Page 47 of Unreasonably Yours

TONI

I check my phone for the hundredth time in the last hour.

Ben and his family were supposed to get in earlier today, but their flight was delayed. Instead of us all meeting at Cillian’s—where, at his insistence, they’d be staying—before heading to the O’Sullivan’s for Christmas Eve, they were coming straight here.

No buffer. No time to prepare—myself more than anyone else. Just straight into the crucible of family holiday chaos.

“Doll,” Cillian places his hand over the screen, “relax. They’ll get here.”

“I know.” I let him pull me back onto his chest, his chin resting on my head as he rubs a hand up and down my back. “I just need nothing else to go wrong with this trip. I just—” I sigh.

The thing I don’t want to admit, even to Cillian, is that I want my older brother to approve of him, of my choice to stay, of all of it.

Because, according to the little Toni in my chest—the one who always wanted a home that felt welcoming and a family that felt safe—if Ben approved, maybe we could have more Christmases together.

A gentle rap at the bedroom door draws our attention. “I don’t wanna interrupt anything,” Kitty says cheekily.

“Ma!” Cillian groans. “Just open the door.”

She laughs, poking her head inside, an apron partially covering her over-the-top Christmas sweater. “Toni, I just wanted to double-check that the boys are good with seafood. I don’t mind making them something else.”

I sit up. “Kitty, I promise you, they’ve grown up on a steady diet of both seafood and swamp food, they’re going to be thrilled.” While she wasn’t doing the full Seven Fishes meal, she was going all out with several dishes that had this house smelling divine.

“Alright then. How’s the leg, sweetheart?” she asks Cillian.

“A little better,” he assures her. The cold that rolled in yesterday was taking a toll on him, but he was determined not to let it ruin the festivities.

“You want any help?” I offer, even though she’d already turned me down several times.

“You know the answer,” she sing-songs as she heads down the stairs.

“Stay out of your kitchen,” Cillian and I say in unison.

I roll my eyes and laugh, falling back with him and letting my eyes wander around his childhood bedroom.

Posters from rock and metal bands I’d also loved as a teenager still hang on the walls, alongside Polaroids and disposable camera photos of Lucy, Oliver, and Cillian over the years.

The bookshelf is packed with well-worn paperbacks and sheet music, as well as trophies and medals from choir and boxing competitions.

A little time capsule for the boy he once was.

I love it .

My phone vibrates and I shoot upright. “They’re on their way!”

Cillian chuckles. “Wanna go tell the horde downstairs?”

The O’Sullivans’ home is already buzzing.

Oliver would be coming by later, having his own family festivities to see to.

But Lucy, Michael, and Camille are here; Cillian’s uncle Bobby and his husband Rick even came up from Florida; and of course, Mickey and Kitty are milling about.

In all honesty, I wasn’t sure how we were going to shove four more people in here.

“Fantastic!” Mickey declares when I announce my brother’s—er, my family is only about ten minutes away.

“Well, darling,” Bobby—an older, leaner, and decidedly more fabulous version of Mickey—threads his arm through mine. “Let’s get you a proper drink to celebrate.”

Lucy leans over to whisper in my ear. “The eggnog is delicious, but it will absolutely knock you on your ass.”

“Thank you,” I mouth as he pulls me toward the kitchen.

Bobby, who does indeed have exceptional stories just like Cillian promised, gets me so caught up in conversation that I’m surprised when Lucy announces my family’s arrival.

I suck down a far too large gulp of flammable eggnog and cough my way to the door.

Cillian laughs, patting my back. “Lucy did warn you.”

“I need the strength.” Because if this is a disaster, I don’t want to be sober for it.

We step onto the porch, and the boys bolt from the rental car.

“Ant-Ant!” They shriek, rushing toward me.

My nerves flee, catching their enthusiastic hugs at the bottom of the stairs, kissing them on top of their dirty blonde heads.

“We missed you!” Asher declares.

“The roads here are worse than New Orleans,” Parker says over him .

I hear Cillian laugh from behind me, and my smile grows impossibly.

“I missed y’all, too. And yeah, they’re pretty bad.”

“Let the woman breathe, boys,” my sister-in-law says, shaking her head. They release me only for Dianne to deliver her own crushing hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

“You, too.”

“And you must be Cillian,” she says, looking behind me.

I turn as he braces himself on the banister, a somewhat bashful smile on his face. “Guilty.”

Dianne introduces herself and the boys as Ben finally makes his way over to me.

“Told ya we’d make it,” he says, chuckling.

I roll my eyes, smiling, “So did Cillian.”

Ben pulls me in for a hug, which may possibly be the longest one we’ve ever shared.

“And this—now I know it may be shocking because they look nothing alike—” Dianne says, “is your girlfriend’s brother, and my loving husband, Ben.”

Ben and I give her identical looks.

“Uncanny,” Dianne teases.

“Good to meet you,” Ben says.

“Likewise.” Cillian shakes Ben’s offered hand.

“Something smells great,” Parker says. Asher sniffs the air as if to verify.

“We’ve got plenty of good food in here, boys,” Mickey says from the doorway.

“Go on,” Ben says. And the boys barrel inside.

“Ask before sticking your hands in something!” Dianne calls after them as we filter in. Everyone gets a good laugh at that.

Introductions are made all around while my nephews simultaneously negotiate their way into eating several cookies before real food and pepper Mickey with questions about the instruments scattered around the house.

“Cillian, are you sure you want this chaos in your home?” Dianne asks, shaking her head at her children as they pluck at a banjo with delighted grins on their faces.

Bobby chuckles. “Technically, it’s my house. And trust me, love, that place has seen far rowdier boys than those two in its time.”

Camille laughs, “I must warn you, tread carefully or you will get the orgy stories.”

Dianne gasps with delight, extending a hand to Bobby. “Oh, we’re going to be great friends.”

Which, to my absolute relief and delight, turns out to be true all around.

The rest of the night is bursting with food, family, music, and laughter.

After we’ve all glutted ourselves on Kitty’s incredible cooking, the O’Sullivan boys entertain my nephews by showing them how to play bodhráns. Dianne is howling with laughter, enjoying a drink with the other ladies and Rick, while Ben and I hang back, soaking it all in.

Ben gestures to Cillian, patiently coaching Asher on how to hold the drumstick. “Nicer than I thought he’d be.”

I huff a little laugh, my heart soaring. “What were you expecting?”

“Maybe less tattoos,” he teases.

I playfully punch him in the arm. He rumbles a deep laugh, slinging an arm around my shoulder.

Cillian high-fives Asher when he gets it right.

“That’s a good man,” Ben says.

I can’t help but compare this moment to my last Christmas. The contrast is so jarring it feels impossible.

“ The best.” I let my head fall onto my older brother’s shoulder. “Thank you for helping me get here. ”

He tsks. “You’re the one who made it work, Toni.”

I send a wave of gratitude out to the past versions of me, even the one who chose David.

Cillian meets my eyes from across the room, smiling that pure sunshine smile.

I thank them for every unreasonable choice that got me—that got us—to him.