Her Wish (Michael Jackson Fanfiction) (Completed)

Halloween's Ball

Kendra

October 28th, 1989.

Another month had passed since the SNL incident and I hadn't heard a peep from Michael, which I found to be a surprise and a relief at the same time. I'd feel pissed at him and pitied him in the same breath whenever he left a message with me. Each one became less and less frequent. Either he was too busy to bother me or he got the message, either was fine with me.

He seemed okay, I suppose. The last public appearance I'd seen him do was earlier in the month when they dedicated that auditorium to him. He wore sunglasses the whole time so it was anyone's guess what was behind them. From what I heard, many people asked where I was, though I wasn't sure if that was to mock him or out of genuine concern.

Today there was a break in filming so I spent the time sleeping. The fall weather always made me sleepier since the heat wasn't coming in full force like it always did in the summer. I was partway to dreamland when the shrill rings of that damned telephone shake the night table. I struggle to reach it as I continue snuggling into my cover, should I let it go to voice mail?

It could be Quincy calling me over to his studio again (since I'm producing now), Sharon, Holly, Chris, or Gina. It could be any one of them. After a few more moments of contemplation, I grab the phone and press it against my cheek. "Hello?"

"Kendra, sweetie. I'm not getting any younger, when are you going to pay me a visit?" I roll my eyes involuntarily at the sound of her voice. Mom. Usually I'm happy to talk to her but when she cuts into my beauty sleep, it's annoying.

"Mom, didn't you see me last week?"

"Seeing you on a television screen doesn't count, Kenny. Now come on over and I'll make you some breakfast."

An hour later, I'm sat in the kitchen of the family home.

"Did she blackmail you into having breakfast too, Ken?" Gina questions, shoving a piece of toast in her mouth.

Ava sits silently, stirring her spoon around her cereal, watching the milk turn from white to pink. Dad continues to bury his nose in the newspaper, oblivious to our conversation.

"No, she just guilt tripped the hell out of me. You know how she is," we both look in her direction as she slaves over the hot stove.

"Alright, alright, here I come," Mom carries a few hot plates on her arms and in her hands. Setting them around the table before taking a seat with all of us.

Although she seems interested in everyone's lives, I know she's more interested in mine now. I could tell by each one of her questions. She sips carefully on the coffee from the coffee mug she holds in her hand.

"Sweetheart, I think you should come home." I knew everything these days made Mom weary but to even suggest this? I knew she probably was questioning my whole life in the city after everything that occurred.

"Mom, I'm not doing that," I politely disagree with her suggestion.

"That town, it does things to people. Look what's happened to you."

"The town didn't do a thing, Mom. It was, in fact, a person in that town. Remember?"

"Have you tried talking to him?" The memory of the last conversation we had last month was still fresh in my mind and if I recall, it didn't go down too well.

"There's no point talking. Can we please not have this conversation over breakfast?" I gesture towards Dad and Ava, they don't need to be here to be nosy.