POV: Being Married to Michael Jackson

Being Married to Michael Jackson: In the Kitchen

When he wasn't touring, he'd love being in the kitchen with you.

Not because he was some perfect chef.

But because ordinary things felt sacred when they were done with love.

Making something from scratch.
Humming while the house was quiet.
Going out of his way to do something sweet for you just because he could.

Especially if it was something meaningful, like his family's sweet potato pie recipe.

You'd try to help, of course.

"Let me help," you'd say, already reaching for something.

And he'd just give you that look.

"Nuh uh."

Before you could argue, his hands would find your hips, gently guiding you over to the kitchen island.

"You just stand right here."

Then he'd turn you toward the counter, wrap his arms around you from behind, and keep chopping the sweet potato with his head resting over your shoulder.

Slow. Careful. Soft.

Like cooking wasn't really the point at all.

He'd sway a little with you while he worked, probably humming under his breath, his cheek brushing yours every few seconds.

And anytime you tried to move, he'd hold you a little closer.

Because to him, love wouldn't always have to be grand.

Sometimes it would be this:

his arms around you,
his voice in your ear,
sweet potatoes on the counter,
and the feeling that, for once, you didn't have to do anything to be adored.