Streets of Gold - A Michael Jackson Story

Chapter 47 - An Ocean Apart

Yonela

Friday November 9th, 1987 - Los Olivos, Santa Barbara

I've just finished making breakfast when Michael gets off the bottom step and comes into the kitchen.

"Morning, baby," he says, hugging me from behind and gently kissing my cheek before heading to the fridge for some orange juice.

"Morning," I smile back to him while fixing up two plates of chocolate chip waffles.

"Something smells good," he says while hopping up on a barstool.

"You're just in time," I smile before placing a plate in front of him with syrup and strawberries. After saying a short prayer for the food, I take a seat beside Michael, who is already stuffing his face. I can't help but shake my head with a chuckle - he's like a little kid, and it's so cute.

This is the first time I've seen him so happy this entire break.

"How are they?" I ask, curious. Shocked that I even have to ask, he simply puts his cutlery down, swallows his food and leans over to give me another kiss on the cheek.

"They're amazing," he says.

"I wanted to do something special for you before you leave for the Oceania leg."

"I highly doubt the Australian hotel waffles will be this good," he says before taking another bite.

I chuckle. "Think of this as your two favourite girls saying goodbye for now."

Michael literally almost chokes on his food.

"What's wrong?" I gasp, handing him his glass of juice to wash down. It takes a moment for him to recover.

"Wrong pipe," he manages to say.

"Jackson, please be careful," I tell him while rubbing his back to help relieve him. "I can't give you the Heimlich manoeuvre with this bump in my way."

He simply nods and continues to eat, like he might choke again if he opens his mouth. I study his face for a moment. His big brown eyes seem brighter than ever, even though he can barely look me in mine, and I see in them a secretive and almost guilty uneasiness.

He's hiding something from me.

Again.

"Baby, are you okay?" I ask him, genuinely.

"Yeah," he says after properly swallowing another bite of his waffles. "How about you?"

"I'm fine," I say honestly. "I just feel like there's something you're not telling me."

"What do you mean?" he asks, almost defensively.

"Michael, you've been very distant. Are you avoiding me?"

"Baby, don't be silly. What makes you say that?"

"You've been home from Japan for a month, and all you've ever done is work and sleep. What was the point of this break if we barely get to spend time with each other?"

"Is that how you feel, Miya?" he asks me.

"I don't know how to feel, Michael, but that's what I see. It's like we're an ocean apart in our own home. You're here, but you're not, and now you're leaving for real again. I swear that perfectionist workaholic nature of yours will work against you if you don't---"

Just then, I gasp after feeling a kick in my abdomen.

"What is it?" Michael asks with worry. I don't respond, but I reach for his hand and place it flat on my tummy. His eyes widen with delight at the sensation of another kick. His expression is filled with amazement, and I simply give him a small smile.