With the Fire on High(37)
And it must be true when they say you become your parents, because that lecture could have been stolen straight from ’Buela’s script.
Tyrone tugs his fitted down so it covers his eyes and I know it’s not because the light slanting in through the window bothers him. He looks like a puppy that got in trouble for peeing on the rug. “We decided we weren’t going to stay together for the baby. Fine, I get that. But you said you weren’t going to date other people.”
If he were Angelica, I would hold his hand and use my soft voice that I take on when I hurt her feelings. If he were ’Buela, I would take a deep breath and use my “I’m an adult” voice that is slow and patient. But he’s neither of those people, and I still haven’t figured out what voice to use when he’s hurt but also being illogical. So instead, I choose my words with slow care. “I’m not dating other people. But that doesn’t mean I can’t, does it? I think if you have people in my neighborhood making sure your daughter is safe, that’s good. That makes you a good father. But if you have people spying on me to see whether or not I bring dudes home, that’s going to hurt you more than it’s going to hurt me. And it’s going to hurt Emma most.” I feel my voice hitch in my throat. Tyrone and I have had many talks but never one like this.
Tyrone doesn’t speak again. He stands when ’Buela comes into the room. “Thanks, Mrs. Santiago. I appreciate you getting Emma ready,” he says, taking Babygirl from ’Buela’s arms.
He grabs the baby bag and the stroller while still holding Babygirl on his hip. I open the door for him and kiss Babygirl on the cheek, and can’t help but get a whiff of Tyrone. He smells like soap and fresh aftershave.
“Don’t let your mom feed her too many granola bars, please? I know they seem healthy, but they are full of sugar.”
“I won’t.” He leans in and has Babygirl plant a kiss on my cheek. It’s the closest he’ll get to offering an apology. Babygirl seems happy in his arms and doesn’t stir when she realizes ’Buela and I are staying behind.
“I’ll have her back right on time tomorrow,” Tyrone calls over his shoulder.
I close the door and lean against it. ’Buela begins picking up the playthings that Babygirl had spread across the floor.
“It’s a hard path you’re walking, Emoni. But you’re doing just fine. Now, come help me clean your daughter’s clutter.”
I shake my head at all the separate feelings inside me; sometimes I feel more scattered than Babygirl’s toys.
Proposals
Over the next week and a half, as part of my new role as head of the fund-raising committee, I have to submit a list of ideas to Chef Ayden that will help us raise the eight thousand dollars needed for our trip. I talk it over with Angelica, and her creative mind spins with big galas and silent auctions of her artwork. She even suggests reaching out to local rappers and asking them to give proceeds of their record sales for the trip. When I ask Malachi for his thoughts, he goes in a different direction than Angelica; like the doctor he’s told me he wants to be, he talks about the optimal results and makes a bullet-point list of how to make the most money in the quickest fashion. ’Buela taps on her chin when I ask her and thinks of a bingo game at the rec center with all proceeds going to the trip. I’ve been calling Julio more often since the storm, and he’s quick to offer his thoughts on organizing a fund-raiser. He gives me a letter template to petition our district council member and has a whole game plan outlined for me to knock on doors in the neighborhood with food samples so people will donate directly. He says the best way to move forward is to keep it grassroots; when you support the community, the community will support you.
I make detailed notes of everyone’s suggestions and on my own I spend time in the computer lab after school looking up different ways to raise money. I feel a thrill in my body; I’m excited to put my proposal in motion. I know we can make this work. But first I’ll have to convince Chef Ayden.
Angelica helps me write up my presentation with graphics and pie charts, and Malachi checks my numbers to make sure all the math is correct. ’Buela and Babygirl listen as I practice presenting my proposal. Although I’m the chairperson, this is my unofficial committee, and like Chef Ayden always says, sometimes you need a team to help you.
I’m standing in front of Chef Ayden. I’ve printed out neat copies of my ideas, the timeline, and the projected amount we’ll raise.
“As you see from my list, there are a couple of options. I know the class has thought of a bake sale and I think we should do that to raise money, but not for the class trip. I think we should use it to raise money to buy larger quantities of food to cook in class for us to sell. This very kitchen has the small café next door. Instead of using it for restaurant practice, I think we should open it up and serve lunch. We have all this food that we make but that goes to waste. Why not make larger portions and sell them for more money than we spent on the food? It would only require buying larger amounts, storing the food appropriately throughout the week, and making sure the recipes are ones we can sell. I’m sure the staff would like to have options for something other than the cafeteria food.”
Chef raises an eyebrow. What I’m asking will mean more work for him, mainly picking up and storing bigger quantities of food weekly. “I also think we should submit a proposal to the school to have us cater the Winter Dinner.”