Famously Yours - Sequel to A Famous Affair

Famously Yours chapter 4

As the taxi pulls up outside what used to be my family home, a feeling of incredible sadness washes over me. The solemness is everywhere, permeating the air around me and all around the house. Yes, it has the same red-bricked stone, and the same azalea shrubs now waking from their winters sleep and starting to blossom. In fact, from the outside, everything does indeed look the same. I suppose that's the sadness right there, because so much looks the same on the outside, yet inside of that house; everything has now changed.

I quickly pay the taxi fare, stepping out of the car with trepidation terrorising the whole of me. Nervously brushing down my high waisted pencil skirt and taking a deep breath to placate my now out of control nerves, I take the slow walk towards the front door.

My entire body is trembling, not one single part of me is immune to how scared I actually feel right now. Hold it together, Jessica! Shawn has asked you to come. There must be a very good reason for that. My thoughts momentarily make me feel a little more confident. Enough so that, I find myself gently tapping on the door; a thing that I soon regret. I'm completely unprepared for this! I don't think I'm able to face him just yet! The panic sets in, my heart thunders around in my chest; pounding my ears with each panicked beat. Shit!

My agony is prolonged, as it seems to take Shawn forever to answer the bloody door. Maybe he himself, is now wishing he had never invited me at all? Maybe he has the same terrible feeling of dread, but for very different reasons? Maybe he won't open the door and I can face this another time? My mind throws around all kinds of questions. I'm hoping that the last thought will indeed be true. I'm way in over my fucking head here. I just don't feel ready to face Shawn yet. Help! When the door suddenly opens, all that hope vanishes because standing in front of me now, is the shell of the man who is still my husband. I look up at Shawn, the person who I'd spent eighteen very happy years with. The man who had been my friend, lover, confidant, literally my world for all of those years. He was not only by my side when I was at my happiest: our wedding day and the birth of our daughters. He was also by my side when I was at my unhappiest, the death of my mother.

So to see him now, after all this time, barely looking anything like the man that I shared all of that with, hits me painfully hard. I find it difficult to expel any words from my emotionally crippled throat. I need to dig deep, in order to say anything at all. Bravely holding his forlorn stare, I manage to weakly speak. "Hello, Shawn," I say, with a faint attempt at an apologetic smile.

"Hello, you had better come in," he answers coolly, standing back to allow me to walk into the familiar hallway.

As I nervously do, it's the homely smell that my senses pick up on first. I think every home has its own unique smell. It's an indescribable but comforting scent, one that your body and mind knows very well. As soon as the aroma invades my nostrils, a surge of emotion blankets me. Don't even think about crying, Jessica Neel! Not now! Not here!

Desperately trying to hold back my tears, I glance at the living room door to my left and the dining room to my right. My eyes follow the stairway walls, which still have all the pictures of the girls at varying stages of their lives, hanging up against their creamy backdrop. A flashback of Shawn, carefully putting them up while I bossily delegated where each picture was supposed to go; taunts my already over emotional mind.

I meekly follow Shawn into the kitchen. It's not changed at all. The clock still ticks on the wall. The silly fridge magnets we bought, from every place we had ever holidayed, are still stuck like painful memories on the stainless steel fridge freezer. I bite my lip, trying desperately hard not to succumb to the raw emotions that invade every inch of me. Shit! It actually hurts being here!

"Do you want a drink?" Shawn asks quietly with his back to me.

He opens the fridge door with such a heavy hand, all of the condiments and jars inside clatter around against one another as he reaches for the orange juice.