Chapter 14 – Rick

"Son, hand me that wrench over in the red toolbox please."

"What size? The ¾ crescent?"

"Yep, that's the one. So, how has everything been going at work?" My father asks, his voice slightly muffled as he leans over and into the 1967 Ford Mustang we have been rehabbing together for nearly five years.

"Not bad. I'm finally back on patrol duty, started last week with Shane third shift for now, just because it's slow. We'll get rotated back to days in another six weeks."

"Sounds good."

"Yep." I mutter, my mind already moving away from the small talk regarding my job. Sitting on a stool on the side of the car opposite my father, I pause to take a quick drink of my beer. Feeling a tad nervous at the question I want to ask him, I blow out an anxious sigh, and fiddle with the label on the cold wet beer bottle for a moment.

"I hear you over there fiddling, and sighing. So, what's going on? Still upset about your girl?" Raising his head up from the engine, his blue eyes make contact with mine over the frame of his glasses. "I know you miss her, son. That you love her."

"I do. Desperately."

"What you gonna do about it?"

"What am I gonna do about it?" I answer his question with the same one, directing it rhetorically not just towards him, but back to myself as well. Giving it some thought I actually already know what I want to do, but I'm struggling with if it's the right thing to do for both Michonne and I. I don't want to make a life changing decision out of fear or greed. Fear that if I don't make such a dramatic overture to her, I will lose her. Greed because of how intense my deep craving is for her. These are concerns, I have been wrestling with over the last six weeks of silence between us, and the only answer I keep landing on is marriage.

"I want to ask her to marry me on Christmas Day. Was wondering if I can have Grandma's ring, to give to Michonne." Gathering my nerve, I ask my father for the one thing that means more to him than this farm. "You and Grandpa Carl promised me before he died, that the ring would be mine when I was ready. I've never been more ready. Michonne is going to be my wife."

"Guess I knew this was coming. It's all over you." He muses, rubbing his dirty, oily hands off on a rag. Shuffling over to the refrigerator he keeps in the garage, he grabs another cold beer for me, and one for himself. Handing it over to me, I notice that his gait is more sluggish than normal. Scratching at his long beard, now more salt than pepper, he continues. "At Hershel's wedding I saw the way you looked at that girl. Saw the love just smothering the two of you. All over your faces, hands on each other, at my own dinner table. And I knew. Even took your grandma's ring into town to get it all cleaned and ready for you after that dinner, because I knew." Chuckling, he lowers his deep voice to a conspiratorial whisper as though someone else might be listening. "It's the one thing I have been able to keep from your mother. Hell she would have given it to Lori to try and get you two married off years ago if she could have. She's more devious than you can imagine, son. I'm so sorry that I let it go on for so long, but not anymore." He nods, a faraway, angry look in his clear blue eyes. A look that speaking about my mother has furiously ignited.

"Pop!"

"I'm serious. Problem with your mother, Rick, is that she thinks she's smarter than everyone else in the room because she came from money, went to private schools, and whatnot. Because my mind isn't quite right anymore. I may be a farmer now, but I gave the US Marines fifteen long hard years. I learned a lot from the military, my tours in Kuwait and Afghanistan, some good, some bad, some more helpful as a civilian than I ever expected. Around here, I do a lot of listening and watching, and a lot less talking and doing. But that's not because I don't understand what's going on, what your mother is up to. I let her run things around her for too long. Just to keep the peace. Let her run Jeff off. But not anymore. My mind has been fractured for a long time, Rick, emotions and thinking messed up. The Marines gave me that too. And that's the only reason I wasn't able to put up more of a fight with her, over her greed, over her treatment of you boys." A dour frown pulls his lips down, sags his aging features. He drags his large hand over his gray buzz cut, then down over his face, wiping away years of frustration and angst. In its place a tiny, sly smile supplants his stressful grimace. "But, I've got a few surprises up my sleeves too, boy. I'll give you the ring tonight, and you propose to your girl, Rick. Make her yours, don't let her get away, and don't look back. Fuck what anyone else thinks about it. If you love that girl, in your heart you know she's the one for you, then just do it."

"I intend to."

"Grimes men have been letting others dictate their happiness for too long. If your Grandpa Carl had followed his heart we wouldn't be here, or maybe we would, just a little darker. Either way, he allowed society and what others think keep him from what he wanted, who he wanted. His other family." Taking a moment to finish the last of his beer, his thirsty swallows cause his Adam's apple to vigorously bob in his throat. "I'll never forgive myself for listening to your mother and cutting my brother out of what is rightfully his. Not insisting that Morgan get his share of his grandfather's things."

"I know, Pop. But we can fix that one day…if Morgan ever comes back to Georgia."

"Yeah. You're a better man that I am, Rick. I hope that you remember that. That you continue to always try to do the right thing. For a while there I thought you would be like me, fall into the same trap with Lori I fell into with your mother."

"What do you mean, Pop?"

