With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo
Accepted
“I got in!” Angelica screams into the phone. “I’m coming over right now! I want you to read the email to me. I need a witness to make sure this is real!”
And I know she doesn’t say Pratt Institute, but there’s no other school she’d be this excited about and they were the only school to wait-list her. She must have gotten off the list. My girl is going to be heading out to New York.
I shake myself when I realize the silence has gone on a moment too long. “Angelica, I’m so excited for you! Come over. I can’t wait to read the email.”
I put the phone down. ’Buela is napping on the couch after a big breakfast.
I close the novel I was reading for English. I don’t know why I’m even doing homework anymore. The end of the year is in four weeks and teachers don’t even care about schoolwork these days. It’s not like they’re going to fail us. A couple of them have been really “sick” lately. I’ve seen more subs this month than in the whole year.
There are three hard knocks on the front door and I open it without looking through the peephole.
“Angelica, ’Buela is sleeping, so—” But it’s not Angelica.
It’s Tyrone. Good-cologne-wearing-ass Tyrone with a puppy-dog look on his face. “Can we speak? I was hoping we could talk about something.”
I step onto the stoop and pull the door closed behind me. “Tyrone, you’re here”—I check my phone—“two hours early. I don’t have Babygirl ready yet.” Unfortunately, it’s his weekend.
“I wanted to talk about that,” Tyrone says. “I have an update.”
“Yeah. I got an update of my own. I got into college. And I’m dating someone.”
His lips tighten and he shakes his head. “Dating someone? I had heard something but I hoped it wasn’t true. I don’t like that.”
I take a deep breath. “I know, Tyrone. I know. And for a long time, I wanted to do what everyone liked. I just need you to be there for your daughter. I’ll respect you and I won’t introduce her to someone unless I’m sure of who they are and that they’ll be a good influence, but I’m not going to hide myself from the world. I’m not going to stop living. I’m not going to resent my kid. That’s not how you care for a person.”
He hasn’t stopped shaking his head. “I knew you shouldn’t have gone to Spain. You came back with all these crazy ideas. My mother always said you were easily influenced.” I smile, because when his mother wanted to pay for my abortion, “easily influenced” was not what she’d called me.
Tyrone shoves his hands in his pockets and clears the frown off his face. I take him in. He looks more mature; his collared shirt is ironed, his hair is nicely trimmed. There’s an air of confidence around him that seems less reliant on how quick he can turn a phrase and like he’s actually comfortable in his own skin. I don’t know when that happened but I must have missed the transformation.
“Listen, actually, that’s not why I’m here. That’s your business. You’ve taken care of Emma well so far and although I don’t like it . . . I’m just not going to think about other dudes around my baby-moms and my kid.
“But I am here about Emma. I want you to know that I got a job recently, and my own apartment. So I want to help you out more with money; my mother tells me all the time babies are expensive, and I know I could be doing better by you and Emma. Even if I can’t offer a lot just yet.”
My heart stops for a second. Army tank Mrs. Palmer was advocating for giving me some money for Babygirl? Everything in this life really does change. But Tyrone isn’t finished, and he holds up a hand as if what he has to say next isn’t something I’m going to want to hear.
“Emoni, I want to extend my visitations. Friday night to Monday morning. I think I deserve the whole weekend. Emma is always well taken care of, I pick her up and drop her off on time, and you always know how to reach me. And I’d like a full week in the summer to take her on vacation with my family.”
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.