Malcolm Hook

As Malcolm hung up the phone, Laila looked at him expectantly and asked, “Well? What did Duncan want?”

“We got it,” he whispered. “We got the rookie bonus.”

She shrieked, “What?! Really?!”

“Babe. Twenty. Grand!” he grinned at her.

“That’s amazing!”

He twirled her into his arms, “We’re going out tonight! I’m gonna go get a haircut and we’re gonna go out to that expensive Gary Danko place, and we’re gonna kiss faces!” And with that, Malcolm kissed her with exaggerated passion before sprinting out the door.

When he returned, Laila was in a black dress that accentuated her curves and complimented her hazelnut skin. She was combing product into her hair and caught Malcolm’s gaze in the mirror as he rounded the corner, “So, they really chose you over me? Is it because I told Duncan’s wife, she should leave him?”

Malcolm laughed and tenderly looped his hand around her waist as he spoke into her neck, “If it makes you feel better, he said it was really close between the two of us. I think it probably came down to a coin flip, honestly.”

“And they chose the man. Classic.”

“Hey, not just any man. I’m THE Malcolm Hook.”

“Oh really?” She smiled at him playfully and pulled his arms tight around her.

“Tonight? Absolutely.”

At the restaurant, they ordered the compulsory charcuterie board and consequent wine pairings required of a celebratory date like this one. On a typical night, the two of them would share everything to include the entrées, and they had initially planned to do the same tonight, however, once their main courses arrived, they felt the pressure from the deep pockets around them to keep to their respective plates.

Despite that, Malcolm adoringly watched his girlfriend close her eyes and softly sigh in enjoyment as she delicately chewed her roasted quail stuffed with cornbread. In that moment he knew that everything in his life had made it possible for him to get to this moment. He reached across the table and gently placed his hand on top of hers and asked, “Can I tell you a story about my Mama?”

“Of course, baby.” Laila said as she stacked her second hand on top of his.

“Well, you remember the cartwheels?” He prompted.

She smiled and indulged him, “Tell me again.”

Malcolm grinned and launched into the telling of the story, “Well as you know, I was an amazing kid.”

“But of course. I mean how else could you become The Malcolm Hook?” she proclaimed, playing along.

He chuckled, “Exactly. I’m so glad you’re finally starting to get it. Anyway, my mom worked two jobs, so she didn’t always get to bear witness-“

“Oh jeez,” she laughed, “Bear witness??”

“Yep,” he continued, ignoring her attempts to mock, “She didn’t always get to bear witness to all of the steps of my greatness. So, in effect, sometimes I’d shock her with the things I could do. Like, the cartwheel. We were at my cousins’ house for a cookout, and the kids were running around while the parents were watching from the porch. I was pumped. Up. I knew that my time to shine was coming.”

She laughed. “Yes, because you were ready!” she said, drawing out the “y” on “ready”.

“I was! Kell had been rubbing it in all our faces that he could do a cartwheel for like a year now. So, once we got there, I tried to bait him to do it because since I’d seen him last, I’d also learned to do a cartwheel. Man, I was more excited than Christmas and Easter combined because not only that, but while I was learning to cartwheel, I figured out that I, Malcom Hook, could also do,” he paused and looked around before dramatically whispering, “Back flips.”

“Oh no, baby. Don’t do it to ‘em!”

“I had to! And you should have seen it. It was beautiful. I stuck that landing like I was Simone Biles. The crowd went crazy! Auntie Sasha was hootin’ and hollerin’, my cousins were running around taking their shirts off, it was amazing.”

“And that was the night you got your nickname!”

“Yep. When they asked Mama if she knew I could do that, she said, ‘No way, that boy has more secrets than a little black book.’ And she liked how it sounded. So, whenever I would do something amazing, she’d call me her Baby Mack Hook the Little Black Book.”

Malcolm trailed off in thought, and Laila softly anchored him to the present as she spoke, “I love that story, Mack. I wish I could have gotten to know her.”

As if waking up, Malcolm snapped back to the table and smiled, “Well, that’s not actually the story I wanted to tell.”

“Oh?”

“No. The story I wanted to tell was actually from later that night.”

“I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“Well, that night when we got home, she hugged me real tight, and after a while I felt on my neck that she was crying. I asked her what was wrong, and she made me make her a promise. She said, ‘Promise me to always remember that you write your book the way you like it. And never let anyone tell you that you wrote it wrong.”

“Was she crying like she was happy or sad?”

“I don’t really know… That night was one of those things that you kind of fixate on as a kid and never really forget. But so, from that point, I started to think about my life as this book, and I name the different chapters.”

“Really? Like still?” Laila’s eyes widened with curiosity.

“Ya! Like, each chapter is a different part of me throughout time, you know?”

“What’s this chapter called?”

“Mr. Hook.”

She released a laugh from deep in her diaphragm and asked, “It’s just your name?”

“Well, they’re all variations of my name. It’s a book about me!” Malcolm retorted with feigned defensiveness.

“Okay, okay, I guess that’s fair. But I feel like there can’t be that many variations of your name. How many chapters do you have so far?”

“Uhhh,” he thought for a moment, “Like 5… And a half. 5-ish.”

She laughed again at that, “A half? How do you have half a chapter? Did it happen or not?”

“Well, that’s the thing, there were two that had a considerable amount of overlap, so I don’t know if they should be considered different chapters or not. You know?”

“No,” she replied, still chuckling, “What do you mean?”

“Well, going into the sixth grade I was a little husky-“

“Yes, I’ve seen the photos.”

“So, kids used to call me ‘Big Mac’ to make fun of me.”

“Aww babe, but I thought you thinned out again by eighth grade.”

“I did, but the damage was done. Those people, and my husky middle-schooler self, would forever be a part of the Big Mac Chapter. I saw high school as the opportunity I needed to start a new chapter where I wasn’t the fat kid. I’d be cool, and I’d play basketball and I’d have honeys all over me and people would call me ‘Mack Daddy’.”

“You preemptively named your high school chapter ‘Mack Daddy’?”

“Yes.”

“How’d that work out?”

“Well, I played basketball, and you know, I’m irresistible, and I was cool enough. But they didn’t call me ‘Mack Daddy’.”

“What’d they call you?”

“Hookie.”

“Why?”

“I was trying so hard to be cool I might have been a bit of a flake sometimes. When I wouldn’t show up to plans, they’d say I was playing ‘Hookie’.”

“You were a flake? No, babe! We hate flakes!”

“I know I know. Being cool was complicated!”

“Not for me.”

“Okay, prom queen. Can I finish?”

“I’m sorry. You may proceed.”

“I bring all this up because this bonus is helping me name the next chapter.”

“I swear, don’t tell me you want it to be called, ‘Best Rookie Hookie’.”

He laughed and looked down at the velvet box in his hands, “Actually, I’d like the next chapter to be titled, ‘Laila’s Husband.’”

He slid out from behind the table and onto one knee, “Laila Hazel Jones, will you marry me?”