"I never really told you and Jeff everything, I guess after playing at war for so long, when I came home from the military I just wanted peace, son, I was tired and I didn't want to fight anymore, with anyone. My medicine sometimes keeps me in a…cloud of sorts, where it's hard to deal with what's real. And Grandpa had just died, and there was all of that to sort out, with his will. With my…my brother William's mother, their family. Your mother always seemed to know what to do, how to handle things so I didn't have to, to shield me. That wasn't right. It wasn't fair to my brother, my best friend. To his son, Morgan. To you and Jeff. I've made so many mistakes in my life…"

"I don't understand. You told Jeff and I about Grandpa Carl's other family, that you and Morgan's dad are half brothers, that Morgan is our cousin. What else is there to know?"

"Rick, when I met your mother, she was this beautiful rich girl. Quiet, tiny thing, with all of that long dark hair. Almost fairy like in how delicate and pretty she was. Still is. And well, I'm this big guy, rough around the edges, poor, country as hell. She's a Stafford and I'm a Grimes, we never should have even crossed paths, but I met her through Hershel's then girlfriend, and I fell for her. Hard. Loved her desperately, like how you love your Michonne. That's before I really understood what all that rhetoric she would talk really meant. So we got married, and she cleaned me up I guess you could say. I always just wanted to farm this land, just like your Grandpa did. But, she comes from money, she's a southern debutante, your mother, and she wanted more than that, so after we married I went to the Marines, got deployed numerous times while you guys were here with your mother."

"Not to interrupt you or be rude, Pop, but I know this already. Mom's family disowned her for marrying 'poor white trash', you went to the military. I don't understand what else there is to know." Puzzled at his rehash of known history, my eyes roam over my father's face, witnessing the strain in his features as he attempts to recall sometimes painful and distant memories that have shaped our present.

"Let me finish. I need you to understand, to know why you shouldn't be like me, why you should fight for and take what you want for yourself, for your life, not what others, your mother have planned for you. You don't have to be like the Staffords, you're not. You're a Grimes. You know your mother's family is…deeply rooted in a bunch of traditionalist bullshit thinking, they just are. When I married her I never thought about it, didn't really care because her ways, her thinking didn't affect me or mine. But, being in the military, with other people who don't look anything like you. Who are willing to save your life, protect you with their own lives, it made me see things a little differently, to start to care about some of the things your mother would say, do. And well, she didn't know about Grandpa Carl's other family, about William and his mother during those days. When Grandpa died, and the will came out, leaving half of everything to William's mother, William, and Morgan, she convinced me that it was the right thing to keep everything for you and Jeff, for us. To not split the farm up, to not give Morgan the lake house. But, I regret all of that, I honestly do because it has put a wall between my brother William and I ever since. Now, what else has she done? She's brought Lori here, staying in the house with us. For what? To put a wedge between you and your lady. You don't let her, and I won't either. Don't let her plans work, Rick. Be your own man, and I'm gonna be mine."

"I am my own man, Pop. Nothing is going to keep Michonne and I apart, not anymore. Not even Mom."

"I know it. And don't you forget it. You go get your girl, make her your wife, and don't look back. Do what you have to do to make the life you want, and if you want it with her, then make it happen. Don't be a coward like me."

"You're not a coward. You…you've had some mental stuff to deal with. I understand that. So does Jeff. Even though Mom has a way of trying to control us, we knew it, and we tried to fight it. It's hard to fight your own mother, your own blood. But, I know why I have to do it, and I understand why you didn't for so long. Do you regret it, marrying Mom? Do you think you would have been happier if you married someone else?"

"Yes and no. Ellen gave me my boys, and I am most proud of that. But she also gave me my deepest shame, the way she took advantage of how fractured, broken my mind was when I got back from Afghanistan. Manipulated me. Caused me to hurt my own kin. Alienated me from my own brother. Drove my oldest son away. And, now she's trying to rule over you. That makes me upset, sad that I haven't been strong enough all these years to prevent this. But, you are, and I'm gonna help you however I can. This bullshit with Lori being pregnant, staying here. You tell me that baby isn't yours and I believe you. So, go get your girl. Don't hesitate, son, do it!"

"I am. Just needed to give her some space, give myself some time to think, prepare. Cool off. She gets me going, Pop. In a good and a bad way, ya know? It's good because it's such a strong feeling, so overwhelming I can't control it, I don't need to. It was so sudden, and natural. Loving her feels as normal as breathing to me, and I wanna be with her all the time. The sight of her, the smell of her, dear god, Pop. She's more than under my skin, she's in my blood. It's bad because when I get to feeling that way I can't let her go. But I have to, because I can't have her hating me later on for missing out on something she might want more than me."

Anger, lust, disgust, passion. It's all warring inside of me, thrashing about in the chambers of my heart and the lobes of my brain, all trying to win this ongoing fight. I've been struggling with it all ever since that weekend I decided it was best for us to take a little break from each other. As soon as she didn't show up that Saturday for my appointment I knew. She needed a reprieve from my affection, from trying to be and do everything for me. From making a valiant effort to take care of me, and take care of herself. Living that double life was threatening to tear her in two, and I couldn't watch it happen any longer. Even though the cloistered cocoon we had built for ourselves warmed my heart, gave me the energy and strength to recover from my wounds, and allowed me to gingerly appease my addiction for her, the damage to her would be too great.

