Page 42 of Unreasonably Yours

Toni

I step back to study the portrait of my brother and his family I’d been working on all weekend. Each of the boys has a Starfleet insignia on their shirt, and rather than poised expressions, everyone looks like they’re mid-laugh—or in my brother’s case, lovingly annoyed.

It feels distinctly them.

Ben wasn’t exactly giddy when I told him I’d decided to renew my lease, but he was supportive, which was enough for me. Apparently, my choice had ruined his planned Christmas surprise of bringing the family up to all help me pack, but they’re still coming.

In a way, I’m still surprised, both because I hadn’t been expecting to do much for Christmas and at how excited I am to see them. Me. Excited for Christmas? What a wild concept.

I should get a tree.

A knock at my door barely registers over “Bennie and the Jets.” I turn the music down, catching another round of knocks.

“Just a minute!” I call out.

I look through the peephole. A slender white man stands on my porch, his back to the door as he rubs his hands over his arms. His chestnut hair is a bit shaggier than usual, but I don’t need to see his face to recognize him or the jacket I bought him last Christmas.

David.

How fucking dare he. Anger rises in my chest, quick and hot.

I consider ignoring him. Leaving him on the front porch to freeze in the early December chill. But when he turns back, softer memories of our time together tease the corners of my mind. Gentle, almost bittersweet, nostalgia tempering my rage.

Familiar brown eyes, wire frames perched on his nose. Angular features I’d loved to draw at one point, though the thick coat of stubble was new.

He raises his hand to knock once more, but I open the door before he can.

“Toni,” he says, hand frozen in the air.

“What're you doing here?” Just because I was willing to open the door didn’t mean I had to be pleasant.

“Good to see you, too.”

I cross my arms over my chest, leaning in the doorway, perfectly willing to wait for a valid answer.

“Would you believe I booked a last-minute flight because I needed to see you?”

“No.”

David smiles knowingly. “Fair.” He looks at his sneakers, scuffing them on the wood before looking back at me. “It's true, though.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

He shoves his hands into his pockets. “You're letting your heat out.”

The statement is so quintessentially David that I can’t help but grin a little, rolling my eyes. There’s no malice or judgment in his words, only a sort of sincere practicality I’d found endearing at one point.

“Come in, I guess.”

I lead him into my home feeling both proud and protective of this space.

The walls hold my art. A few Thanksgiving decorations still linger.

My pink couch is cluttered with jewel-toned pillows and an abundance of blankets.

The overstuffed chair I just picked up from the local buy-nothing group completes the living room nicely.

Then, of course, the dining room is filled with canvas and supplies—my creative chaos on full display.

None of it would be to his taste. But all of it is perfectly mine.

“This is a unique place.” He stops to study a smaller version of the view from Longfellow Bridge I’d painted for Cillian. “You did this?”

In this version, the colors are almost neon—a sky and city made of light and color. I’d done it as a test before deciding to go in another direction.

“Yeah. Best view in the city.” An arrow of longing lances straight through me.

“Wow,” David breathes. “I . . . wow.”

“Not bad for a pointless hobby,” I snipe. Without extending the invitation to join me, I take a seat on the couch, leaving him standing awkwardly with his duffel bag still in hand.

“I didn't...I never meant it like that, and you know it.” There’s that cutting tone I remember so well. “At least...I wish you knew.” He wilts into the chair, letting his bag settle beside his feet. “I should’ve made sure you knew. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

I try to blink away my shock, force the image of the man I knew to mesh with this version. One who bought a—no doubt expensive—plane ticket and who apologizes for things like misunderstandings.

“But that?” He gestures to the painting. “That’s not pointless. Someone would pay good money for that.”

My head spins again. Annoyed because what someone would pay for it was always the point with him. Things couldn’t just be worth something for the beauty of it.

“Make me an offer,” I say cooly.

David meets my eyes, and like flipping a switch, that charming smile of his transforms him, softening all his hard edges. “Whatever it costs to break your lease.”

“What?”

“Name the price, and I’ll pay it.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am.” He’s so still, I’m not sure he’s breathing. “Whatever it takes to get you home.”

Home. As if what we shared had ever felt like a home.

“Jesus Christ.” I get up from the couch. Despite it being barely noon and my rules around drinking when emotions are heightened, I suddenly need a drink to get me through this.

He follows me to the kitchen. “Is it so hard to believe that I want you home? That I’d do anything to?—”

I laugh bitterly, cutting him off. A half-empty bottle of white from Thanksgiving is conveniently in the door of the fridge. I flick the cap off and take a deep drink before answering. “Yes. It is.”

He looks genuinely hurt. “Why?”

I take another drink. “Because you don’t make unreasonable decisions, David.” I spit his name like it tastes bitter. “And according to you, that’s what I am. Unreasonable. A hurricane. A disaster.”

He pulls the bottle from my hands and finishes the remainder.

“So you want me to believe—” I begin.

“I was an ass!” he blurts. “I am an ass. And I'm here because I recognize that.” We both cringe as he sets the bottle on the counter with a little too much force. “Won't you at least hear me out? I came all this way.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” I practically growl. “In fact, I asked you to give me space, and instead you’ve found literally every way you could to?—”

“I was desperate, Toni!” His voice cracks on my name. “I...you left, and this blackhole opened in my life. All I could think was, ‘she should be here.’” Tears roll down his cheeks. “I just want to talk, please. Please, Toni.”

I finally look at him. Really look at him. This is the man I spent three years of my life with. Hell, I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with him. He flew across the country to beg for a conversation in my kitchen.

David, who was, if I was honest with myself, easy to be with. And if I was even more honest, some part of me missed that, missed his predictable plans, his routines, and his cut-and-dry manner. Again, that bittersweet nostalgia softens my resolve.

“You want some coffee?” I ask.