Nabulungi Hatimbi was awful at cooking. There wasn't much to do with what little food they had to begin with, but even Mafala could add a little flair to a boring meal. His daughter, on the other hand, could not.
Elder Arnold Cunningham was fully aware of this fact. It was one of the first things Mafala had told him when the young missionary confided in him that he had a bit of a crush on his daughter. Crush was an understatement – he was head over heels for the girl. With a warm smile, Mafala assured him he wouldn't infect him with AIDs – and then went on to warn him to stay far away from her cooking.
Despite knowing this, Arnold would do anything to earn her affection. So when he let slip that his birthday was coming up, Nabulungi insisted she cook him a celebratory birthday meal. Arnold imagined a little mini Mafala appear on his shoulder like his conscience, strongly recommending he politely decline, but he eagerly accepted the offer anyway.
When the big day came, the other Elders held a modest party for Arnold and allowed him to take the day off from his usual chores around the mission center. He almost thought Nabulungi forgot about it, having not seen her all day, but she was busy cooking to ensure that everything was absolutely perfect for the prophet's birthday.
She came around the mission center just as the sun was beginning to set, enthusiastically inviting him back to her hut for dinner. As he followed her down the dirt road, it was hard to tell whose birthday it was, she looked so excited.
"Here you go! Happy birthday, Elder Cunningham!" Nabulungi placed a plate of some kind of salad mixed with a brownish paste in front of Arnold. It didn't actually look that bad, and it actually tasted quite good. As he nearly finished the meal, Arnold began to wonder why Mafala was so insistent he not eat it.
As he was taking his last bite, Arnold began to feel dizzy. His vision was clouded by pinpricks of light and he felt his hands and face tingle. He tried to say something but he couldn't manage to get any words out. The last thing he remembered before he fainted was Nabulungi's confused, and then distressed, cries of his name.
When he woke up, he was lying in the meager hospital room, Gotswana and Nabulungi talking by the doorway. He sat up and caught Nabulungi's attention almost immediately, and she dashed to his bedside and took his hands.
"Elder Cunningham, are you alright? I am so sorry, I ruined your birthday, I thought I had made you sick!" Completely relieved that her cooking hadn't killed him, she leaned forward and kissed him hard on the mouth, before pulling away and blushing. Arnold was at a complete loss for words, face red, eyes wide.
Gotswana cut into the tense silence after a few moments. "How do you feel, Elder Cunningham?" he asked, a smile on his face. Arnold said nothing, still in a blissful shock. Nabulungi had regained the ability to speak and picked up where she had left off, apologizing profusely. "Arnold, is it at all possible you are allergic to tree nuts?"
Arnold blinked a few times before finally answering. "Yeah, why?" he said, cheeks still blazing. Nabulungi gasped and Gotswana nodded.
"I thought so. Nabulungi, what did you use in the dressing for your salad?"
Nabulungi looked at her feet, balling up the hem of her shirt in her hands. Gotswana looked at her expectantly, and she muttered something that was barely audible.
"What was that?"
"Shea butter," she repeated, looking over at Arnold with a sheepish, 'please forgive me' face.
Gotswana nodded again. "Luckily, people often begin to grow out of food allergies as they get older, so your throat did not close and you did not break out." He checked Arnold's pulse and looked into his eyes before leaving the two alone.
"I am so sorry, Elder Cunningham, I ruined your birthday," Nabulungi said solemnly, sitting on the edge of the cot.
"No," Arnold said, taking Nabulungi's hand in his, lightly touching his free fingers to his lips. "You made it the best birthday ever."