My girl, my Michonne is the most special woman, person I have ever met, and even though it pains me to admit this, she deserves more than laying up in a shitty apartment in a barn with me, playing nurse. No, she is used to the best in life. Top of the line everything for her, and even though she can provide all of that for herself already, the man in me wants to give her some of that stuff too. And I can't right now. I have a meager savings, something I have been putting away to buy a house. Something small and modest here in town. But that wouldn't be sufficient for her. How could a country life compare to Harvard or Georgetown? How could being a deputy's wife, with a house full of kids, compare to being a big city lawyer or politician? Short answer is that it can't. But my heart can't go on without her, and so I'm willing to compromise and give up everything for her, if she will put me out of my misery and give me her love. Forever.

Silence settles in the garage. I go back to fiddling with the label on my beer bottle, and my dad is lost somewhere in his own ruminations, probably still tangling with his own memories and deeds. We are interrupted with the creak of the heavy side door opening, allowing a stream of light to illuminate the dust and dirt of the garage. Looking up, I find my mother standing in the doorway.

"I knew I would find you both out here, messing around with this piece of junk car. Rance, did you take your medicine today?"

"Yep."

"And you've been drinking as well?"

"Yep."

"Is that a good idea?"

"Yep."

Rolling her eyes at my father's terse and abrupt responses, she turns from him and focuses those softening blues my way. "Lori and I are going to the tree lighting in town in a bit. Would you like to join us, Richard? Might be nice for you two to spend some time together. She tells me that you have all but ignored her since she's been here. She's our guest, and that's not exactly hospitable behavior." She reprimands, still standing stiff and erect in the doorway, not daring to cross the threshold into the dank and unseemliness of the old rustic garage.

"She's your guest, not mine. I won't be joining you." I shake my head with finality, squinting at her through the bright light seeping through the opened doorway.

"That's a shame. You two used to enjoy doing those kinds of things together. She's in a delicate position, Richard. She has made a mistake with this other guy, getting pregnant. But that's not something we can't help her out with, now is it? You can still make a family out of that."

Rising from my stool I've heard enough, and apparently so has my father as he gruffly slams shut the hood of the car, and turns to her, finger pointed her way. "Get out, Ellen. Leave. You keep pushing Rick towards this fake life, you're gonna lose him. You hear me? You know he doesn't love Lori, you know that's not his baby, and you know he doesn't want her. Leave it alone!" His agitation has grown to an insurmountable level, and he's shaking now. The vein in the middle of his forehead has become more pronounced, face turning red. Looking at my father right now, the man who everyone has always said I am the spitting image of, I see my own future if I don't actively do something to avoid it. To not accept and travel the path others create for me.

"Pop, it's ok. I'm gonna go. Thanks for the talk and the other thing." I smile, walking over to clap him soothingly on the back, hoping to settle his spirit some. In the blurry recesses of my mind I do recall how out of sorts and subdued my father was when he returned from Afghanistan. I was just a kid, but I remember my mother telling Jeff and I to keep quiet because my father was in a mood. Outbursts, angry and rant filled, were not common, but did occur on more than one occasion. My mother always took care of him, protected him from whatever demons haunted him, but at what cost? Given what he has just explained to me, it sounds like it was a price higher than what his sane mind wanted to pay, but his fractured mind could not fight.

"No problem, son." His stare, still steely and settled on my mother, is only now broken with a few blinks and a few briefly uttered final words to her as he turns his back on her. "Leave, Ellen."

"Hello."

"Hey, pretty girl. How are you?"

"Hi, Rick. I'm good. How are you?"

"Missing you."

"Me too."

"You sound tired. Everything ok?" I ask, sensing a weary tinge to her soft voice.

"Yeah. I just got back into town so we can go to this tree lighting thing as a family, but I should have just stayed in Atlanta, because we're heading back in the morning to spend Christmas Eve with my mom's family. Just a lot going on is all."

"My mom is going to the tree lighting also."

"I'll be sure to steer clear of her then." Michonne drolly responds, clearly not a fan of my mother's, and for good reason.

Chuckling at her response I continue. "Smart girl. I was hoping I could see you tonight, but I guess not. Tomorrow maybe?"

"Um, when we get back tomorrow night that should be fine."

"Ok. I can't wait to see you. It's…been very hard for me not uh, being able to be with you. It will be good to see you tomorrow."

"Me too, Rick. I miss you…desperately. Does that sound too needy?" she questions on a slight laugh. Her words cause a flutter of butterflies in my belly. At the realization that this desire to be with her, the painful loss of her in my daily life is not a one-sided phenomenon.

"Nah. Me too, baby. It's uh, almost a pain I can feel in my bones, not having you in my arms for so long. Not seeing that pretty face, hearing your voice."

