With the Fire on High(32)

On the street outside of Angelica’s house he grabs the bag of empty containers from me. I begin to protest but then shut my mouth. I have to say it’s kind of nice to be able to stick my hands into my pockets and let someone else carry the dirty dishes for a change.

“I hope so. They deserve a nice dinner. They’re a really cute couple.” I face him. “Not sure what you have planned next. I need to get home and make sure Babygirl and ’Buela are all right.”

He gives me a nod and the dirty containers rattle inside the big bag ’Buela bought from the dollar store for groceries.

I look at him. Bite my lip. Pull out my phone. I click it on so the time projects brightly. Eight p.m. Still early. I slip the phone back into my pocket. “Do you want to come back? Watch TV or something? There were leftovers.”

I expect him to smirk, or raise an eyebrow, but he just gives me a slow nod and keeps following me home. I’ve always been glad Gelly and I live close to each other, but never more than in this moment.

“I’m down to watch TV, but only if you promise we don’t watch a scary movie. I hate scary movies.” He pretends to shudder in fear, and the giggle that springs out my throat isn’t something I’ve heard in a long time. It doesn’t sound anything like me at all. I feel those first crush butterflies that I thought I’d never feel again, which I know sounds silly for a seventeen-year-old to say, but some days I don’t feel like a seventeen-year-old at all.

“A big ole dude like you, scared of ghosts and masked killers?” I tease.

“Yup! And like someone reminded me earlier, shame is usually someone else’s problem. I’m not ashamed of hating horror films at all!”

When we get into the apartment Malachi sits on one end of the couch and I sit on the other with a cushion on top of my lap and plenty of space between us. We watch a Kevin Hart comedy and chat through the commercials about school and music. I tell him about the empty houses that have begun appearing on the block and how quickly they are being bought up. When the movie ends at ten Malachi gets up and puts his jacket on without my asking him to.

“Thanks for answering my call today, Santi.” He leans down and wraps his long arms around me, and I feel warmth shoot from the middle of my back where he hugs me all the way up to my face. I hug him tightly back.

Trouble. This boy is just straight trouble.





Ramifications


My cell phone rings the next morning just as ’Buela is headed out to church. “’Buela, can you get that? My hands are wet,” I call when I hear her coming down the steps. I’m at the sink washing the pans I let soak overnight. Sometimes, Babygirl and I go with her to church, but she never presses me if I’m not ready or don’t want to go. Today is one of those days where I’m looking forward to enjoying a playful and easy morning with my kid.

The phone stops ringing and I hear ’Buela murmur into it, “Sí, one moment, Tyrone.”

’Buela hands me a towel and holds my phone out to me. I dry my hands and take it from her, conscious that she hasn’t left but has decided to rest against the doorframe. That can’t be good.

I take a deep breath. “Hey, Tyrone. Wassup?”

“Yo, Emoni, why am I getting phone calls from one of my boys telling me he saw you walk into your house with some dude? I miss one weekend with her, and you bringing other guys around my daughter?”

I close my eyes. This cannot be what he’s calling me about. Why does he have people in my neighborhood checking for me, anyway? Furthermore, what business is it of his? Especially if Babygirl didn’t even meet Malachi?

I ball up the dish towel but after a glance at ’Buela smooth it out. I don’t want her to see I’m upset.

“I didn’t bring anyone around your daughter,” I say, and shoot another look at ’Buela. She raises an eyebrow and walks into the living room. “And if I have a friend from school come over to help me with a side project, that’s my business.”

Tyrone’s voice is harsh in reply. “Working on a ‘side project’ is a funny way to say you’re someone’s side piece.”

My breath gets short in my chest. I can’t believe Tyrone sometimes. “Tyrone, he wasn’t around your daughter. She was asleep. She never met him. And I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Your grandmother was there?” Tyrone asks.

I force myself to inhale deeply, then exhale the same way before I respond. I try to remember that what’s best for Babygirl isn’t always what’s easiest for me. Because right now what would be easy is to hang up on Tyrone. “Yes, ’Buela was home.”

“Put her on. I want to ask her myself.”

I walk into the living room and stop halfway to the couch. Nah. I don’t ask about the girls he dates and I don’t harass him when he says he doesn’t introduce them to Babygirl. Plus, we aren’t children anymore; our parents aren’t going to sign us out of trouble.

“Tyrone, I’m not putting my grandmother on. I have never lied to you.”

He breathes hard in my ear, then all sound drops from the call. He’s hung up on me. Babygirl is sitting in ’Buela’s lap, sucking her thumb.

“Why don’t you get her dressed?” ’Buela asks. “At this rate I’ll have missed the procession by the time I get to the church—and I don’t like walking in late. We can go get breakfast instead. We’ll do those dishes later.”