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He patted the left side of his chest in gracious acceptance of my wishes for his safe journey and walked out of the room, leaving a hefty, wealthy, oud-scented breeze behind. It wasn’t till we heard the kick of the shoebox and the slamming of the front door that either of us moved.
The smile Malakai gave me as he took the bag of drinks gratefully was sweet in its effort. The attempt squeezed at my chest. He put the bag on his dresser, then immediately sat on the bed, bending over, his face buried in his hands. I moved next to him, silently sitting down on his plain navy Ikea sheets. He was still, and so I thought the best thing to do was also be still. I stared straight ahead at hisIf Beale Street Could Talkposter.
Eventually he spoke, his voice muffled by his hands. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough.” I swallowed. “You pissed?”
“Not at you.”
Malakai straightened, his hands dropping to his thighs. He inhaleddeeply, then exhaled with a puff of his cheeks. His eyes were red. Malakai pursed his lips and nodded quickly, as if he was hoping the action would make the emotion ebb. He released a humorless choke of a laugh.
“This isn’t how I imagined my girlfriend’s introduction to my dad to be.”
I knew he meant “girlfriend” in the false sense, in our sense, in the nonsense sense. I nudged his shoulder with mine. “Yeah? How did you expect for me to meet him? Over four courses at our engagement dinner at Nobu?”
“Never.”
Malakai’s voice was hard as he evaded my gaze, his eyes trained on the poster ahead of him. Regular Malakai would have gone along with the bit:Nah, on the private jet to the private island we booked for our wedding week.
I got it. He didn’t need me to make him feel better. He knew his dad, and he needed to feel what he had to feel. I barely registered reaching for Malakai’s hand. It happened as I exhaled. I brought it to my lap, clasping it tight. Malakai squeezed my hand back immediately. We sat in solemn silence for a few moments, but then my insensitive stomach released a loud, obnoxious, petulant growl.No.I held still, hoping Malakai hadn’t noticed. He didn’t move either. Ignoring it seemed to work. We were quiet for a few more moments before Malakai’s shoulders started jutting, slowly and then quickly and his breath leaped out in sharp bursts. I bit my lip but it just made my snort come out nasal. Then we spontaneously combusted. Pressurized laughter tumbled over from us, as we tumbled over each other.
“I.” Rapid inhale and exhale. “Am.” Wheeze, some hyperventilation. “So sorry.”
Malakai got up from the bed and reached out a hand to me, his eyes brighter now, lighter now. “Alright, Nala. Let’s get you some food.”
I placed my hand in his and allowed him to haul me up toward the door. He didn’t let go till we reached the kitchen.
“Alright. Well done. This banged.” I pushed the last forkful of moist, stewy, peppery rice into my mouth.
Malakai smiled as he rose from the dining table with both of our plates. “We did good. And yes, I recognize it was a team effort. Don’t know how I could have done it without you drinking wine and shouting commands at me.”
I inclined my head in a regal bow. “You’re welcome. I think my morale boosting is really what gave it a moreish kick.”
“I think it was the bay leaves.”
“Who reminded you to put the bay leaves in?”
Malakai laughed and sat back down at the table, taking a swig of his Supermalt. We hadn’t mentioned what I’d walked in on. Malakai deliberately left no space for it.
We’d bantered as he crushed the Maggi cubes, blended the peppers, tomatoes, onions. He’d already marinated the wings overnight in a special concoction that involved honey and assorted spices, and the aroma filled the kitchen, spicing up our laughter as the dish baked in the oven. The chicken was good, falling off the bone, the seasoning sinking through the flesh, through marrow, saturated with flavor. I was impressed. And satisfied. So satisfied I could feel myself getting sleepy. I pushed my chair back, yawning.
“Sorry.”
Malakai smiled at me. “You want dessert? I can offer you store-brand ice cream sprinkled with Frosties while we watch an Eddie Murphy movie of your choice. Didn’t you say he was your first human crush?”
I patted my stomach and stretched. “As delicious as that sounds, I think I need to bounce. I’ve got some reports to fill out for the project.”
Malakai’s smile dimmed. “Yeah. Of course.”
He turned to the sink and started washing up. I watched him for a while quietly before joining him, grabbing a dishcloth and drying the plates in the rack.
“We do have one more bottle of wine. Let’s start withBoomerang.” I released a low whistle, as I carefully dried a fork. “Eddie was peak peng in that.”
Malakai splashed me with suds.
We weren’t five minutes into the film when Malakai brought it up. We were sat side by side, on his bed, cracking jokes, drinking mugs of wine (he, naturally, didn’t have wine glasses) when he fell silent, as if trying to configure his words.
“I should explain that Nollywood drama. That’s part of the deal. Communication?”
