We drive to the grocery store and I look through all of the vegetables, trying to clear my mind of everything that has happened in the last day. Michael's chef looks over at me, trying to figure out what Im thinking or why I even came here with her. I ignore her glances and keep searching for foods that I like.
"Greens. Michael likes greens. We should get that." I say, picking up a bag.
"Is something wrong honey?" She asks, putting the greens in her cart.
I smile at her. "No. Everything is fine. Just wanted some fresh air. I've been in the house all day. Plus, I havent gone grocery shopping in a while. You are our chef, but it fulfills my maternal role to buy food and cook it." I say, picking out some fruit and putting it into the cart.
"I know you and Michael had a disagreement last night. I saw the way you acted towards each other today. I dont want to be in the middle of this." She says, stopping the cart.
I turn around and look at her. "You're not in the middle of anything."
"Michael is going to question me..." She says, picking up some apples.
"He is not some.. interrogator... look we are not gonna talk about what happened at all. We are here to shop. He wont be on your back if we dont discuss anything. But since you asked, yes, a lot of things are wrong right now, but since you are as afraid of him as I am, I will spare you the details." I say, looking at her to make sure she understands.
"So, how about some rice?" I ask, a fake smile spreading across my face.
We leave the grocery store and immediately I am blinded by cameras flashing in my face. I cover my eyes and Michael's chef grabs my hand so she can lead me to the car.
"Mrs. Jackson! Tell us what's going on with you and Michael!" One reporter yells.
"Mrs. J! I heard that Michael is 10 years older than you! Is this true??" Another one yells.
"Tell us about your love life! We heard Michael likes to have other people watch. Where is he right now??" A woman barks.
"Leave me alone!" I yell.
We get into the car and the paparazzi are all smashed up against the car like fish out of water, just flopping everywhere. I look at Michael's chef in disbelief.
"What the hell??" I say, shocked.
"This is everyday life for you from this point forward." She pats me on the back.
"I never asked for this. I cant even go shopping!" I say, leaning back in the seat.
"Just think how Michael feels. This is nothing compared-"
"No offense, but I dont want to talk about him at all. For all I care, he deserves to get mobbed." I say with malice.
"RIght. Sorry. Im sorry about all this paparazzi stuff though Esmeralda. You know it will only get worse from here on out." She says, making sure I know what to expect.
I stare out the tinted window at the people pushing themselves up against this car door. His car door. To get just a glimpse of me. His wife. Looks of delight, agony, surprise, frustration, and shock fill their faces as we pull off slowly. They are willing to get ran over just to see me. Because Im married to him. And everything he does and everyone that he talks to fascinates the world, so even if he walks past you on the street and says "Hi." everyone will be bombarding you with questions. It's almost ridiculous. Almost insulting. And I know for a fact that my life and my name only has worth because of... HIM.