Page 1 of Unreasonably Yours

Toni

“Nicer than I thought it would be,” Ben says as he pushes my last three boxes of records off the dolly.

“What were you expecting?” I plop down on the still plastic-wrapped sofa.

My new landlords were nice enough to let the delivery folks in this morning. Sure, they only had to come downstairs and unlock the door, but I would’ve been screwed if they hadn’t because my brother and I were still several hours outside of Boston.

He looks around, his eyes scanning over the cast-iron radiators and original pocket doors—all the little details that stuck out to me when Sophie showed me the pictures her cousin sent over.

“It's dated,” she warned me, as if the building's hundred year-old charm would be a deal breaker.

If anything, the details and imperfections made it appeal to me more.

It was everything the millennial gray condo I shared with David for the last three years wasn't—interesting, inviting, inspiring, even.

A few months and a few thousand miles separated from David, and I could now see the similarities between that condo and our relationship, or maybe just the condo and David himself. They were practical, good investments, at least moderately reliable, and neither felt like home.

“Something more... college-y?” He grabs a couple bottles of water from the bag of gas station spoils from our two thousand-mile journey, tossing one at me. “Isn't your friend's cousin in school?”

“I wouldn't say she's a friend.” I owed Sophie one for this hookup, but we'd been coworkers—or whatever you called a person you saw a few times a week at a co-working space. “But her cousin's in a PhD program. At MIT. Not exactly the ragers-on-the-weekend crowd.”

He nods, making a circuit of the cozy one-bedroom.

I take a long drink, pulling my shirt away from my skin. While June in Massachusetts was blissfully cool compared to Houston's already ninety-plus and humid temperatures, I still broke a sweat lugging in the scattered pieces of my life.

“Sure you'll be ok without AC?”

I shrug. “I'll just get a couple of window units.”

“Not the first time, I guess.”

None of my childhood homes had something as wonderful as central AC, or if they did, the units gave up the ghost long before I came along.

Ben sighs, sitting on the stack of flat-packed furniture pieces across from me. It was a sigh I'd heard several times over the last couple of days.

“Don't.”

“I didn't say anything.” He holds his free hand up.

“But you were going to.”

Silence lingers for a few fleeting moments before he loses his fight for self-control. “It's just so far, Toni.”

“That's the point.” If there had been a sublease in Antarctica, I would have taken it. The farther from David, the better.

“And if something goes wrong? ”

Why would that matter? Things had gone wrong in other places I'd landed over the years.

In Austin there was a break-in, I gained a stalker in Atlanta, and my car flooded in New Orleans.

All shitty situations and I hadn't needed him for any of them.

I wouldn't have needed him for the Houston disaster had most of my so-called friends not taken David’s side.

Only you’d be mad at someone wanting to marry you, Toni. Their admonishments still sting months later.

Even without them, I could have made the move on my own. Sure, it would have taken more money and logistical effort on my end, but had Ben not been able to help, I would have figured it out. I've been figuring things out alone since I was seventeen.

“I'll handle it,” I say with a bit more bite than intended.

It wasn't his fault. None of it was. He didn't owe his younger half-sister his time or his worry, and I should be grateful he offered up what he did.

I force myself to give at least a half-hearted smile to smooth over any rough edges. “It's what I'm good at.”

“Right.” He nods. For a moment, it feels like he might say more, maybe crack open one of the many pieces of baggage between us.

But no, in true Southern fashion, he pivots the conversation to food.

“Let's figure out a place to eat and get the truck back. My flight’s too early tomorrow to bother with that, and I don't want you to have to mess with it.”

Given that we sit surrounded by my literal baggage, I'm honestly grateful. He and I could tackle all that after I deal with my current mess. “Sounds good.”

After more than a month, my current mess has, in fact, not been tackled.

In my defense, it wasn't as if anyone was likely to drop in on me without notice. I could count on one hand the number of people who knew where I was, and of them, only my brother could pick Somerville, Massachusetts out on a map. That was one of the big pros of coming here.

Somerville is giving me six months away from the smoldering wreckage of my personal and romantic life back in Texas.

Six months to become a new version of Toni.

