Chapter 15 #2
“Things are clearly getting weird between us.” I cleared my throat. “And I feel like shit for making you cry last night.”
She shook her head, her attention still not on me.
“We can speak with the estate lawyer and see how we can split guardianship while living in separate locations.”
From the side, I could see her balling her lips then releasing them to tuck into her mouth.
“I just feel like maybe we need some space between us—”
“Whatever, Leo,” she said, turning to look at me, her eyes slightly red-rimmed. “Sure.” She nodded. “Moving out sounds like the best thing right now. So, let’s do it. Can you leave now?”
“Dammit, Leo,” my mother said, shaking her head really slowly.
I ran a hand down my face.
“You act like you have no self-control,” she said, placing her knife on the counter. “You couldn’t have just co-parented with Ivy and not slept with her?”
“I didn’t intend to.”
“Oh, so did she trip and fall on your—”
“Mama, please,” I interjected, holding out a hand. “Please don’t finish your question.”
“I’m just really trying to wrap my mind around why you would complicate things with meaningless sex when you two have a huge responsibility now that depends on you working as a team. Why would you do such a foolish thing without considering the consequences of your actions?”
“It wasn’t meaningless, though,” I said low. “I really wish it were because maybe if it were meaningless, I wouldn’t feel this damn conflicted.”
My mother jerked her head back. “What? What do you mean?”
I exhaled all the air in me through my mouth. “I felt something different with her that I’ve never felt with any other woman. I don’t know what it was because I’m not familiar with it, but it felt… different.”
My mother left the counter altogether, reaching for the island stool. “Child, I need to sit.”
I dropped my head to scratch the back of it.
“So, what are you saying, Leo?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“Do you…” She lowered her chin to look at me under her lashes. “…love her?”
“I don’t know.” I met her eyes. “Maybe?”
My mother’s hand was at her mouth. “Oh my God, Leo.”
I released a stuttered exhale as soon as I said the words.
Because maybe I did love Ivy. And although I’ve had love for her as a friend, this just felt different.
“Okay, then, tell her,” my mother said next, gesturing with her hands. “Go home and tell her how you feel. Don’t avoid talking about it by moving out, thinking that’s a solution.”
“Nah.” I shook my head. “We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because doing something like that, giving in to something like that, would change the relationship and possibly ruin our friendship and the co-parenting we have to do for the baby. And I just… I know I’mma fuck it up, Mama.”
She pointed at me. “First, watch your mouth.”
I snorted a laugh. “My bad.”
“Second, have more faith in yourself, Leo.” She nodded. “Be more confident with this. Why on earth would you mess things up?”
“Because that’s what I do, and that’s why I don’t do relationships.” I shrugged. “I don’t have them, and I don’t want them. I don’t like the restrictions they place on me, and I don’t like putting those restrictions on the women I deal with. I do me, and I want them to do them.”
“So you’d be okay with Ivy doing what y’all did with someone else?”
“Hell no,” I was quick to reply. “And… that’s the other reason I just know we can’t do this.”
My mother sighed.
“One bad argument, one weird-ass suspicion.” I shook my head. “It could end everything. And we got this baby now…”
“Well, look.” My mother stood from her seat and returned to her place at the counter where she’d been cutting peppers.
“Avoiding the conversation you two need to have, discussing the truth about your feelings and possibly hers? Could lead to more regret than being brave enough to face what you two discussing this will mean. You’re telling me letting fear take the wheel is the move over gaining love and the fulfillment that may await with it? ”
“I’m saying I didn’t sign up for none of this, damn,” I said, running my hands down my face. “I didn’t sign up to lose a friend, didn’t sign up to become a guardian to his baby, damn sure didn’t sign up to fall for Ivy, ’cause shit, what planet am I on that this is happening?”
She pointed at me again, and I threw my hands up.
“My bad for cussing.”
My mother’s attention returned to the cutting board.
“Too much is changing and too fast, Mama.”
