On the 12th day of Christmas My Baby Daddy Gave to Me: AND A PATRIARCH IN A PEAR TREEEEEE

Jade:

Twelve days before Christmas and here come my baby daddy with audacity in one hand and a pear tree in the other. This the same man who dipped when my ankles were swollen and my hormones were fighting for their life. Now he talking about “legacy” and “being present” like I didn’t raise his daughter with a Target registry and rage. I was healing. I had peace. I had peppermint candles and no condoms in the house. But let him show up one more time with his fine self and that healed accountability voice and I might mess around and fold like a fitted sheet.

Trent:

I ain’t come back for claps. I came back because I got tired of being a ghost in my own family. I let my ego drive and crashed us all into silence. Now I’m showing up every day with more than gifts. I got receipts, I got growth, and I got a seat at the table if she let me keep it. Jade look at me like I’m still the boy who left. I’m not. I’m a man who knows exactly what he lost and what the hell he’s ready to fight for. She want soft? I’m bringing soft. She want solid? I’m rooted now.

A Black luxe holiday romance dipped in cocoa, wrapped in petty, and kissed with grown folks healing. It’s glitter, grits, co-parenting chaos, and one man tryna stay planted after seasons of flaking.

You ever seen a pear tree grow in Oakland? Watch me.