You'll Be In My Heart

Chapter 31

September 27th (Six months pregnant).
MARSHALL'S POV.

This fucking color is so stupid that if I have to go over this section again I think I'm gonna throw myself off the tallest fucking building I can find. Or maybe right out this fucking window I guess it doesn't matter where as long as it's high enough to kill me.

Miah and me are having a baby shower today according to Emma. She started planning it and never told either of us since they're supposed to be surprises apparently. I knew about Kim's for Hailie and Whitney so since fucking when are they surprises is beyond me.

My point is, is that now Evan, Tommy, and me started setting up the nursery so we gotta hurry up and finish it before four when Emma is throwing it. It's already three and this paint is fucking trash! It isn't drying quick enough, it smells like shit, it looks uneven, and on a fucking side note Miah didn't say shit to Emma about having it here she's just letting her go and as she said letting Emma be Emma.

I don't give a fuck who it is I would like to know when people are gonna be crowding Miah or coming over to this apartment.

"Should I do another coat on this Marshall or is this- ugh where's that damn bucket so I can see this color!" Tommy gets down from his step stool frustrated like I am and looks around for the bucket I could've swore he threw away after pouring it all in the rolling pan.

Evan looks at the wall from painting the lining of the floor, "it looks right to me. Any darker and it'll match the wood on the cribs.".

"I'm gonna take a break this shit is pissing me off."

"I got a bottle of wine in a cabinet in the kitchen."

"Marshall, I thought you weren't allowed to drink."

"It's wine, it's barely got any alcohol in it. Plus Miah isn't gonna drink it anytime soon so get rid of it."

"Why do you have it?"

"Why do you care?"

"You had me at wine honestly.".

Tommy and Evan leave while I stay behind jumping down from my step stool and looking around the room and the paint that surrounds me. I guess it's even. It's as even as it's going to be since I ain't going to do any more of this shit. I should start on cleaning stuff up and moving shit in. No. The paint smell is going to kill me if I don't open a damn window first.

I walk over and pull the window open letting a cool breeze of New York air into the apartment around me. It feels amazing against my hot skin and smells fresh, but it doesn't have the kick that Michigan air has with me. I know I sound stupid right now, but there's a different between them to me. In Michigan I can smell the trees and I can hear the wind and the sound of basket balls bouncing off the ground. Here I smell cold and hear cars.

I guess I'm getting home sick. I haven't been in my estate for more than three days at a time for almost three years. I've been in New York with Miah and our... babies. I miss my basket ball court. I miss my massive bed. I miss the rest of my wardrobe. I miss my fucking jacuzzi tub and that massive shower with a seat in it. I miss being home.

Miah wouldn't move with me, there's no point to even fucking asking her. Her life is here in New York and mine... mine was- is a fucking mess.

"Wow. It looks good in here.".

I turn and look at Emma as she walks into the room and looks from wall to wall then at me with a questioning look, "why did more paint get on you than on the wall?".

"I'm not artistic."

"Miah told me you could draw."

"I can't paint."