With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo

 

To the Bone

The next week zooms by like a train: I move from one thing to the next without stopping and I’m left tired to my very bones. I mean that literally—even my bones need a nap. Between my weekend shifts at the Burger Joint, finishing college applications, creating flyers, using social media to boost the fund-raiser, and mornings cooking for the lunch crowd or afternoons serving them, I never have time to breathe. Even at home, I’m making dinner or washing dishes, and as much as I love cooking, I could use a pause.

And none of that even touches on the fact that I’m usually exhausted just from having to run around ensuring Babygirl is fed and clothed, has been to the park, has been read to, has slept well, is up on her checkups, and is ready for her visits with her father.

There are some nights I want to cry myself to sleep from how much I’m carrying, but even my eyes are too tired to make tears work properly.

Thanksgiving in our house this year is a quiet event. Since I get Babygirl for Christmas, New Year’s, and Three Kings’ Day, Tyrone and I decided it makes sense for him to take her for Thanksgiving. So this year it’s just me and ’Buela eating a small pernil and arroz and rainbow chard, watching the Eagles in an away game.

When my cell phone buzzes I know it’s Malachi before I even look at the screen. All of ’Buela’s family has already called her, Aunt Sarah called me and we spoke for a few moments, then she promised to send me an email with a pie recipe I requested, and Gelly is caught up with Laura’s family so she won’t be pressed to reach me.

“Hey, Santi. I just wanted to wish you a happy Thanksgiving. What’d you make?”

I hesitate before answering. “Chocolate pudding, Malachi. You should try some,” I say, my face splitting into a smile.