One who has her shit together. A Toni who moves with purpose, instead of blowing into whatever port would have her, wreaking havoc along the way.

Less hurricane, more...something I’d figure out in the next five months.

It was a sound plan. Even if right now, it felt more like it would be six months of me lying on my floor listening to Taylor Swift records on repeat, surrounded by unpacked boxes and unassembled furniture.

Pathetic.

The only way the current image I cut could be sadder was adding red wine and working at 1:00 am.

My phone vibrates against my chest, pulling me out of one spiral to, most likely, fling me into another.

Without a doubt, it’s a client who’s convinced one of their marketing dashboards is malfunctioning when, in reality, they just don’t know how to use it.

I’d been lucky they'd all stuck with me when I went on sabbatical for a month to move, but the onslaught of emails upon my return had been actual hell.

Reluctantly, I look at the notification.

Not a client, but a new submission to my contact form.

I consider ignoring it. But while my client roster was nearly full, packing up one's life and heading across the country was an expensive endeavor, even with my brother's help saving me from having to shell out for movers.

Capitalism stops for no man, and especially not for a woman in crisis.

Groaning, I force myself to sit up and open the email on my phone. Getting up to go to the couch where my laptop awaited was asking far too much of me at this moment.

Toni,

Since you’ve blocked me everywhere else, this is the only way I can think of to get through to you.

I know you said you need space. I want to give you that, but I just found out that you’ve moved? To Boston, of all places?

I’m going to be honest, disappearing across the country without a word to me or any of our friends feels chaotic, even for you.

Again, I want to give you the space you say you need, but this worries me.

It just feels ridiculous to leave everything, and for what?

Are you just going to be Hurricane Toni forever?

I want to fix this, Toni. I want to fix US.

I thought that’s what this year was about.

Taking space to learn and giving us a chance to come back and be better together.

But instead, you go 2,000 miles away? Without a word?

It just seems so selfish not to consider the impact of your choices given the situation you’ve put us in.

All I’m asking is that you step back, stop being so unreasonable, and consider your choices.

Yours always,

- David

My blood roars in my ears, drowning out the music. My hands shake. My chest tightens.

I read the words again. And again. One more time.

Each time, I hope maybe they'll transmute, become, if not softer, at least something that stings less. But no. They stay the same, smarting against all my frayed edges, all the places where friendships, security, and any ideas of a future had once been.

A thrum of razor-edged tension rakes through my body, pulling me to my feet, driving me to pace.

I weave circuitous paths around boxes and piles of art supplies and clothing.

The word unreasonable is burning a black hole into my mind, threatening to suck me into an even darker headspace than the one I was sitting in just moments ago.

Maybe there was some truth to his words. Perhaps I was unreasonable. Maybe?—

The image of him down on one knee at our friend's annual Christmas party barrels into me. His expectant expression, the hush of everyone around us, a solitaire diamond glittering in that classic blue box so many dream of.

It’s easy to remember that moment—the calm before the storm.

But it’s harder to force myself to remember how his expectant expression melted into something just shy of fury as my lack of response dragged on for too long.

The way the anticipatory silence switched to shocked murmurs.

His mouth formed the words, “Don't embarrass me,” even as mine formed, “I can't.”

I didn’t put us in that situation. He did. From day one, I told him I wasn't interested in marriage or kids. For the next three years, he tried to convince me otherwise, so sure I'd change my mind.

I didn't.

I wouldn't.

And that wasn't unreasonable.

I had to remember that. I was allowed not to want that life.

Just like I was allowed to wonder who the hell had told him where I was.

There was Sophie, of course, but she only knew of David as my partner first and then my ex. I couldn't imagine that she'd give him any information. My brother would sooner put David at the bottom of a swamp than speak to him.

Still pacing around my apartment, I send off a few texts, hoping no one will respond with, “Why yes! I did tell your ex exactly where you're living now.”

I glance at the time, just after three in the afternoon. Most folks were an hour behind and likely working, which meant if they did respond, it wouldn't be for at least an hour when people fell into the late afternoon slump and reached for the double dopamine hit of their phone and caffeine.

The second part of that sounded pretty fucking good.

And it would have been great if there were more than half a scoop at the bottom of my coffee bag.

Excellent.