"You know you have to make a choice. Your parent's dream or yours."
For a good portion of her life, Bentley's mind was made up. She was going to follow in her parent's footsteps and continue the family business, but something changed along the way...
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July 20th, 1981
Mobile, Alabama
Happy Heavenly Birthday Michael, we all miss you down here 💗
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The suites that Michael's father chose for them to stay at while in Alabama had to be one of Michael's least favorites. The walls, likely once a warm yellow, had dulled and grayed with time and lack of proper care. The dusty, brown curtains covered the view to the brick wall of a rundown building next door. The bed barely gave in as his weight settled on it, the covers and sheets ripping at the seams. Joseph had mentioned how the nicer hotels wouldn't give them any rooms.
He barely got a lick of sleep during the few days they were there, but Michael didn't mind that since it gave him the chance to write music and talk to the woman who had him wrapped around her finger since that fateful night.
Cheerful laughter escaped from the hotel room phone while Michael had it cradled to his ear. A wide smile permanently etched on his features whenever he was on the phone with her.
When Michael arrived in San Antonio, he immediately called Bentley and they didn't hang up until she fell asleep on the line. Since that day, the two of them would go on and on about the happenings of their lives. Their conversations flowed and weaved together effortlessly as they found themselves talking on the phone for hours on end.
Even when Michael was bone tired from recording demos in between shows or when his brothers wanted to go out and party, he'd still call. He'd often hear Joseph and his brothers that he was finally being a man, thinking he was talking to multiple women over the phone, but she was the only one.
She became one of the only people he could truly be himself with, offering reprieve from the never ending stress of traveling, the shows, and working. Maybe that's why Michael couldn't help but always want to talk to this baker from Texas.
"Boy, you silly. I can't just make box muffins for the competition, what kind of baker do you think I am?"
"The kind that doesn't needa try to win. Hell, you could probably cook a piece of cardboard, put some sprinkles on it and everyone'll eat it." Michael half-joked, fidgeting with the string of his pajama bottoms.
The other day she had told Michael about how there's a baking competition she wanted to participate in and how it'd get her name in peoples mouths instead of her family business.
Michael initially suggested he could spread the word for her but she immediately shot him down, insisting she needed to do this by herself. He understood that, but he still left the offer on the table when she needed it.
"I might have to start callin' you silly boy from now on, Applehead." He chuckled, remembering their conversation about childhood nicknames. He had told her that his siblings used to call him that because of how big his head was. She, of course, loved it and used it as she deemed fit.
