The morning light came through the kitchen window at an angle that meant it was just after seven. Luna stood at the counter in sweatpants and one of Dayo's old tour t-shirts, hair piled on top of her head, watching the coffee maker drip with the focused patience of a woman who had not slept through the night in six months. From the living room, she could hear Dayo making ridiculous sounds.
"Jen-ni-fer. Jenni-fah. J to the E to the N-N-Y."
Luna smiled into her coffee mug. The man who had sat across from five label heads and negotiated an alliance that would reshape the music industry was currently on his hands and knees on a play mat covered in cartoon farm animals, trying to get their daughter to look at him.
"You're going to confuse her," Luna called out. "She thinks your name is some kind of rap ad-lib."
"She loves it," Dayo shot back. "Don't you, princess?"
