With the Fire on High by Elizabeth Acevedo

 

Chivalry

Auntie Jordyn lets us out through a side door, which means we avoid the rush. We are immediately sucker-punched by cold air and I pull the plastic cover tighter over Emma’s stroller. One of the things that I hate most about winter is that even though it’s only four thirty, it’s already dark out, and the temperature dropped twenty degrees in the two hours we were inside so now it’s barely in the double digits.

I try to blow heat onto my gloved hands. Malachi is still inside speaking with his aunt. Laura and Angelica are snuggling into each other’s necks. “You two go ahead. Laura’s house is in the opposite direction so it’s not like we’re walking to the same train.” Angelica gives me exactly three seconds to reconsider before she grabs Laura’s hand and flounces, literally flounces, away with Laura laughing behind her.

“Goodbye, Emoni. Thanks for including us,” Laura says over her shoulder. I don’t blame them for not wanting to stick around. I like how light Laura makes Angelica feel, how happy they are to hold hands and just love.

And then Malachi is standing beside me, and he’s tucked my hand into his, and he’s holding the stroller with his other hand, and I’m a web of knots. The feelings of this growing crush tangle with the feelings of guilt and doubt about whether or not I should pursue this. But I wish I could strip myself of my past and enjoy who I am right now.

“My aunt ordered us a ride-share so we don’t have to walk in the cold when we get off at your bus stop.” So that’s what they’d been in there discussing—where I lived.

“I don’t have a car seat for her so I’m not sure that will work,” I say.

But Malachi surprises me. “I know. We requested a car with a car seat.” It’s not the kind of thing I would imagine him thinking about.

We are quiet as we wait, and when the car pulls up I unbuckle Babygirl and Malachi holds open the door for me before folding up her stroller. We ride the twenty minutes home in silence, listening to R&B on the radio. My house is dark when we walk in. I close the door behind me and turn on the living room light. I’m so glad Disney tired Babygirl out and she was asleep in the car before the first song finished playing on the radio. It’s too early for her to go to bed, but I don’t have it in my heart to wake her up. I’ll just deal with her midnight energy when it comes. I take her upstairs and lay her down in her crib. When I come back down Malachi is using the bathroom.

I’m rinsing out a glass in the sink when I hear him follow me into the kitchen. I turn to ask him if he wants some water, but his arm that’s slipped around my waist and touching bare skin startles me. I freeze for a moment, and it’s not until I hear the glass shatter against the tile floor that I realize it fell from my hand.

We scramble back from each other and I listen to Babygirl’s monitor to make sure the noise didn’t wake her. When I’m greeted by silence from Babygirl, I drop to my knees to pick up the shards of glass. Malachi follows me down and we are nose to nose for one second before I scoop up some big chunks and carry them to the trash bin. Malachi grabs the broom in the kitchen corner and takes care of the smaller pieces.

“You’re good with kids,” I say when we’ve cleaned up.

“Yeah, my mom used to say the same thing. Even when he was being an asshole I had patience with my little brother. Emoni, are you bleeding?”

I look down at my hand. I hadn’t even noticed the small cut on my palm.

“Let me see,” he says. He pulls me over to the sink and puts my hand under running water, then inspects my cut palm. After a moment, he curls my hands around his and kisses my knuckles.

“Not so bad. Nothing a little peroxide and a Band-Aid won’t fix.”

I shake my head. “Dr. Malachi Johnson, here to save the day.” He applied to Morehouse early decision weeks ago and should be hearing back any day now.

“Not yet. But that’s the plan.” Malachi and I have talked about his dream to start a practice back in his hood. He insists they need more people from home trying to help home, and I think about the way he cradled my hand and inspected my cut; how he makes me smile when I’m upset. I think about how sure he is when he walks into a room and how he participates in every class he takes, and I know Malachi is going to be an amazing doctor one day. Sometimes, when he talks about returning to Newark, he reminds me of my father; a love for home so deep you go out into the world with the sole purpose of bringing the world back to your hood. And the similarities make me smile and hurt at the same time. Malachi has his future planned out. He knows exactly what he wants and how he’s going to get it. And me? I’ve barely finished my college essay, much less submitted it anywhere.

Malachi awkwardly shuffles his feet. I take my hand out of his. I want to hold my own hand when I ask the question.

“Malachi, what is this? What are we doing?”

He takes a step back. “I don’t know. I don’t think that’s a question I need to answer by myself, is it? You seemed to want to take it slow so we’ve been taking it slow.”

I remember what Angelica said the last time she was here. About designing my own kind of reality. And I think part of that is owning when I don’t know what I want that reality to look like.

“Thank you for taking it slow. To be honest, I’m not sure what I want. Not with you, not with college, not with anything. Babygirl is the only thing in my life I’m clear on.” It costs me to say the words; I feel like I’m giving him a picture of all the different questions I have, of how much of a mess I am. But instead of stepping back and saying I’m right, Malachi takes my uncut hand in his. And even though I didn’t think I wanted him to hold it a second ago, I’m glad we are touching again. He doesn’t say a word. And somehow the silence lets me push more words out.

“I think I like you.” Each word is a small piece of myself I hand over. “And I want to keep doing this. Being friends. Who like each other. Not that you’ve said you like me.”

Malachi gives my fingers a squeeze and smiles. Not his full dimple smile, but a smile that seems like it’s just for me. “You need to hear me say it, huh? I like you.”

I gulp. “I don’t want to disappoint you. I don’t know . . .” What I don’t know is what to say next. My hand is still in his and this moment feels too awkward. I’m not used to asking for anything. “I don’t know what I want from you. Or if I want anything more than this. I don’t know if or when I’ll be ready for more than this.” There. I said it.

But maybe I didn’t say it, because Malachi seems confused. “Emoni, are we talking about sex?”

I try to tug my hand out of his but he holds mine fast. “I just don’t know if I’m ready for that. Or to be your girlfriend. Or anything more than this.” I can’t stop repeating myself but it’s like the words have dried up and all I have left in the bottom of my cup are the same phrases I’ve been saying.

He shrugs. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“We’ll figure it out, right? And if one of us needs something different, we’ll say that. Right?”

He leans down and for a second I think he’s going to kiss me, but then he just rests his forehead against mine. This can’t be real life.

“I think I’m going to head home. It sounds like Babygirl might be waking up upstairs.” And I realize he’s right. Babygirl is babbling from her crib.

“Are you going to call a car again?” I ask.

“Nah, I’ll walk to the train,” he says, zipping up his coat and pulling his hat down tight over his ears.

“That’s, like, a twenty-minute walk. In the cold.”

And then the dimples are back. “I know. I think it’ll do me some good.”

I walk him to the door. And just as he leaves he turns back one more time. “Did you hear the last song that played in the car on our way here?”

Of course I did. I was even singing along; the Roots are legends and that song is a classic. I nod.

“Don’t worry, Emoni. You got me.”