"What else?" A tiny, nearly imperceptible breath, a pant, escapes her lips. It's whispery lilt perking my ears, tuning them even more to the anguish behind her words.

"Your smile. That fat bottom. Kissing your pillowy lips. Rubbing your velvety skin. Making love to you… Your heat is always so tight and wet"

"You're such a pervert. I knew you would get there sooner or later!"

"I'm your pervert though. Don't you miss me touching you, pretty girl? How good I make you feel?"

"Yes. The feel of you inside me is my favorite thing in the world, Rick. I… I need it."

"Damn, Michonne. I'm gonna give it to you."

"I really, really miss you, Rick. This has been so hard for me. I'm still hanging on to a cold, something lingering from that sinus infection. I haven't been sleeping well without you near me, without knowing what you're doing, how you're feeling."

"I miss that too, pretty girl. I do."

"No you don't! You say I sleep like a koala bear."

"My little koala bear. And I love it. If you're still sick why haven't you gone back to the doctor?"

"With finals I didn't have time. I will while I'm on break. Stress, this cold, not sleeping, it's all building up, and it's making our time apart worse. This is done right? You're not going to keep punishing me are you?"

"Is that what you thought this was?"

"Yes." She replies on a sniff, and I can hear the pouty weakness in her, probably creating a puckered twist of her sexy lips.

"No. That's not what this time apart was at all, Michonne. We need to talk when I see you tomorrow. I'll come get you when you tell me you're ready. Ok?"

"Ok. I'll text you. But it might be late, my mother's family likes to party."

"Oh yeah? I never would have guessed that." I laugh, remembering the large birthday party Michonne and Sasha threw over the summer.

"Rick!"

"There it is! I love it when you say my name like that. I'll make dinner for us anyway, ok. Get some sleep, pretty girl. I'll see you tomorrow. Love you."

"Love you, too. And…I have a Christmas gift for you too."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yep. Good night, Rick." Grinning, my heart is near bursting at the new feeling of buoyant enthusiasm in our voices, in our renewed declarations of love. This is exactly what we need to bring back the whimsical sense of togetherness we once had. I'm optimistic that we are on the right path once again, together.

Still holding the phone to my ear, waiting to hear the finality of a click, signaling that she has hung up, neither of us actually do. "Hang up, silly." I laugh, hearing the cadence of her breathing still caressing the speaker through my phone.

"You hang up first!" Michonne girlishly giggles, with what I know is her most dazzling of smiles. The one that lifts her cherubic cheeks high, causing an angled tilt to her coffee eyes.

"I can't." I confess, on a bright smile of my own.

"Bye, Rick." Displaying more strength than I can muster, Michonne finally hangs up the phone, and I'm encouraged by her obviously rekindled desire for me. By the needy void my absence seems to have left in her, the same as hers has left in me. The butterflies have settled down now, but my heart beat is picking up at the thought of seeing my girl tomorrow. And hopefully her accepting my proposal of marriage. Hopefully.

"Lori? What are you doing here?" I question, alarmed to find her standing alone on my doorstep, the setting sun streaking the sky a bright orange behind her.

"Merry Christmas Eve to you too, Rick." She responds, sarcasm alight in her voice.

"Sorry. I just don't know what you're doing here."

"I came to talk; we haven't done that since I've been staying here. Well in a longer time than that actually, and I was hoping we could."

"I'm pretty busy trying to get my place cleaned up for company this evening, so I really don't have time for that."

"Company? Oh, for her?" She snaps, unhappiness covering her features, pulling down her thin lips in a displeased frown.

"If by her, you mean my girlfriend Michonne, then yes. Everything I do is for her."

"Hm. Well, I don't want to stay long, I really do just want to have a quick chat. Clear the air so to speak." Softening her brown eyes, eyes that I once found appealing in compliment to her long, brunette hair, she offers me a quick smile.

Not wanting to come off as a complete asshole, I step aside and invite her in, taking note of the small bump of her stomach, protruding from her waifish, thin frame, cloaked by a thick wool sweater and leggings. Giving her a quick head to toe perusal, I notice that even though she is pregnant, not much has changed on Lori physically. The main difference now is that none of it creates even the tiniest spike of arousal for her. I know who she is now, I can see the truth of her, and my heart has moved on. Accepting this, acknowledging that despite whatever drama she may really be here to cause, she can't change my mind about her, and my feelings for Michonne are truly immovable. On a reluctant sigh I agree to allow her in. "Only for a moment, Lori. I've kinda let the place turn into a mess. Got a lot of cleaning to do."

"You always were messy, Rick. Guess your new friend doesn't know that about you, huh? Remember how much your mom used to yell at you about keeping your bedroom clean? It was a daily struggle!"

