With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo
Sous Chef
“So, este Malachi from school, what do you know about him?” ’Buela asks. She’s at the kitchen sink washing the dishes from lunch as I feed Babygirl the last of her food. And by feed, I mean I’m trying to get her to stop playing with the rice kernels in her bowl and actually get them into her mouth, where I hope some of them will get swallowed instead of just spit back out into a spittle mosaic on her plate.
“I know he lives in Oxford Circle with his aunt. And he’s originally from New Jersey. He’s a senior like me and transferred in last month. I know that he has a sense of humor.”
“Is he kind?” ’Buela turns the water off and dries the last of the dishes before folding the towel over the sink.
Babygirl dodges another spoonful of food. “Yeah, he is kind. Very polite.”
She nods. “So, you’re dating?”
I almost drop the spoon. “No, ’Buela! Jesus, we’re just friends. Not even that. Just classmates. When have you known me to date anyone since Tyrone?”
’Buela has her back to me but she’s completely still. “Okay. I just think Baby Emma’s a little young for you to start bringing more boys around.”
I put the spoon down. Even after what I told Malachi about shame, ’Buela’s words land like a slap. I swallow and keep my voice soft and neutral when I say, “I’m not ‘bringing more boys around.’ He’s just going to help me make this meal for Angelica and Laura. I don’t even know if I’m introducing him to Babygirl.”
’Buela nods and hands me a napkin. I wipe rice from Babygirl’s chin.
“So have you made this before?” Malachi asks as he pulls the pot of pasta off the fire.
I almost called and told him not to come. After the talk with ’Buela, I realized this could become more drama than it’s worth. But by then he was probably already on his way and it didn’t make sense. Or maybe I still wanted him to come through. All I know is that he’s here.
“Nope. It’s my aunt’s recipe, but I’m going to give it something extra.”
“You always do; that’s probably why Chef Ayden gets so angry.”
I shrug. “He won’t have to be angry anymore. He has all the little soldiers he needs.” I give him a two-finger salute.
He shakes his head and opens the fridge to place the butter back. I add the last of the seasonings on the filet and turn to get a large skillet. ’Buela walks to the doorway. She’s been watching Babygirl in her room; I’d decided not to introduce her to Malachi after all.
“So, Malachi. You like the cooking class you take with Emoni?” ’Buela asks.
I shoot him a look and he raises an eyebrow at me, but when he turns to ’Buela he’s all dimples. I don’t know how good he is at silent communication but I need him to keep his mouth shut about the class. No pudding jokes. No threesome jokes. No “trash it” jokes. And most definitely not the truth: that I haven’t been going to class.
“Mrs. Santiago, I really do like the class. I did a lot of the cooking growing up because my mother worked late and I was the oldest. So I was the one making sure my brother was well fed.”
I look at him, surprised. I didn’t know he grew up cooking, or anything about his family, really. ’Buela blinks slowly, the way she does when she’s translating fast English into Spanish. “You were the oldest but not anymore?”
Malachi straightens and shakes his head, his smile falling off his face. He pauses for a long moment as if having an internal debate. The gentle look on ’Buela’s face must decide it for him.
“My little brother was killed last February. Some beef in the neighborhood back home and he was shot. It’s unclear if it was a stray bullet or meant for him.” He doesn’t look at me as he speaks. Keeps his eyes steady on ’Buela’s. I tighten my hands on the kitchen counter. My heart squeezes in my chest. “My moms didn’t want me caught up in the same drama so she sent me down here to live with my aunt even though it’s less than two hours away. But Moms says the block would eat me up and spit me out and she couldn’t watch that happen again. Now there’s no reason for me to cook anymore since Aunt Brenda works regular hours and gets dinner on the table without me.” I don’t know if a shrug can be a sad thing or not, but that small movement of his shoulders knots something in my throat.
The oven timer goes off but I ignore it. Out of my control, my hand halfway reaches out to touch Malachi’s back but then I pull it to my side. I don’t want anyone in the room getting the wrong impression. Myself included. But ’Buela does it for me. She walks to Malachi, who is double her size, and pulls him into a fierce hug. She pats his back with soft thumps that sound just like a heartbeat.
“It isn’t easy to lose a family member. Thank you for sharing that with me. I’m glad you and Emoni are friends.”
She pulls back from him while still holding his arms. Looks up into his eyes. “But take care it doesn’t become more than that. I don’t want to see either of you hurt.”
’Buela has a way of letting you know she cares for you—and that she’ll also beat that ass if you act up.
Malachi nods and then smiles. It’s not his usual lightbulb smile but it gets close, and instantly ’Buela smiles back, pats his cheek. “You seem like a good boy. I won’t get into that other one she brought here, since he helped make my granddaughter, but chacho, he wasn’t an easy one to swallow. Don’t let the pasta sit too long, Emoni; Angelica will kill you.” She heads out of the kitchen toward the sound of cheering coming from her bedroom.
“Thanks for that,” I say under my breath. I clear my throat. “Thanks for telling us that. For answering her questions. She’s nosy.” I move to the stove and turn the heat up. To get a nice sear on the steaks I’ll need a hot pan and a quick hand before I finish the steak with the mac and cheese in the oven.
“Is your grandmother watching a football game?” Malachi asks from the doorway. Clearly he doesn’t want to talk about his brother anymore.
“Oh, yeah. She’s a huge Eagles fan, but since they don’t play until tomorrow, she has to get her fix with college games.”
Malachi’s hand tickles the back of my neck and before I know it he pulls me in for a hug from behind. I stand with my hands stiffly by my sides, but when he doesn’t let go, I lean against his forearm. And I wonder if he put cologne on the inside of his wrist, because he smells good.
“Emoni,” he whispers into my hair.
“Mmm?” I ask. He’s about to ruin this. He’s going to try to kiss me or say something nasty. Boys are dumb like that. Always ruining the moment.
“I think you were wrong. We are friends. Your grandmother said so. And she seems like the kind of woman that knows what she’s talking about. Even if she does have horrible taste in football teams.”
I smile into his arm before bumping him away. I have a smoking skillet that needs my attention. And a correction to make. “The Eagles are definitely going to win the Super Bowl again this season. Just you watch.”