With the Fire on High(70)

I keep my face stone cold; I keep all my feelings tucked tight like a gymnast holds herself when she’s tumbling through the air. But that’s exactly how I feel, like I’m free-falling.

“Let me think about that, Tyrone. That’s a big change.”

“Of course. I know it’s a lot to drop on you. I just, I miss her when she’s not with me. Every time I see her she’s grown bigger and is doing something new and . . . I don’t want to miss any more moments.”

I nod. “If you wait a few minutes, I’ll have Babygirl ready for you. No sense in your driving back home only to turn right back around.”

And I try to tell myself the same thing: forward is the only direction to go in; turning back around is for the birds.





Prom


Although Malachi and I talk every day and see each other in school, we’ve been more chill since Spain. We’ve fallen into an easy rhythm of friends who kiss and talk all the time, but there’s no pressure for much else.

We haven’t talked about “us” and what long-distance will mean. And I’m fine with that.

“You just hanging around the house?” ’Buela says as she puts in an earring. I lean around her to watch the TV. Reruns of Barefoot Contessa are on.

I nod. “Yeah, just me and Babygirl.”

“Is Angelica coming over?” She puts on her coat and grabs her purse.

“No. She’s planning her prom outfit with Laura.”

’Buela has the lipstick halfway to her lips when she stops. “And when are you planning your outfit?”

I nod at the screen. “The contessa just always knows what to add to make a table look classy. I need to email Aunt Sarah some of these tips.”

“Emoni, you didn’t hear me ask you a question. Why haven’t you mentioned prom?” She sits next to me on the couch. “Nena, do you not want to go?”

“No, ’Buela, I don’t. We already spent all that money for the Spain trip and my school deposit. Aren’t we stretching every dollar as it is? My tips from serving lunch at school only go so far. I can’t ask you to give an extra two hundred a month later.”

“Apaga la televisión.” And I can tell she’s about to Mama Bear me, which is what she does when she wants to be strict without nagging me.

“C’mon, ’Buela. You’re going to be late for your date with Joe. Can’t we talk about this later?”

“A . . . pá . . . ga . . . la.”

I roll my eyes and turn off the TV.

“You don’t want to go to prom? Malachi didn’t ask you?”

“He did. He’s been asking me but he understands that it’s just not something we have the money for and that I don’t want to go.”

“You’re a woman soon. But for the next month and half, enjoy high school. Go to prom.”

“The only thing I want to do on prom night is hang out here, watch JLo movies, and make delicious snacks. What do you think?”

She leans her forehead against mine. “Well, nena, I think we could live with that.”

And a week later, that’s exactly what I do. Malachi goes to prom but leaves early and joins us at the house. He brings me a bright-red rose, and tucks my hand into his suit pocket as we slow-dance to a corny Jennifer Lopez song. Babygirl and ’Buela clap when we are done. And it’s exactly the memory I wanted.





The Rising


I can’t sleep the night before graduation. It’s almost midnight. As of tomorrow afternoon, I’ll be a high school graduate. And since it was my eighteenth birthday a week ago, I’m officially an adult.

Unfortunately, all I want to do is snuggle in ’Buela’s lap and ask her to fix my life for me. To make the decisions. To make it all easy. Everyone’s words swirl in my ear. ’Buela. Julio. Angelica. Ms. Fuentes. Aunt Sarah. Chef Amadí. Chef Ayden. Tyrone. Malachi.

Babygirl sighs in her sleep and I get up to touch her cheek. She’s so peaceful and I know I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight. I tiptoe past ’Buela’s bedroom and walk downstairs into the kitchen. Set the oven to 350 degrees. Grab flour. Butter. Salt. Dried oregano. A beer I planned to use to braise a steak.

Julio once told me my mom loved to bake. Aunt Sarah has confirmed it’s true, although none of the recipes she’s ever sent me mention them being my mother’s. I mix all the ingredients together.

I’m going to have to tell ’Buela what I decided to do about college. And I’ll need to make some plans for the fall. Tyrone still wants to discuss a new custody schedule, and I think I’m going to let him have more days with Babygirl. The ServSafe test results come back in a week, and I’m sure your girl did well. I’ve never studied harder for an exam.

The bread still has twenty minutes to go, and I’m nodding off when I hear a knock on the door. At this point it’s past midnight. I grab one of the knives from the butcher block and walk quietly toward the peephole.

Standing on the front stoop is Julio. A whole month earlier than usual. I crack the door open and I think I must still be dreaming. But he sweeps me up in a hug and there’s his old, familiar scent: Old Spice, loc lotion, and something I’ve always called his “island scent.”

“What are you doing here? We didn’t expect you for a month,” I whisper.