With the Fire on High(71)

“What, you didn’t think I would miss my only girl’s graduation?”

I almost nod. I did, in fact, expect just that.

“Is everyone sleeping?” He tugs his suitcase into the living room and I close the door behind him. His bag is bigger than usual. I walk into the kitchen and he follows me, stopping at the doorway.

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?” he says, rocking on his heels.

I check the oven. Still a bit more time while the top of the bread browns.

Julio and I are both standing. “You want to sit and join me, I can cut you a slice of bread in a bit.”

But he’s shaking his head before I even finish my sentence. “No, no, I couldn’t. Did Mami cook today?”

“What, don’t tell me you’re gluten free,” I joke. “’Buela didn’t cook today. You’re stuck with my food, and I don’t know if you heard, but I’m a pretty good cook.”

There’s a long pause. “Emoni, don’t you ever wonder why whenever I visit I don’t eat your cooking?”

Of course I wondered. I was just too in my feelings to ever say anything.

“Your grandmother says your food reminds her of Puerto Rico. But for me? Your food doesn’t make me think of back home, it makes me think of the home I had here. Every single one of your dishes makes me think of your mother. It kills me to see memories of her face every time I take a bite of something you made. It kills me to be here in Philadelphia, and every street corner reminds me of her. I always think with time it will get easier. But it hasn’t.”

I’m stuck. Julio and I have never talked about my mother, and although my appetite for the bread is crushed beneath his words, my hunger to say the thing I’ve never said blossoms.

I walk to the sink and wash my hands. I look at my father. “I should be so angry at you. You abandoned me over and over. Why haven’t I ever been enough to make you stay?”

He stuffs his hands in his pockets again. His long locs swing as he shakes his head. “It was never you, Emoni. I tried. Every year I came I said this would be the year I stayed and helped to raise my daughter. But you didn’t need me. Moms did such a good job while I was gone and I wasn’t built for a place like this. I miss the ocean. I miss the warmth. I miss having a real purpose. There are so many tough reminders for me here.”

“But wouldn’t there have been good memories, too? If you stayed long enough to make some?”

He nods. “Quizás, Emoni. Quizás. I want to keep on trying even though you are too grown to need me. I know you got a lot of changes coming, and I was thinking maybe I could stay for a while this time and help you with Emma and the bills. That could work, right? While you get used to what’s coming next?”

And maybe the trying has to be enough. I take the bread out the oven and slice a piece for myself. I sit down at the table and take a bite. My father watches me closely for a moment before he reaches over and breaks off a corner. He closes his eyes. For a moment I think he’ll set the bread back down. But after a long pause he pops the bread between his lips and begins chewing. I reach across the table and cover his hand.





Promotion Ceremony


I have to use a whole pack of bobby pins to keep my cap sitting on my curls. We are standing outside of an auditorium at Temple University where the Schomburg graduation was held. ’Buela and Julio are snapping pictures on their phones as I hold Babygirl—she keeps running her fingers through the tassels on my cap. In my other hand I hold up my diploma. Mr. Jagoda stands in the background smiling, a calm presence, and I’m glad ’Buela invited him.

I hear someone squeal behind me and then Gelly throws an arm around my shoulders. I lean against her and smile as we pose. But her girls taking pictures without her must be too much for ’Buela to resist because she hands her phone to Mr. Jagoda and rushes to my other side.

Soon Malachi’s tall figure stands next to her, tickling Babygirl. When I look up at him he blows me a kiss. Mr. Jagoda gestures someone into the picture and Ms. Fuentes winks at me, but not quick enough because I notice the tears in her eyes. Someone clears his throat, and I turn my neck to see Chef Ayden standing behind me, an arm each on Malachi and Angelica’s shoulders. I have to do a double take when I see him in a sharp suit, his bald head shining in the sun. And just as we all stand straight and look at the cameras as Julio counts down, a high-pitched voice breaks in, “Can I get in, too?” Pretty Leslie doesn’t wait for me to respond as she presses into Ms. Fuentes and smiles a megawatt smile.

Before Julio puts down his phone I clear my throat and ask over the sounds of all my classmates taking photos, “Mr. Jagoda, can you take a picture of the group with Julio in it, too?” Mr. Jagoda takes Julio’s phone. I can tell Julio doesn’t know how to feel about Mr. Jagoda yet, but he stands next to Chef Ayden behind us. ’Buela’s arm comes around my waist, and it feels like it’s less to support me, and more to offer comfort. To both of us.

Mr. Jagoda counts down for the last time. My family smiles for the camera.

Everyone in the picture and their families have been invited back to our house for a graduation lunch. I started cooking last night, a feast to end all feasts. I’ve been putting the meal together for a while now, although I didn’t know exactly why I was pairing certain flavors, or how certain sides would work with one another. I was cooking toward this graduation dinner, because high school isn’t the only thing I’m leaving behind.