Raising Love

Chapter 1

ONE

ivy

I adjusted my earpiece as I stood from my seat on the sidelines.

The Ballers' basketball game had just ended, yet the arena was still alive with energy.

Streamers continued to fall from overhead, and the crowd's cheers echoed around the vast arena as I made my way along the hardwood floor, my heels clicking beneath me.

Our eyes met as my friend Leo wrapped up another interview. I held up my microphone, emblazoned with the station’s logo, to catch his attention, and he gestured for me to come over.

It was game day at the brand new Bronx Metro Arena, the Ballers' newly minted home as of this year.

The Bronx Ballers, after a three-game losing streak, had finally claimed a victory over their opponents.

Sometimes, I had to remind myself that I was on the sidelines for work, not just for fun.

My voice was hoarse from all the shouting whenever I felt the referee made a questionable call—which was far too often.

“What the fuck was the ref’s problem tonight?” I asked Leo as soon as I was within earshot. “You guys got beef or something?”

“I know, right?! Shit.” He chuckled, towering over me. “Just riding my back all night like my initials were MTA.”

Leo crouched down slightly to kiss me on the cheek, his sweat-slick lips brushing against my skin. I playfully pushed him away.

“Ew, LV. Come on,” I protested, patting my foundation dry. “Don’t mess up my makeup before I go on air.”

He snickered. “How long is this gonna take, anyway.” He lifted his arm to sniff his armpit. “I need a shower.”

“It’ll be quick,” I told him. “Three questions max, like always. Cool?”

“Cool,” he replied, pausing to dap one of his friends from the opposing team who passed by.

“You got lucky tonight,” the player teased.

“Is that salt I’m smelling on your breath?” Leo retorted, and I giggled at their banter. “It’s not good to be this salty. Too much salt isn’t good for you, man.”

“Ready when you are, Ivy,” announced Jim, my camera operator, as he navigated through the crowd.

“Great,” I nodded to Leo. “Ready?”

“Born ready, Ivy League,” he replied, using the nickname I despised but secretly found endearing.

Jim counted us down silently with his fingers.

I quickly ran my fingers through my hair, making sure it stayed neatly in its bun, and smoothed down my blouse. “You better not call me Ivy League on air, you hear me? I’m not playing with you.”

Leo laughed loudly.

“Three, two,” Jim counted down, then pointed at us as he mouthed one.

“I’m Ivy Pressman, standing here with the man of the hour,” I began, looking up at Leo.

“The unstoppable Leo Vanguard, who killed it tonight with 12 assists and 5 blocks. It was almost unreal the amount of work this man put in on the court tonight, but don’t worry, I won’t let him steal all the glory, Ballers. ”

Leo laughed beside me.

“Another amazing game, Leo.”

“Thank you, thank you,” he said, his voice carrying over the crowd’s noise.

“You’re keeping up quite the record this season. Any secret moves you’ve been hiding from us, or is this just natural Vanguard talent?”

“I breathe this kind of effort as easily as I exhale air, Ivy.” He smirked. “You know what’s up.”

“Mm-hmm,” I replied, playfully rolling my eyes. “I hear that, and I can’t even knock you because it’s justified. You did your thing tonight.”

He bowed, exaggeratively.

“That last play got the crowd on their feet,” I continued. “Did you plan that, or were you just in the zone?”

“I’m always in the zone, baby,” Leo began. “It’s easy to be when you’re playing at home with fans as supportive as the Bronx Ballers'. The greatest fans in the country. I love hearing them cheer; it’s as sweet to me as the sound of my heart beating.”

“So, word is you’ve been stepping up as a real leader of the Ballers, alongside our guy Jaleel Gordon,” I said, turning to face him fully. “With Pryce Williams now retired, how does it feel knowing the team looks up to you?”

“Kind of hard for them to look down when I’m one of the tallest dudes on this team, right, Ivy League?” he teased.

I gasped and glanced quickly at the camera, then back at Leo, moving in close enough to pinch him on the arm discreetly.

“Ow!” he quipped, trying to hold back his laughter. “For someone so little you pinch hard, man. Damn!”

“What did I tell you about calling me that?” I whispered fiercely.

Leo grabbed my wrist, pulling the mic closer. “Do y’all at home watching know she’s mean?”

“Aht!” I protested, trying to pull away.

“This beauty is a beast and has a mean streak, so y’all keep that in mind when watching her,” he continued, smirking into the camera. “Say the right thing all the time, or she’ll pinch you.”

I pushed him away, freeing my wrist, and he bent his knees to pull me close and planted a loud kiss on my cheek.

“Ugh!” I tried to hit him with my microphone, but he dodged, laughing along with Jim, who was struggling to keep the camera steady.

This was why my station’s producer always sent me to games to interview Leo. Not only because we’d known each other for years since college but also because we always made viewers laugh with our antics.

Mostly Leo’s antics, if I’m being real.

“Thank you for taking the time to talk to us, Leo,” I said, barely concealing my irritation.

“Always, my love,” he joked, his tone light.

“Shut up,” I sneered, and even that made him laugh.

“Aye, Free-Throw Nation,” Leo declared, looking directly into the camera. “Ivy Pressman is the Bronx Ballers' lucky charm. You have her to thank for tonight. You heard it from me first. Peace.” Leo flashed a peace sign as he walked away from me and the camera, backwards.

“There you have it,” I concluded for the viewers, finally letting my giggles show. “I’m Ivy Pressman, live here at the Bronx Metro Arena, where the Ballers have secured a win that will keep them in the running for the championships. Can they do it? I know they can.”

“And cut,” Jim said, lowering the camera from his shoulder with a smile. “I swear you two are magic on camera, Ivy.”

