Disclaimer: I DO NOT own anything mentioned. i wish i did, but i don't. no copyright infringement was intended.
JACQUELINE BURKHART.
Things had changed too much over the past ten years – far too much. Steven had married a stripper, I'd gone and had a momentary lapse of judgment and dated Fez, Eric had returned from Africa an exceptionally changed person. But then Steven and Sam had quickly parted ways, I had realized that I was stupid, Fez found another busty blonde to woo, and Eric seemed to return to the same irritating, Star Wars obsessed dork he was before he shipped off to Africa. Steven and I had given it another try, actually. I'd been accepted into this brilliant college that was renowned for its amazing television journalism department, and Steven had moved out with me – completely disregarding the fact that it was in New York and telling me that I was important enough for the move. I'd fooled myself into thinking that that was a big step, that maybe that was his way of saying that we'd wind up married. But I went through my four years in college and was even given a slot as weather girl on some big shot program in Chicago, and Steven had once again moved with me. But then we'd had the same fight we had five years ago – I wanted to get married, he didn't. He left, and watching him go was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But I think, deep down, I knew that it was the right thing. I was twenty-three years old; I couldn't wait around for someone who wasn't ever going to marry me.
And it was around that time that I met Lawrence Edwards – he was a hot, muscular professional football player turned sports caster, and he worshipped the ground I walked on from the second we locked eyes over a delicious vodka apple-tini. He was everything Steven wasn't – rich, successful, good head on his shoulders, twice my age, and adored me and spoiled me out of my mind. I relished in the attention, and when he got down on one knee with a diamond the size of Montana, I couldn't say no. I couldn't say I was in love, either, but you don't say no to a Tiffany's diamond. And Lawrence was the kind of husband I'd wanted since I was little, and I didn't hesitate for even a second when I stood up in front of that priest with the giant diamond glittering on my finger in an expensive, lavish designer wedding dress. Donna and I had kept in touch over the years, and she'd naturally been my maid of honor, and Red had (he feigned irritation, but I knew he never really minded) been the one to give me away because I wasn't on speaking terms with my father. But Steven hadn't attended, and neither had Eric, and I couldn't figure out why I was upset about either. Steven had broken my heart, and Eric was... well... Eric. Kitty said it was just because I'd wanted all the pieces of high school with me, and I believed her for a while. I'd forgotten all about them by the time Lawrence whisked me back to his brilliantly massive estate and showered me in expensive wedding presents. I was happy. Or, rather, that was what I had convinced myself of.
I had just celebrated my twenty-fifth birthday, and maybe it was the fact that none of my core group of friends were there or the fact that I'd never felt old before, but I found myself on one of Lawrence's jets to Point Place, Wisconsin. I looked so out of place that it was comical, with my designer pumps and my crisp black Chanel skirt suit set and a beautiful leather designer bag settled in the crook of my arm. I pulled off my oversized sunglasses to survey the scene – frankly, it was no different than when I left. Which is why I felt the sudden urge to hop back into the chauffeured car Lawrence had sent for me and just head right back to Chicago, and I was actually about to, but was quickly bombarded by a pair of small arms wrapped around my thin legs. "Woah, woah, get off," I snapped at the little girl that was clinging to my legs, my brow furrowing irritably. I'd never been one for children. She showed no signs of letting go, and I started to try and shake my legs a bit, but still to no avail. "Look, kid, I don't know what your parents taught you but-"
"Jackie?"
I glanced up quickly, my eyes immediately widening, slightly relieved as the little girl unwrapped herself from my legs and launched herself at the tall man in front of me with a muffled "Daddy!". I tilted my head to the side slightly, a smirk settling on my perfectly made-up red lips, brushing hair from my eyes with a perfectly manicured hand. "Michael Kelso," I said in amusement, letting my eyes roam up and down him slowly. "You haven't changed a bit," I said with a soft laugh before rolling my eyes and groaning as he all but launched himself at me, squeezing me in one of his typical bear hugs. "Michael… Michael, don't do that," I pleaded, "this suit is Chanel. Michael, you'll wrinkle it!" He let me go with a laugh, but I was sure it was just because Betsy was pulling on his pant leg, and not my desperate attempt to save my suit.
"You look so… so… designer," he said with a raised eyebrow, and I wasn't sure whether it was supposed to be a compliment or some sort of condescending comment. Then again, it was Michael Kelso we were talking about, and I was sure he didn't even know how to spell 'condescending', much less know what it meant. "But maybe being some big hot-shot trophy wife does that to you," he smirked, nudging my arm as my face fell. I knew Lawrence was some high-profile man, but I never imagined I'd skyrocket to be the other half of a high-profile couple. It had shocked even me, the attention craving weather girl, when our wedding had made the gossip magazines and the front page of the sports section. "Which begs the question – what the hell are you doing back here?"
I couldn't bring myself to answer him, because I honestly couldn't figure out an answer. It had been a spur of the moment thing, and Lawrence had been all too happy to please me, and sent me off on one of his jets without a second thought. I glanced down at my bright red shoes, as though they held all the answers, and hadn't even realized I wasn't speaking until I felt Michael's large hand tugging on my arm. "C'mon, Jackie, we're going to see the Formans."
And just like that, without any urging at all, I found myself packing into his replacement van, stepping delicately around a pair of socks and listening to Betsy scream and wail in the backseat. When we pulled into the Forman's driveway and I stepped out onto the asphalt, I couldn't help but feel like I was home.
Author Notes: read&review, kthnx. 3 haha, seriously, let me know what you think! i'll be going in between eric and jackie's point of view, to shake things up i guess. xD hope you like this chapter!