Chapter 1: The Wrong Sweet Baby

Lately, my mom’s replies on Facebook Messenger have been super short—like, one-word answers. She used to call me her sweet baby all the time, but now? Radio silence. I had to lay on the charm, go full puppy-dog eyes in every selfie, and basically grovel like it was my job just to get her to call me sweet baby again—not that I minded the attention, honestly.

It was almost like a ritual. I’d spam her with pouty selfies, drop my most Oscar-worthy dramatic whines in voice messages, and shower her with heart emojis—just to coax out those two magic words. Then I’d wait, sometimes forever, for her to finish Pilates or wrap up at work before she’d finally give in. Part of me wondered if she secretly got a kick out of making me work for it, just to remind me who’s in charge. But for real, I’d do it all again, just to see “sweet baby” pop up on my screen. I swear, it was almost as good as the real thing—a warm hug, even from miles away.

A month later, out of nowhere, my mom sent me a new friend request. Wait, what? Cue the Twilight Zone music.

"Baby, why’d you unfriend your mom?"

I stared at my contacts, squinting at the profile pic—same golden sunflower as always—and just sat there in deep thought. Hold up—if this was actually my mom, then who the heck had I been sending all my cutesy messages to? Was I losing it?

I mean, there can’t be that many people using a sunflower as their profile pic and calling me baby, right? My stomach did this weird flip-flop. For a split second, I pictured some total rando out there, scrolling through my endless duck-face selfies and listening to my dramatic voice notes, probably thinking I’d lost my mind. In my head, I could already hear my mom’s voice: “Savannah, you gotta be more careful on the internet!”

The next day, the famously aloof straight-A guy was waiting outside my dorm holding a little cake.

"Hi, sweet... baby."

Wait, what? The way he said it—awkward, like he was trying on a new pair of shoes that didn’t quite fit—made me almost choke on my gum. Carter Evans, rocking his usual poker face, stood there with a cake box and a tiny, nervous bow. Did I hear that right? For a split second, I wondered if I’d slipped into some alternate reality. Up was down, Carter was calling me pet names, and my cheeks were definitely turning bright red. I had to bite back a laugh. The campus was just waking up, sunlight sliding through the old oaks, and here was Carter—looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, but he was here. For me. With cake. If this was a prank, honestly? It was a pretty sweet one.

I’m such a mama’s girl. Seriously, I can’t help it—no matter how tiny, I have to share everything with my mom. Today, I scored this amazing egg tart, so I took a selfie with it squished to my cheek—had to, right?—and sent it straight to my mom.

"This egg tart is so good!"

She replied almost instantly. "Savannah Moore?" Uh-oh, full name—never a good sign.

I immediately felt attacked. "It’s only been two days since I messaged you, and now you’re being all cold and calling me by my full name!"

"Call me baby!"

"No, call me sweet baby!"

She went silent for three minutes. Three whole minutes. Torture.

"You sure about this?"

"How could you even ask? We’re family."

Three more minutes of radio silence. "Sweet... baby."

I sent her a sticker of a cat wiggling its butt. "Now that’s more like it!"

My roommate shouted from the bottom bunk, "Savannah, hurry up and come check out my new dress—does it look good?" Her voice echoed off the cinderblock walls, dragging me back to reality.

I pulled back my bed curtain and there was my roommate, Brianna Lee, spinning in front of the mirror in a pink spaghetti-strap dress.

"I must’ve gained weight lately—this used to fit me in a medium."

"Savannah, you’re skinny. Why don’t you come down and try it? If it fits you, I won’t return it."

I rolled off my bed with a dramatic sigh. "Yes, Your Majesty."

I even gave her a little curtsy, just to keep the bit going. Living with Brianna was like starring in a never-ending sitcom—she always had a new outfit, a new story, or a new mini-crisis, and I was the ever-faithful audience. Our dorm was a beautiful mess of textbooks, makeup, and half-eaten snacks, but it always felt like home.

"So if it fits me, are you giving it to me?"

Brianna shot me a look. "Dream on. You gotta pay."

I slipped into the dress—it fit perfectly, like it was tailor-made. The color, the cut, everything was just right.

I threw Brianna a flirty wink. "Tell me, do you have a secret crush on me?"

She rolled her eyes and held up two fingers. "Two hundred."

I checked my Venmo. Eight hundred left—and it was only halfway through the month. Yikes.

So, I did what any self-respecting mama’s girl would do: snapped a mirror selfie in the pink dress and sent it to my mom. Always ask Mom.

I sent her a voice message. "What do you think of my new dress?"

She replied instantly. "Looks great, really suits you."

I fired off another voice message, laying it on thick. "But I’m low on cash... Can I get a $200 advance?"

To my absolute shock, she transferred me two thousand right away.

I nearly jumped for joy.

I did a little happy dance right there, waving my phone at Brianna. “Mom’s in a good mood today!” Honestly, nothing beats that feeling when your phone buzzes with a cash transfer—it’s like finding a twenty in your winter coat, but better.

"You just sent me next month’s allowance too, didn’t you?"

"No, next month is next month. This is for the dress."

I let out a delighted squawk.

Ah! Mom, I love you more than pumpkin pie!

I kissed my phone screen and flashed my balance at Brianna.

"See? Your girl’s rolling in cash now. Wrap it up!"

Brianna gave a dramatic bow. "Yes, ma’am, I’ll wrap it right up."

Before bed, I sent my mom a goodnight message.

She replied, "Goodnight."

I sent her that sticker of a grumpy little duck saying “Wrong.”

"It should be ‘Goodnight, sweet baby.’"

"Okay, goodnight, sweet baby."

Just as I was about to crash, my phone buzzed again.

"Do I have to call you sweet baby every day from now on?"

I was dead tired. "Obviously."

You’re my mom!

Guess I passed out before I could finish typing the rest.