A Little Bit Of Joy | ✔

Chapter Seventy Three : The Brother's Home

Shaun's POV :

It had been five months since Joy passed away and here I was, back in the city of lights, Paris. It was late in the night, but the people were acting wild in the pub like the night had just begun. I didn't even know why I was here instead of editing some clips in my small hotel room. All I could think of was . . . Why exactly was I here? What was my purpose? I should have been with Joy all those weeks I came here . . . I should have stayed at home. I should have fought for Marilyn. I shouldn't have let two strong women slip from my life just like that.

From across the room I saw Alice who was seated on the couch, one of my many friends I had made here. Without thinking twice, I glided to her with a cheeky grin and ruffled her platinum blonde hair from behind. She glanced up at me confused and then bit back her smile. Feigning irritation, she exclaimed, "Hey, ne touche pas mes cheveux!"

'Hey, don't touch my hair! Keep your greasy fingers away!' Joy would say the same and playfully swat my hands away.

I staggered back a little and nodded vaguely when Alice asked if I was okay. I grabbed a shot of tequila from her table and gulped it down, letting it burn my throat. Sucking on a piece of lemon, I stumbled out of the pub, too shaken with fresh memories.

Just then, my phone buzzed from an unknown number and I reluctantly picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hey," a heart-stabbing voice spoke deliciously and my mouth felt dry. "It's me."

"Marilyn?" I whispered, blinking back my tears. "Is it really you?"

There was a long pause. "Yes."

"I-I miss you so much," I said honestly because I did miss her. A lot. I still loved her. A lot. Exasperated, I ran my hand through my rough hair. "How are you?"

"I'm sorry I couldn't attend the funeral," she said instead, ignoring my question. It was painful for her to talk to me that was clear, but didn't she realize that it was painful for me to not talk to her? She continued in a low voice, "I was caught up in some . . . some work. I wish I was there for Joy. For you."

For me.

"It's okay, I understand. I bet Joy understands too---"

"She understands everything."

I chuckled, the anxiety swirling in me dissipating. "Yeah."

"It sucks to lose her so soon," she admitted and I remained quiet. Because it did suck a lot. "I hope you're doing good and your family and that boy Logan."

"Yeah, my family's hanging in there, trying to keep themselves occupied. So is flower boy, last time I checked he was doing great. It's been difficult but . . . Yeah and I'm doing great too," I lied about myself because I was not doing great. Not even close. "How are you---" I was intervened by a sharp crying noise of a baby. A baby? Where was Marilyn? I asked loudly over the noise, "Where are you?"

"One second," she said hastily and I could hear shuffling sounds, her heavy footsteps and hushed words being cooed. The crying ceased after a few minutes. "Hey, I got to go."

"No!" I burst out impulsively and took a deep breath. Don't sound desperate. Or angry. Marilyn hated when I became angry. "Stay please . . . I need to know how you're doing. I can't sleep without knowing where you are or what you're doing. It screws me up from the inside. It drives me crazy. You drive me crazy."

She laughed, that musical, deep laughter of hers which made my legs weak. "Move on kid---"

"Kid? You can do better than that," I interrupted in mock humour. She knew how much I hated when she called me a freaking kid. I was five months older than her for God's sake! It was her way of belittling everyone.

"You don't deserve me kid," she said with emphasis and I snorted. "I'm a shitty person, I have told you a million times."

"I refuse to believe it a million times," I said stubbornly.

It struck me bitterly that I was indeed acting like an obstinate kid.

"I have more secrets Shaun, secrets which will bomb your perfect life." Her voice turned solemn suddenly and she became quiet. I thought she had hung up, but then she spoke softly, "You will not want anything to do with me."

"That's not true, none of the things you said are true. My life isn't perfect and I'll always- believe me when I say this- I'll always want everything to do with you."

She sighed tiredly, it seemed like she was contemplating something before she said, "I'll text you my address, you can come or chicken out. No pressure."

"Okay, okay." I couldn't help, but smile through my tears. "Okay, cool."

"I'm doing this because you deserve something . . . Not me, but something better. Goodbye Shaun," she said simply and cut the call.

* * *

I took a morning flight back home. My home. Marilyn.

All through the flight I kept staring at her message, the address she had sent. It was three towns away from mine, but not where she actually came from. She was supposed to be with her mother, in her hometown, not in this unknown place. It made me feel uneasy.

I hailed a taxi from the airport and arrived at her place. This was a relatively smaller town with a population of less than two thousand people. There was a gas station, a Mc Donalds (Marilyn always ate from Mc Donalds on fridays, I didn't know why) two convenience stores, two local restaurants, a motel and a doctor's clinic. I assumed for other things they had to travel to the next town which was thirty minutes away by bus.

Small, one storey, wooden cottages were scattered on patches of land in between the lush, green meadows. Marilyn had told me that how as a child she used to run barefoot in the meadows and let mud smear all over her. She loved the smell and feel of earth. She said that it made her feel connected to beauty. I never really understood her on this part because she was the beauty- touching her made me feel connected to beauty.

I stood in front of a cottage similar to others, but smaller and older looking. This was it, this was where she lived. Holding my breath, I rang the doorbell.

Marilyn was in front of me within seconds, dressed in a cream coloured blouse and midi-skirt. Her full lips was set in a thin line and her dark hair, once dyed blonde was tied in a loose ponytail. Her alluring grey eyes watched me curiously while she balanced a baby on her hip. My eyes met the twinkling blue ones of the blonde baby and Marilyn raised it towards me. The baby's tiny, fat fingers reached for my face as she tried to grab my nose. "She's yours."

Tears freely flowed from my eyes, rolling down my cheeks and the baby's arms stretched towards me.

"No." I shook my head, stepping back. "She's ours."

The baby gurgled with laughter and Marilyn started to cry too, the grey clouds of her eyes turning to mist.

"I figured this was the truth," I whispered hoarsely because I did know it. I knew this was one of the possibilities she was hiding and I was glad that this was one of the possibilities. I took the laughing baby in my arms and held her close. She smelled like baby powder and looked so much like . . .

"She looks like Joy, doesn't she?" Marilyn said quietly and I nodded in awe, laughing when the baby tried to pluck the shiny button of my jacket. It took me years back to when I was five and tried to peep in the pink cradle, to play with a bundle of Joy. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you when you needed me the most. I should have fought for you instead of letting you go."

"No, don't be ridiculous." She lovingly swept the baby's hair back, smiling ruefully. "I named her after my mother- Emilia, is that okay?"

"Is that okay for you?" I searched for doubt in her eyes but I couldn't see it.

"Emilia's always okay for me," she said earnestly, opening the door behind her. "Come in, you must be exhausted."