Sleeping With The Moon And The Sun (Michael Jackson Fanfiction)

Rubbers And Cornbread

1979
6:30 PM

"Amari," my mother called out to me.
Her voice was coarse and raspy from years of smoking.

She leaned down slightly to place the pan full of cornbread batter into the oven.
The heat from the oven hissed at her causing a strand of her hair to drape over her face. Her loose curls were tied back with a headscarf.

"Hmm," I hummed through my nose.
I sat at the dining table, where I fidgeted with the napkins from the metallic napkin holder.

I scrunched them with my fingertips. Crumpling them and swishing them across the table out of pure boredom.

Such a quiet Sunday evening filled with nothing but my mother's game shows and old songs from the sixties on the radio. Old songs I used to despise but had grown to love over the years.

Having heard them for so long they grow on you.

"Why don't you invite Michael over for dinner tonight," she suggested, closing the oven shut with a swish of her hips.

I peered up at her from where I sat, slouched in the chair. Her eyebrows raised, and her bright hazel eyes stared into mine.

She tugged at the oven mitts before pulling them off of her hands.
Her eyes were still glued to mine, her head tilted to the side. She waited impatiently for a reply; I could tell she wasn't going to take no for an answer.

She was a small woman with a big attitude, that's what I always loved about her.

"His parents probably won't let him," I mumbled under my breath, slouching down in the wooden chair. Continuing to play with the napkins in front of me.

My mother, spotting the mess I had made, marched over to the dinner table.
She towered over me as she began gathering the napkins that were scattered about. Pulling the napkins from my grasp as well.

Hastily she shoved them back into the holder and glared down at me in disapproval. Her eyes darted all along my face and finally up to my head full of kinky hair.

Which I refused to properly pick or care for in any shape or form.

"I bet if you picked your hair out and slapped one of my dresses on they'd say yes," she smirked, placing the metallic napkin holder far beyond my reach on the table.

I shook my head in protest, exhaling as I pulled myself up to sit up straight. Feeling dread settle in me at the thought of being told off by Michael's father again.

"Nope, that ain't gonna happen." I pulled my hands onto my lap and hoped my mother would get the idea out of her stubborn mind.

She sucked her teeth, making a 'tsk' noise. Her face fixed into a curious expression as she thought long and hard.

"I'll let y'all shut the door when you hang out after dinner?"

That appealed to me, very much so.

We were never allowed to hang out with the door closed. It was against my mother's house rules.

But that day was different, she was much more lenient that day. Could've been since she was much more fond of Michael than she was before.
I also hadn't given her any reason to not trust me, yet.