Caught off guard by the truth in that brief recollection I do chuckle, recalling that my mother would nearly stroke out every time she looked in my bedroom and saw how messy it was. Cleaning it always just felt like an unnecessary waste of time since I was just going to make it messy again. Giving it some thought, I can also remember a few times that Lori cleaned it for me. I don't know why the thought of that unnerves me now, the idea of her cleaning up after me, taking care of me, but it does. "Uh yeah, I can be a little bit of a slob sometimes. Trying to do better. Michonne likes things to be orderly, neat." Introducing Michonne's name into the conversation again, I need to remind Lori that Michonne is my focus now, especially as she stands so confidently at the entrance of my personal space.

Walking inside of my apartment, Lori heads straight towards my bedroom, which at first doesn't strike me as odd because it felt so familiarly consistent, and in line with how things used to be with her and I, even when I lived in the main house with my parents. She would come in, and travel directly to where I was, which was usually in my bedroom. Never gave it a second thought. But, once I see her standing there, next to the bed, on the side that Michonne always sleeps on, with a book of hers on the night stand, I'm instantly hit with an image that is glaringly wrong. Drastically incongruent and at odds with my current desires. Lori does not fit into this picture anymore, and has no business being in my bedroom, where only my Michonne should be. Furrowing my brow, not enjoying the disquiet this scenario is already presenting, I decide not to worry about it for now and to quickly try and dispatch Lori and whatever it is she wants to talk about. Reaching for the thick plaid comforter on the floor, I continue making the bed with fresh linens, which I was interrupted from doing earlier when she knocked on my door.

"So, what do you have to say, Lori?" I ask, shaking out the comforter over the king sized bed, and inadvertently dropping my eyes to her heavy mid-section.

Noticing the flit of my eyes to the bump of her lightly rounded belly, she offers acknowledgment. "This baby is a shock right? I always thought it would be me and you, getting married, buying a house, having a baby together. Didn't you?" She asks with a tilt of her head, dragging her fingers through the length of her long, slightly curled hair. Taking a seat in a chair in the corner of the room, she begins to rub slowly at her stomach, causing my eyes to maintain their focus there.

Taking a moment to gather my thoughts before I answer, my gaze continues to be drawn to the swollen rise of her stomach, housing a baby that could have easily been mine. Last month, at Thanksgiving, when Lori showed up four months pregnant, a small panic did erupt in me at the sight of her pregnant form. Quickly doing the math in my head, I easily calculated that it had been nearly eight months since I'd been with her, and she would have to be much larger and further along in her pregnancy for this baby to be mine. With that, relief washed my fears away, drowning and killing them in the truth of basic baby making math.

Welcomed by my mother with a seat at the table, Lori recanted to us over Thanksgiving dinner how she recently returned home from her grandmother's in Macon, pregnant, and that her deeply religious parents would therefore not allow her to stay with them. With only a high school diploma, no job, and no real work experience, she didn't know where else to go and what else to do, so she ended up here. Obviously my mother was happy to invite her to stay, and given my own general malaise and melancholy without having Michonne in my life at the time, I wasn't engaged enough in the conversation or the goings on at my parents' house to care about her presence. On the other hand, my father was quite vocal about how duplicitous and convenient it all seemed, but in the end she still ended up staying with my parents. Up until now, I've done a good job of staying away from her, mostly going to work and back to my apartment, hanging out with Shane, and waiting out the days until Christmas break would come, and bring my pretty girl back to me.

"Nothing to say, Rick? Come on, say something. We talked about having kids all the time. I can give that to you. Now."

"I'm sorry, what are you talking about?"

"This is the fulfillment of everything we have ever wanted, Rick. We've been groomed for this our whole lives. It's meant to be."

"Not anymore. Nope." Shaking my head, I adamantly deny her confident assertion.

"Why? It's not a coincidence that my being here makes you so uncomfortable that you don't speak to me. It's because you know I'm right. There's still something between us. This is what we do. We break up, we get back together." Rising from her seat, she casually walks over to me, her gaze latched on mine, a small knowing smile ghosting her lips like it has so many times before. "You're all jittery because you know, in your heart that it's not over between us. That in the end, you and I are the only match that makes sense. That black girl can't compete with what you know to be true." Reaching her hand towards me, she places her thin fingers over my heart, rubbing at the cotton of my old worn t-shirt.

"Lori, no." Refusing her words with the downturned grimace of my lips, there is a tinge of emotional memory swelling inside of me, her touch conjuring my recall of all the times she and I have stood like this in front of each other. Of all the times we did talk about babies and a future, marriage. Of the back and forth. Of the rocky and tumultuous, winding path of a long life together. For an instant I feel traitorous, like I did break my bond with her when I allowed my heart to devote itself to another, and never looked back to witness how it destroyed her. "I'm sorry, but no."

"Yes. Rick, I love you and I miss you. Nothing can change that this baby isn't yours, she isn't biologically. But, I wish she was."

"It's a girl?" Lowering my eyes to her stomach again, there is a brief ache for a once desired dream for a little girl of my own, one that looked like Lori. Had the same flowy, chestnut locks. The same angular face. It was a brief, fleeting ambition, one born of a want for a family of my own, not necessarily out of an abundance of love or affection for Lori. And really, all of that changed with the stark realization of who Lori really is, and how badly I wanted away from her. And this was even before I met Michonne.