“I know,” she said. “But God doesn’t make mistakes.
God doesn’t give us things we cant handle.
God gives us the things that will strengthen those traits of excellence that we don’t think we have but have been there all along.
We just gotta be brave enough to uncover them. You’re blocking your blessing.”
“What?”
She turned to look at me and repeated, “You are blocking your blessing. You thought that you were going to live the life you thought you wanted, but God is giving you what God wants for you, and you’re blocking it. Stop being foolish and a scaredy cat, and accept it.”
I knew Ivy and I would need to clear the air; there was no way around that. I just didn’t know how, especially when the last time I tried to talk to her, she wouldn’t even look me in the eyes except to tell me to leave her alone.
I feared I’d fucked things up too much now. But I wouldn’t count myself out just yet. Whatever I decided to do, it would either mend our friendship or fracture that shit even further.
* * *
Honking horns and the sound of cars rolling along the asphalt outside my loft kept drawing my attention.
I was back home at a place I thought was home.
It wasn’t Greene Gardens. There were sounds here—city sounds.
Cars, horns, and people talking loudly on their phones.
All the things I swore I missed while trying to create a life in Greene Gardens, but in that moment, the reality wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be.
I hadn’t officially moved out of the house Ivy and I shared with Baby Love. After my conversation with my mother, I’d returned to Greene Gardens, sure I could work things out, but Ivy had been distant. For two days, she barely said a word to me unless it was about Baby Love.
She was done. I couldn’t really blame her.
To keep things from getting too awkward, I packed up a week’s worth of the things I’d moved into Greene Gardens and brought them back to my loft in the city.
I’d been invited to a few events and asked to make some club appearances during the week I’d been back, but I just wasn’t feeling it.
The crazy part? My loft always felt like home. But now, it didn’t.
All the lights in the place were off. The only glow came from the TV screen in front of me.
It felt so empty compared to the constant activity at the house upstate. There, I could always count on Baby Love’s cries filling the air or the sound of Ivy’s furry slippers brushing against the carpet outside my door, moving like she was sweeping the floor with her feet.
I snorted at the thought. That sound used to annoy me—hearing her shuffle to Baby Love’s nursery—but now? I missed it.
I let out a deep breath and forced myself to focus on the TV. I had all these streaming services and couldn’t find a damn thing to watch.
It was after midnight. I could’ve been out, making money and getting free drinks at a club appearance, but the thought of it didn’t appeal tonight.
Realizing I’d been scrolling through streaming apps for far too long, I turned off the TV and grabbed my phone.
I opened social media and started scrolling through posts. Random facts. Cooking videos. Then, I froze.
A post in the form of a video of Ivy popped up on my timeline.
I sat up immediately, turning on the sound without hesitation.
“Let’s zero in on the remarkable performance of Marcelo Jordan from last night’s clash between the Miami Heat and the Chicago Bulls,” her voice said through my device’s speakers.
It was a clip from her YouTube channel, which had been growing like wildfire. With so much time spent at home taking care of Baby Love, Ivy had found a way to make boss moves from the home office in Greene Gardens.
“Marcelo wrapped up the game with an impressive 30 points, 10 assists, and five rebounds. But it’s not just the stats that tell the story—it’s this clutch play in the final quarter that really turned heads.”
Unlike her polished, professional look from her on-court days with Free-Throw Nation, Ivy recorded her videos stripped-down. Hair in a bun or loose, her face makeup-free, and her outfits simple—usually a tee and leggings. Even without all the glam, she was stunning.
Watching her eyes light up as she spoke about one of her favorite topics, I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. My attention kept drifting to her lips—their natural pink hue—and every time she smiled at the camera, my heart did something I didn’t quite know how to handle.
The clip ended with her logo and a link to the full video, but I replayed it. Then I replayed it again. And again.
It was funny. Ivy was usually so particular, so detail oriented, a serial perfectionist. But when it came to sports? She was relaxed. Easygoing. Fun. Personable. You just wanted to grab a drink and pick her brain about any team in the NBA.
