Page 41 of Unreasonably Yours

Lucy shakes her head. “It’s ok. It’s...she needs to do what she needs to do. It’s fine.” Oliver and I exchange a look, one that says we both know it’s anything but fine.

My stomach decides this is the perfect time to inform everyone how I’d neglected it today. I press a hand to my middle as Lucy and Oliver shoot surprised looks my way.

“Not to change the subject, but I am starving,” I say.

“Pizza?” Oliver suggests, getting to his feet.

“I kinda want wings,” Lucy says, following his lead.

“Both?” I ask.

“Both.” They agree as they each hold a hand out to me, helping me to my feet.

The next day, despite my aching leg and the obscene amount of food consumed, I feel lighter than I have in weeks.

I still can’t bring myself to face the graveyard of missed notifications my phone has become, but I do call my mom on her lunch break and hold a conversation with my brother as we switch off at the bar. Progress, however small, is progress.

After lockup, I let the newbies go home a bit early and handle a few of the more menial closing duties myself. Of course, they think I’m just being a generous boss when, in reality, I want the time alone to wind down before going home.

I’m wiping down the bar when Ginelle lets herself in the front door.

“We’re closed,” I say as she locks the door behind her.

“Very funny,” she drawls and tosses the keys on the bar as she hops onto a stool. “Meant to bring these to Michael earlier, but I lost track of time packing.”

I pick them up, looking from the keys to my cousin, worry pressing down on my shoulders.

Ginelle was the kind of person who, even on her worst day, looked at least a bit polished. So to see her in this state—hair dirty in a nest on top of her head, no makeup, circles under her hazel eyes rivaling my own—is more than a little jarring.

“How is the packing coming along?” I ask, pulling a glass out for her.

“Fine.” She picks at her cuticles, a habit I hadn’t seen her do since she was a teenager. “Never know how much shit you have until you move. You know I’ve been in that apartment for five years?” She shakes her head.

I nod, pouring grenadine. “It really has been a while. Kevin and I helped you move in.”

“That’s right.” She pauses, tracing the woodgrain in the bar top. “You’re like a whole different person now.”

“Thanks?”

“It’s a good thing. I feel like I...Like I’m the same. Like I’ve been the same.”

I set a bright red drink in front of her, plopping three cherries on top.

She huffs a small laugh. “Shirley Temple.”

“Sprite, not ginger,” I add. “And if you want it dirty, just ask.”

“Nah, this is perfect.” She pops a cherry in her mouth.

“Remember when you drank so many of these, you hurled?” I ask.

That brings a real smile to her face. “Oh god! Your dad tried to cut me off, but I begged, and he caved so easily. My puke was an unholy color, and Mom thought I was dying.”

“I remember hearing her yell over the old landline in our kitchen.”

“Mickey still snuck me them all the time. Always with a, ‘don’t tell your mother.’” Her attempt at replicating my dad’s accent cracks me up.

Ginelle takes a sip, eyes roaming around the dim bar. I watch a tear gather on her lashes before she dashes it away. She sniffs hard.

“You don’t have to go, Gin. Not right now.”

A shiver shakes her shoulders. “I do, though. If I don’t...I’m scared I never will.”

“Is that so bad?” If looks could kill, I’d be on the floor. “I’m just sayin’,” I hold up my hands in surrender, “there are worse places.”

“And better ones,” she spits.

“Sure.”

“But everyone else has-has gone somewhere else. Tried something else. Even Jo—” She swallows the back half of Joey’s name like a bitter pill. “I have to,” she almost whispers.

I want to tell her the grief will follow her, that she can’t outrun it. But I know she’s not in a place to hear me.

“Do what’s best for you, sweetheart. We’ll be here if you need us.”

“Of course you will be. Toni’s here.” She almost sounds like her usual self, so much so that I feel bad bursting that particular bubble.

“I’ll be here. Not sure about Toni.”

“What? Why?”

“Far as I know, her lease is out at the end of the month.” And then she’d be gone. I have to believe it’s for the best.

Ginelle looks genuinely confused. “You sure? Lucy was literally talking to her about winter coats a couple days ago. I mean, I’ve never been to Texas, but I’m pretty sure that’s not a need there.”

I hate the hope flaring hot and bright in my core at the thought of her staying.

“Wait.” The hope takes a backseat as Lucy’s pained expression from last night flashes in my mind. A couple of days ago would be just after Thanksgiving. Ginelle had told Michael about her plans to move before the holiday. “You were with Lucy a couple days ago?”

“Yeah . . .”

My voice drops, “And you didn’t fucking tell her you’re moving across the goddamn country?”

Ginelle doesn’t look at me. '“It’s complicated.”

“It’s not.” I run a hand over my face. “Ginelle, I support whatever you need to do. But I won’t forgive you if you don’t cut her loose before you leave.”

“Just because you’re friends, doesn’t make what happens between us your business.” It’s an old line from an older argument.

I lean over the bar, not in her face exactly, but I need her to hear me. “It is my business. It’s cruel to let her keep believing there’s a future with you when there isn’t. And she’s dealt with enough cruelty in her life.”

She drags in a shaky breath. “I don’t know what the future looks like.”

“No one does. But the least you can do is be honest with her. She deserves that.”

“Like you’ve been honest with Toni?” She scoffs.

“What does that mean?”

“I’d bet money you haven’t told her how you feel.”

“You have no idea how I feel.” Lucy could be a loudmouth, but I knew that wasn’t something she’d blab to my cousin in less than twenty-four hours.

“Whatever.” Ginelle finishes her drink and hops down. “Maybe handle your own shit before you try to tell me how to handle mine.”

“Ginelle, wait!” I call as she storms away, through the office door, and out the back before I can make it around the bar.