"Yes. She can be our girl, Rick. Your mother thinks we can still save us; we just have to try. I want to try, to give us another chance."

"What about her father?"

"He's some creep named Negan that I met in Macon. Older guy. I got pregnant, told him, and now I can't find him. Don't let my baby be without a father, Rick. How long have you wanted a baby, a daughter? This is our chance to fix things between us, and have the life we have talked about since we were kids. It's right there, Rick, we just have to grab it. Don't you miss me? Didn't you ever love me, even a little?" Wrapping her thin arms around my shoulders, I have to admit that Lori knows me well, my wants, the dreams I had. Her words are bringing to life a desire I still have, but the vision that it conjures has changed, and I can't deny that.

Yes, I want a family full of sons and daughters. But, the family picture that would fit so nicely in a frame no longer features children with a mixture of mine and Lori's hair or features. No. Those children are now a dusky hue, a breathtaking range from tan to brown, with wild chocolate and ebony curls, and full heart shaped lips that would mirror their mother's, Michonne. That image is forever burned in my brain, my heart, and nothing Lori says and tries to remind me of can change it. Nothing, and it's time I cut her pleading short, release her from any delusion that there might still be a chance for us.

"I do love you, Lori. You have been my friend for a very long time. I taught you how to ride a bike. And, I love this baby, she's innocent in all of this. She's going to be beautiful, just like her mother." A wide smile begins on her thin lips, reaching up to the light that shines, bright and hopeful in her eyes. Her hold on me tightens with a certainty that she is going to finally get what she came for. It's regretful and bittersweet for me that I have to put that light in her eyes out, but I owe her the finality of my words. Grabbing a hold of her arms, I gently remove them from my shoulders. "But…"

"Rick?"

Looking up at the sound of my name falling from my beloved's lips, I'm instantly stricken by the shocked sadness I find on her face, and in the dismayed droop of her shoulders, weighed down by a heavy wool coat. Dropping Lori's arms as if they burn my hands, I walk briskly to meet Michonne in the doorway of my bedroom. Hugging her thin, but femininely curved body to me, the brisk coolness of the late December day, still finely covers her clothes. I'm near crushing her with the excitement I feel at laying my eyes on her again, seeking to warm and thaw her visage with my own body heat. "Michonne, baby. You're early. Why didn't you call me to come get you?"

Peeking around me, Michonne's heartbroken gaze lands on Lori's protruding mid-section. With a tired sigh, she smacks her lips, sucking them into her mouth as if she is searching for the nerve to reign in her emotions and answer my question. "I…uh. I drove separately from my family so I could get to you sooner. I need to talk to you. Guess you're already busy talking though." Stiff in my arms, barely returning the fervor of my hug, she lowers her eyes to the nervous twist and fidget of her gloved hands, unwilling to give me the gift of their wide, chocolate warmth.

"Excuse you but, we were having a private conversation." Lori spits in a snide, clipped voice, as she's still anchored to the spot next to my bed where I left her.

"Lori! Don't talk to her like that!"

"No, I see that you're busy. I can let you all finish up. Just call me later, Rick." Michonne twists, and tries to withdraw her body from my clutch, but I won't release the strong hold I have on her.

Bending my knees so that I can crouch down to make eye contact with her, leaning my face towards hers, I scour hers for a sign that she's still with me, that she will give me a chance to explain what's going on here. Because I know how this looks. A half made bed. My pregnant ex and I in an unexplainable near embrace. And god help me, but I don't know how long she was standing in the doorway and how much of our conversation she heard, but I know I never got to completely deliver my final thoughts to Lori that would clarify for her once and for all that I don't want her or her baby in my life. Seeing none of the happiness in her eyes that I expected for our long awaited reunion, I instead witness the return of a flat disinterest that I have only once been on the receiving end from her. I don't like it. Needing to reassure her, sensing the way she continues to attempt to wrangle herself from me, a slight panic creates a tense shake in my voice. "Hey, pretty girl, you didn't interrupt anything. Lori was leaving."

"We are not done discussing the baby, Rick. You were just telling me that you love me, that you love this baby. Remember?" Lori tosses our way, unnecessarily emboldened with self-satisfied smugness from her false misapprehension of my unfinished words to her. Massaging her stomach, she approaches the doorway where Michonne and I are standing, frozen in a one-sided embrace. "Now you heard it from his lips, exactly what his mother told you last night. A baby is on the way, and we're both very happy about it."

"Rick, please let me go." Michonne begs, Lori's poisonous words causing her to thrash about in my arms, and it's killing me, like the now familiar heated wrenching of a bullet wound, but this time to my heart.

"Wait! No! This is all a misunderstanding, and I don't know what my mother told you, and why she would purposely mislead you, but that's not my baby. Lori, tell her."

