into a proper hug, draping her leg over his in the process. Then she stays there for a while, hugging every part of him that she can and is gratified to feel him finally relax into her touch. Then he turns his head and struggles in her grip to be able to face her.
“Will you stay with me even if I’m poor and unemployed for the rest of my life?”
She smiles. “We are already poor. But we have food. And a place to live. And,” she kisses his eyebrow. “We have each other, Arnold. That is all I want.”
He is quiet for a moment, then shuffles down and tucks his head beneath her chin, relaxing when she moves to accommodate his new position. And Nabulungi thinks she might hear him mutter “but you deserve better” into her chest, but she pretends not to hear it, and they stay like that for a long while.