With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo
Visitation
The rest of the school week goes by quickly and before I know it, it’s Saturday morning.
“Babygirl, hold still,” I say, tugging her little Jordans onto her feet. She keeps wriggling around, trying to climb up to Tyrone. “Can you help, please?”
I’ve been trying to get her dressed for more than five minutes, and he’s just been sitting across from me like a dodo bird. Fine, he’s still mad about the Malachi thing, but lord knows he has all kinds of girls up in his house, so why he’s hung up on my friends is beyond me. He didn’t even say hello to ’Buela, and she has nothing to do with this. As much as his mother loves sticking her nose in the air, some days Tyrone has no damn home training.
Finally he lets go a long sigh. “Emma, let your mom put your stuff on.” But Emma tugs her foot, flipping the sneaker up, and it bangs me in the nose.
“Ouch! Emma!” Babygirl looks up, startled at her government name springing from my lips, and starts to cry.
“Here, let me help,” ’Buela says, and picks up Babygirl and the sneaker. “I’m going to take her onto my bed; it might be easier to get her dressed there.” She raises an eyebrow and gives me a pointed look. I know what she’s thinking: She doesn’t like it when Tyrone and I are mad at each other. She says it’s bad for Babygirl because she gets stuck in the middle.
I stop rubbing my nose and take a deep breath. “You still feel some type of way? Let’s just go ahead and talk about it.”
Tyrone readjusts the brim of his fitted. “I don’t have anything to say.”
Which is clearly a lie. Tyrone knows so many words to sweet-talk a girl, but when it comes to talking about his feelings he always swears he has nothing to say. “You turned eighteen a couple of months ago, which means you’re an adult. We can talk like grown-ups. So, why are you angry? You date girls all the time. And this wasn’t even a date. He’s just a friend.”
He shakes his head. “Maaan, ‘a friend,’ who I don’t know, who was around my daughter.”
“Is that why you’re actually angry? You tell me about every girl who meets you at the playground when you have Babygirl with you? Or the shopping-mall trips you go on that aren’t dates, but somehow, photos get posted on social media of you and girls and my daughter asleep in a stroller? Thing one, he’s new to Philadelphia, so you’d have no reason to know him. Thing two, Tyrone, we have a child. We can’t play silent-treatment games. For the rest of our lives, God willing, we’ll have a child. So, I can’t afford to act like one and neither can you.”
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.