"It's not Rick's baby. But, we are going to raise her together. You heard him just tell me he loves me and the baby." She shrugs, and begins to walk around us as we block her exit from my bedroom. "Come see me when you're done here, Rick." Bouncing her long hair over her thin shoulders, she beats a casual, unhurried path to my front door.

The click of the door's lock announces Lori's final departure, and with it boiling anger is threatening to tumble over inside of me. Michonne has gone completely still and quiet, her hands limply hanging at her sides. The only sound that remains between us is the repeated in and out of her calm breaths echoing in the room. On the contrary, my own breathing is wild and erratic, and I can't get it under control while I'm trying to figure out how to fix this shit. Grasping, clenching, afraid to give even an inch, my hands hold firm to her arms, keeping her fixed in front of me.

Suddenly Michonne finds her voice, and looks up at me with so much sadness and pain that fat tears drop from her watery eyes, spilling over and down the round apple of her beautiful, dusky cheeks. Dropping her head to hide herself, her emotions from me, her voice is so soft and saturated with anguish, it breaks and crumbles over her words. "I didn't mean to interrupt, but I wanted to talk to you about what your mother told me last night when I saw her and Lori at the tree lighting. I used my key to let myself in. I shouldn't have done that, encroaching on your privacy. But, I didn't want to believe your mother when she said Lori was staying with you guys. That she's like a daughter, and now there's going to be a baby here. I wanted to hear you tell me that it's just your mother trying to keep us apart, Lori being a bitch. But, I got what I deserved didn't I?"

"What are you talking about?"

"She's right. I heard you tell her you love her, that you love the baby, that she will be beautiful like Lori. I deserved that right? For everything with Mike? This must be the real reason you needed a break, to deal with Lori and your baby? It's ok, Rick, I get it."

"No, you don't get it. How could you think I would choose her over you? That I could be happy with anyone other than you?" She doesn't answer. She doesn't move. Michonne just keeps those brown pools of distressed tears on my own, and I can't help it but want to cry myself. In anger because she doesn't trust me. Frustration because she doesn't seem to understand my heart. Sadness because I fear I am losing her. "Lori told you, that's not my baby. My mother allowed her to stay in the main house with them when her parents put her out. They found out she was pregnant by some old guy in Macon, and she had nowhere else to go. She came here to try and talk me into claiming the baby and raising it with her, but what you walked in on was me telling her that while I do love her, and the baby, I don't love her like I love you, and that's it. No one has my heart but you, you know this. I told you, what I have left for Lori is platonic, nothing more. I'm sorry my mother tried to confuse you with her lies, but you have to trust me, Michonne. You know me."

Nodding her head slowly she answers weakly, "I do know you. I do. And I know that you are so good, Rick. So good, and wholesome, and gallant that you always want to do the right thing for everyone. You thought letting me go was the right thing for me. It wasn't."

With fervent desperation I forge ahead, needing to assert my innocence, my devotion to only her. "I trusted you when I saw you with Mike because I know you. Didn't even question your love for me. I know you love me, and I knew it was hard for you to let go completely of everything with him, of that part of your world. That's why I wanted to give you time to figure it all out. Because yes, it was the right thing for you."

"I didn't need to figure anything out, Rick. The right thing for me is you. Not a break, a separation from you. From the one thing, the one person that makes so much sense, that gives me life. That's you. A break? That's what you needed. I was running myself to death to be here for you, to show you how much I love you. But, no, it wasn't good enough for you. You pushed me away because you needed a break, and now I see why. And you know what, it's cool."

"I can't fucking believe this shit! I could barely breath the last six weeks without you, Michonne. That six weeks did more damage to me, hurt me more than that bullet. Do you hear me? Do you see I'm a mess? No, you don't. Because you're so scared of us, of me, that you're adamant, willing to believe the worst in me."

"Why didn't you just tell me that she was staying here then? Why did I have to find out from your fucking, hateful mother of all people?" Michonne yells, using an expletive that rarely crosses her lady like lips.

"We were already shaky. I haven't seen you since Halloween. Barely spoken to you. How was I going to just call you up and tell you some shit like that, Michonne? And it wasn't my choice to let her stay at my parents' house. I didn't have a say in that, and I haven't even spoken to her until today."

"Figures."

"Figures? You know what, I didn't tell you for the same damned reason you wouldn't fess up to me about kissing your ex. Remember that? He told me all about it at your birthday party. I gave you numerous chances to tell me, to come clean. But, no, you held on to that little secret didn't you? And I never once blew up about it. Know why? Because I'm not some scared little girl. I'm a man, and I love you. There is nothing you could do that I can't forgive you for. And I'm a fool for that… I'm the fool here, because I love you so much more than you love me. If you don't love and trust me, what the fuck are we doing?"

"Well, Rick, there it is. You're right. Let me take my scared, little girl, ass on then, because I don't know what the fuck we're doing." Throwing my key at me, hitting me in the chest with it, Michonne turns on her heel and marches towards the front door.

"No you don't! Don't you fucking leave out of that door, Michonne." I holler, my voice raised as a frustrated sweat beads across my forehead, and anger pools in my belly.

