̊+‧꒰ა— Friday, April 1st —໒꒱ ‧+ ̊ 📍Baton Rouge Louisiana

*“So won't you say my name, say my name. If you claim you want me. It ain't no thang. You acting kinda shady. You ain't been calling me baby, oh. Boy you can go and stop playing games. Playing games.”

The steady hum of the hair dryer buzzes through the small, sunlit bathroom as you stand in front of the mirror, carefully fluffing out your soft curls. Your 10-month-old son, Bryson — affectionately called “Papa” — sits giggling in his playpen nearby, clapping his tiny hands together like he already knows he's about to steal the show tonight. You glance over at him with a smile, your heart swelling at how cute he looks in his new mini black True Religion sweatsuit, the gold logo shining bright on his chest like a little king’s crest. His custom gold pacifier dangles from his clip, the name “Bryson” glinting under the bathroom light like it knows it has to shine too.

Your phone buzzes against the counter, and you already know it isn't the person you want it to be. Four hours before your family dinner, and your baby daddy, Sean, has gone completely ghost. No “running late” text. No “my bad” excuse. Nothing. It isn't even surprising at this point, but somehow, it still stings. Not because you need him to take you out — clearly, you don't — but because you thought maybe, just maybe, he'd show up for once. For you. For Bryson. For your little family. Your thumb hovers over his contact, but instead, you open Instagram, your fingers moving faster than your second thoughts could stop you. The front camera comes up. Head shake. Slight eye roll. Caption typed:

*“Not you standing me & our baby up for our lil fam date night 🤦🏽♀️”

Post. Done. Let it sting a little.

Minutes later, your DMs light up, but one message stands out more than the rest. It's from Zay, a dude who's been in your likes for a minute but never really tried to push up too hard. This time, though, he isn't subtle:

**Zay: “That’s wild. I could never do you like that. You & lil man too precious for that. Lemme take y’all out instead, show you how it’s supposed to be done.”

Your brows raise. You lean on the counter, staring at the message like you need to reread it twice. Bold. Direct. But it doesn't feel like game. It feels... sincere. You glance back at Bryson, his chunky legs kicking in the air like he already approved of the plan. You bite your lip, tapping back fast:

**You: “Bet. We at the mall right now. I’m already in get-ready mode.”

Zay responds so fast it makes you laugh:

**Zay: “Say less. I’m on my way. Y’all get whatever y’all want — it’s on me.”