“Please don’t encourage his foolishness.” I laughed, shaking my head. “Let’s get out of here. My feet are killing me in these damn heels.”

* * *

I sat at my desk in the co-working space I rented, staring at the computer screen with tired eyes.

I had to blink a few times then bug my eyes out to keep awake.

It was just after midnight, and in five hours, I would have been up for twenty-four.

It was a chosen torture, the sacrifice needed to make my dreams a reality.

Since I was five years old, watching games with my maternal grandfather, I knew what I wanted to do.

At the end of every game, someone was on the hardwood floor, mic in hand, asking players questions.

Sports was our bonding activity, and when my grandfather passed away when I was eighteen, I knew I wanted to continue that legacy, which I am doing now at thirty.

“Do y’all at home watching know she’s mean?” Leo’s voice came from the screen.

“Aht!” I watched as I turned to face him on the playback.

I chuckled to myself. “He’s such an ass,” I murmured, my amusement clear.

Leo and I, along with our best friends Kendra, who I sometimes called Kenni, and Tyrell, had been inseparable since our freshman year in college.

While Leo pursued NBA dreams, Tyrell became a high school basketball coach.

Kendra and Tyrell were expecting, and their baby shower, which Leo and I had organized, was the upcoming weekend.

That's why I found myself editing videos in this overpriced co-working space at such a late hour. With the baby shower around the corner, I knew this might be my only chance to get the edits done.

Editing wasn't necessary, but I chose to do it for the experience. Besides, I had commentary to record for my YouTube channel. It doesn’t have many followers yet, but it's my side hustle that earns me enough each month to buy at least two cups of good coffee.

Fighting off sleep, I slapped my cheeks and reached for my water bottle, standing to set up my camera and lighting. Despite needing rest for tomorrow’s event, I was driven, fueled by the dream of making it big in sports journalism.

I placed my camera on the tripod, adjusting the lighting before sitting down to record.

“This is a test video,” I announced to the camera, practicing a few smiles.

Because Leo was right—I tended to be a bit uptight. His nickname for me, 'Ivy League,' was a playful jab at that. I was constantly working not to let that side show too much, which was a personal battle.

After checking the playback, my phone rang, snapping me out of my focus.

“Who the hell is that?” I muttered, picking up the phone to see Kendra's name. I answered immediately.

“What’s up, girl?” I greeted her. “Everything okay?”

“Damn.” Kendra chuckled on the other end. “Can I get a hello first?”

“Not when you’re calling after midnight,” I retorted, sinking back into my chair. “What are you even doing up?”

“What are you doing up?” she shot back.

“Answering your call, obviously,” I quipped.

She laughed loudly. “Well, I figured you’d be up. I was actually hoping you weren’t.”

I glanced at my camera setup, sighing. “Well, you know your best friend.”

“Mm-hmm,” Kendra agreed. “I know she works too damn hard.”

“There’s no such thing,” I countered.

“I caught a bit of you and Leo on air tonight after his game.” She giggled. “I swear, I love seeing you two together.”

I rolled my eyes. “He’s a jackass.”

“Oh, you love it!” Kendra teased.

“Anyway,” I shifted the topic. “What’s up?”

Kendra had tried to set Leo and me up during our first week as freshmen in college.

She and Tyrell, Leo's best friend from high school, had recently started dating, and naturally, she attempted to match me with Tyrell's friend. It didn’t take long to see that he wasn’t for me.

Leo was incessantly jovial, a class clown who rarely took things seriously.

On our double date, he spent more time eyeing every woman that passed by than engaging in our conversation.

By the end of the night, it was clear the feeling was mutual.

Leo even started calling me 'Ivy League,' joking that having a conversation with me was as tough as getting into an Ivy League school.

Over the years, he started using that nickname as his way of saying 'obviously,' always teasing me with a playful tone.

Still, that nickname was a bit of a trigger. I've always felt slightly out of place among my peers, though Kendra never made me feel that way. She treated me not just as a friend but as a sister.

“I was just calling to remind you about the baby shower,” Kendra said.

“The one I organized and am hosting for you?” I replied, my tone playful.

She laughed. “I know you're swamped, and I just wanted to make sure you remember your dear friend.”

“Nothing about you is ‘little’ anymore, Kenni.”

She gasped playfully, and I chuckled. “I’m kidding... sort of.”

When Kendra first told me she was pregnant, I thought it was a joke.

The same went for her engagement. Now here she was, married, expecting, and moving into a house in Greene Gardens, the new village everyone in New York seemed to be talking about.

Meanwhile, I was in a co-working space, red-eyed and scrambling up the career ladder at thirty.

It is what it is.

“And for the record, I’m never too busy for you or the baby... which you still haven’t named, and you haven’t even told me if it’s a boy or a girl.”

“I want it all to be a surprise,” she insisted. “Even Tyrell and I don’t know what we’re having.”

“Couldn’t be me.” I shook my head. “The mystery would drive me insane.”

She chuckled.

“Do you at least have names picked out?”

“We have a name for each,” she replied, her voice warm. “We’ll share them when it’s time. Just make sure you handle your godmother duties this weekend.”

I cringed. “Godmother, Kenni? Are you sure about this?”

“Ivy, we’re not having this conversation again,” she said firmly.

“I just... I don’t know the first thing about babies, Kenni. They're like little aliens to me.”

“You’ll learn,” she assured me, her tone light.

“Hmph.”

“Just don’t forget this weekend,” she added. “The invitations you sent out were adorable, by the way.”

I smiled, feeling a flicker of pride. “Already being the best godmother ever, huh?”

“Exactly,” Kendra agreed, laughing. “This weekend, then. I love you, girl.”

“And I love you back.”