Startling her with the gritty timbre of my voice, heightened to a level of acrimony and anger she's never experienced from me. Certainly not ever directed at her. Stopping, she slowly swivels her head my way, making eye contact over her shoulder. "You're not my daddy, Rick. My daddy is dead. I'm leaving before we say some more shit we can't come back from. Ok?"

"No." I stand behind her, wanting to grab her, physically keep her here with me, but it needs to be her choice. She needs to choose to stay and fight for me. If she doesn't… I don't know what I will do if she doesn't. "Please." I beg, closing my eyes and dropping my forehead to the back of her head. Rubbing my face across the downy soft curls found there, I steel my emotions against the verbal punches thrown between us. Unable to fathom my world without her, my arms decide of their own volition to take a light hold of her, wrapping themselves across her chest with my right hand resting on the curve of her neck. My hold isn't tight. Instead it's tenuous, light. The same way one might handle a tiny, bird, whose bones and frame are beautifully and intricately wrought, but so easy to damage.

"What else is there to say, Rick? Here I am telling you that I would sacrifice my whole life to be with you. Every dream, plan, hope, everything to be with you. But it wasn't enough. So I'm done. I tried to be in love, and just like I thought… it's bullshit." With that she pulls my arms from her body, and walks out the door, away from me. The blow of her words has damaged my once stellar instincts about her, and I don't know what to do next. Should I follow my wounded heart and go after her, beg and plead for her to stay and let's work this out? Confess that I was giving her time to really choose me. To afford me the time to get over my own insecurities about my place in her world, and show her I'm something worth choosing? That I want to give her the world, starting with me, forever? Or should I listen to the swirling thoughts in my brain, fighting and gnashing their teeth, ready to rip into her for daring to question my fidelity and love, my motives for giving her some breathing room. To not trust me. It's too hard to decide what to do, so I do nothing.

It's like I've been hit with a bullet all over again. Except this time, I've been marred and left for dead. And that's what I want to do at the prospect of her not being in my life. So I just stand here in the doorway, the cold December breeze rustling what's left of fall's leaves, and filtering itself into my apartment. And I wait. Wait for some epiphany that will drop into my consciousness and lead me to the right thing, the path that will ease this annihilating pain, this desire to give up and die.

It doesn't come, though. No longer able to withstand the catatonic state that has me frozen in my front doorway, I eventually find myself on the couch in my living room. Flat on my back, I wait for something to happen, some soothing thought to come. For her to return to me. To gift me with her sweet and crisp fragrance, Be Delicious, mixed with the heady scent of her pussy. With the heated taste of her mouth, laced with the naughty remaining flavor of my cock still coating her full lips. To witness the decadent, sweaty flush of her dark skin after I've made love to her, fucked her, pleased her to the point where her voice rises in hoarse, whimpering wails.

Dear god, what am I going to do?

Nothing happens though. She doesn't return, no sudden ah ha moment deciphers this conundrum, solves this puzzle. Eventually my teary gaze is drawn to the absolute darkness that covers the sky outside of my window in a blanket of twinkling stars, more majestic than any sign of heaven I have seen in quite some time… well outside of the majesty, the heavenly beauty and grace of my Michonne. And now I'm tumbling again. Crumbling is more like it. Falling apart amidst the pain delivered by her words. By her abandoning me. Too weak and upset to carry my listless form to my bedroom, the only thing I can do is remain on the couch, swaddled by my own feelings and thoughts.

At some point I fell asleep. Rising from the couch, yawning, stretching my cramped muscles, I almost forget what happened last night. But, emerging from the fog of my depressed mind, yesterday's events come crashing back onto the shores of my consciousness, a tsunami that threatens to destroy any semblance of coherence I can muster. Dropping my hands into my jeans pocket I run my fingertips over the small square box that holds the ring I was going to propose with, and a thought does come. Call her, it whispers from the dark recesses of my exhausted heart. Find her, fight for her, it yells, growing in fervor and tenacity. And that's all I need. The will, the hope to actually do something. To go get my girl.

Hustling my body into motion, I head into my bedroom, intent on taking a shower, and driving over to her house. As I cross the threshold of my bedroom a small rectangular box, gift wrapped in glossy red paper, with a big green bow, nearly bigger than the box, catches my eye on the floor, discarded by the doorway. Unsure of where it came from, I bend down, and pick it up. Rolling it over in my hands, I locate a small label under the large bow. To: Rick. From: Your Pretty Girl.

Anxious, I animate my sweaty hands, eagerly ripping and tearing at the paper. Tossing the fancy wrapping to the floor, I swipe my tongue across my dry lips, nervous with the anticipation of what I might find inside of this box, this gift from Michonne. At first my mind can't make sense of the three long plastic sticks wrapped in thin tissue like paper, each with a clear display window. One holds a plus sign. One has a tiny window with just two small hash marks, lines. And the third has a digital display, that confirms in clear, dark, block letters a single word that nearly stops my erratically thumping heart. PREGNANT.