Page 69 of Raising Love
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.
SIXTEEN
ivy
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can…”
I sat in my chair, my eyes scanning the room from left to right, watching mouths move in unison and voices echo around me as a group of strangers recited the Serenity Prayer they clearly said together often.
“…and the wisdom to know the difference…”
Leaning back into the chair, I listened, feeling distinctly out of my element.
I was here—in the basement of a Brooklyn bookstore—because a former colleague swore it could help me.
During one of my emotional breakdowns that were occurring more frequently these days, I had shared with her how overwhelmed I was. Ideas about the future consumed me, and I had no one to confide in since Kendra passed.
“Have you ever heard of Rylee Daniels?” Jayme, my colleague, asked when we met for coffee. I needed to get out of Greene Gardens for a day, so I left Baby Love with the nanny.
“She was Lennox Walker’s best friend,” she continued.
My brows shot up. “The Bronx Baller who passed away?”
“Mm-hmm.” Jayme sipped her coffee. “They had two children together. One before he passed and another shortly after.”
“Wait.” I sat up straighter. “So they were together?”
“No.” She giggled. “Their story is… unique.”
“Hmph.” I cradled my paper cup of coffee. If their friendship-turned-parenting arrangement was unique, it sounded far too familiar.
“Anyway,” Jayme said, “Rylee started a support group in Brooklyn for people who’ve lost spouses or partners. It’s grief counseling or something.”
I tilted my head.
“Even though Kendra wasn’t your spouse or partner,” she added with a small smile, “I think the group could help.”
I hadn’t believed it would, but after my first meeting, I felt slightly differently.
The room was full of people grieving lost loved ones—partners, spouses, soulmates. While Kendra and I were as close as sisters, I didn’t think my situation aligned with anyone else’s here… except Rylee’s.