She was great at what she did because she loved it.
The video was cleanly edited, interspersed with clips of players on the court and highlight reels, thanks to her former cameraman, Jim, who was still helping her out on the side.
I hearted her post and tapped into the comments. Most people praised her for her sports knowledge, but there were a couple that made me pause.
“Not only does Ivy know her stuff better than most commentators out there, but she’s also stunning. A natural beauty. Can’t believe someone so beautiful can also break down a game like that! #BeautyAndBrains”
I twisted my lips to one side.
Then I scrolled to another one, and this one? It made my blood pressure rise.
“Damn, baby, I ain’t hear a thing you said . You are just too fine!”
I bit back a reaction, but it wasn’t easy.
The comments praising Marcelo Jordan or Ivy’s insight didn’t faze me. But the ones from sleazy guys? Yeah, those got under my skin.
I rolled my tongue around my mouth, feeling a surge of something I didn’t want to name—annoyance, jealousy?
“Nah,” I muttered aloud.
Because I’d never felt anything like this for any woman in my natural Black life.
But what was that feeling? Why did those comments about Ivy bother me so much?
I clicked into Ivy’s profile a second later, scanning her social media feed. Her wall was filled with pictures: her at work, her random selfies looking fine as hell whether she was all dolled up or barefaced, and more recently, pictures of her with Baby Love.
I hearted a photo of her sitting at her desk working. Then another, and another.
When I reached the pictures of Ivy capturing Baby Love’s milestones, something twisted in my chest. There was one of him lifting his head for the first time, and the one I vividly remembered—the day he rolled over.
“Did you see that?!” she’d shouted, hopping off the couch.
We were all chilling in the living room during one of the rare times I was home.
“He just rolled over,” she said, her face lighting up as she turned to me. She jumped up and down, clapping like she’d won the lottery. “Good job, Baby Love! You did it!”
At first, I didn’t see what the big deal was. But she explained that Baby Love rolling over at three months was way ahead of schedule. Seeing her light up over something like that, though? It was so damn cute.
I put my phone down on the bed. I had to because sitting here alone in my loft, looking at pictures of Ivy and the baby, brought on a wave of emotions I wasn’t prepared for.
Greene Gardens never felt like home. But Ivy and the baby? They kind of did.
The house itself was isolated, far from the city, with barely any infrastructure in the village.
I used to feel like I had to leave to find life outside of it.
But in that house? The vibe was different.
Even though it was hard at times and often made me want to escape, being there had started to mean something.
And now, all I could think about was Ivy.
Seeing her in that video, talking sports with her usual passion, made me miss our late-night conversations. The ones in the kitchen, when her eyes burned with exhaustion but she’d still find something funny to say. It reminded me that life didn’t feel so bad when I wasn’t doing it alone.
The mornings in Greene Gardens were chaotic. The evenings were a whirlwind with Ivy determined to stick to Baby Love’s schedule. And when the house finally quieted down at night, I thought I hated the silence.
But now? I missed it.
“What the fuck is happening?” I mumbled to myself, lying on my back and staring at the ceiling.
And the bigger question: Could I fix something I might’ve broken if I didn’t want it to stay broken?
Because here I was, back in my loft—a place I once considered my sanctuary—wanting to go back to the house I thought was a prison. Wanting to be near a woman I had no business wanting.
Ivy and I were co-parents. Sleeping together couldn’t lead anywhere good. I didn’t do relationships, and Ivy? She did. And if she wanted what other women had wanted from me—commitment—I’d ruin her. She’d hate me.
And we couldn’t afford that. Not with what we had to do for Baby Love.
“Shit,” I muttered, pressing my fingers to my eyes. “Why the hell can’t I sleep?”
Because Ivy, and the life we were building in Greene Gardens, was heavy on my mind.
And I really, really wished it wasn’t.