Chapter 10 – Michonne

"My mom wants to go to lunch with you tomorrow. In the city. That ok?"

"We're supposed to go back to see the doctor tomorrow." I remind him, sneering as I mention it and smarting a little at the fact that my 'advanced maternal age' qualifies me as a high risk pregnancy, which means I have to go to the doctor more frequently than another mother may have to. Throw into that my history of miscarriages, and I'm pretty much going to live at the doctor's office over the next eight months.

"Well, maybe you can make time beforehand? She's been bugging me to meet you, I've just been keeping you all to myself. I can't hold her off much longer. She's going to think something strange is going on and just push harder. She's nosy as hell, so I'll just apologize in advance."

"My mother is too. Her and my father kept eyeballing me at Andre's party, I'm sure to get me to explain us in more depth than a general introduction. I understand and I'll try. I have to check with Milton to make sure I don't have any morning meetings that might conflict, but I will try to make it work."

"Thank you. It might be fun. For all of her nosiness, my mother is very sweet. She's always wanted a daughter, but she hated the ground Lori walked on. They just never hit off, but I think you two will. She's a lot like your mother, just in a smaller, whiter package."

"I'm sure it will be fun." I laugh, imagining the picture he's drawing of his mother. She's already got positive points in my book just for her general dislike of Lori, as we seem to be in agreement on that. Narrowing my eyes on the wide plains of Rick's back, I'm taking note of the raised scratches I accidentally striped across his pale skin with my nails last night. Sometimes Rick causes me to get carried away. Sometimes. Most of the time.

"Ouch, shit! That hurt. Why are you torturing me tonight? What did I do to you?" he hisses, then angrily grumbles.

"You gotta be still, Rick."

"I will be still, but it feels like you're pinching the hell outta my skin back there."

"I'm trying to get all of the puss out. I don't understand how you got such a big pimple on your back. And did you know you have hair on your back? It's not a lot but, it's…hair."

"No. But, I'm a hairy man, so that sounds possible. Ow! Shit!" Rick gripes again, this time wailing like a wounded bear as I press my fingers around the swollen edges of the reddened pimple on the back of his shoulders. A tiny smile graces my lips at the flow of puss that begins to ooze. Ah…success. Rolling the rounded muscles that cap his shoulders forward, he leans away from me, trying to escape my grasp.

"Are you going to yell and curse every time I apply pressure? It's distracting and I can't bust the pimple fully if you keep acting like this. There's more puss that needs to come out." Shaking my head, I'm trying to patronize him, maybe shame him a little at his reaction. I barely even touched the pimple before he started hollering. Squeezing at his waist with my thighs, I'm attempting to hold him steady in front of me.

"I think you enjoy this a little too much. How do I even know there's really a pimple back there anyway? You're always picking, and grooming me like we're spider monkeys or something. And wiggling your pussy on my back isn't helping me sit still at all."

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Sheriff. And listen, you walk around without a shirt on, how could I miss this big red pimple? It should hurt. Anyway, you need to sit still and let me bust it. Ok? And, it's called social grooming. Primates, humans, lots of living beings do it. I wouldn't do it if I didn't love you, Rick." Sweetening my tone to a sing songy voice, I place a couple of kisses to his shoulders, his neck and cheeks. Nipping at the lobe of his ear, I get his attention, as he turns his head my way and playfully rolls his eyes at me, lips pursed.

Shaking his head in disbelief he asks, "How the hell do you know that it's called social grooming? Why do you know that? Where did you come from, woman?"

"I don't know. I just know it."

"Well, you're lucky I love you too. Otherwise I would not allow you to trap me between your strong ass thighs and torture me like this. Busting pimples, plucking my eyebrows. I like when you wash my hair though. That's ok." Rick scoffs, massaging the soft flesh of my naked thighs around his waist.

"I had to pluck your eyebrows to make sure you had two of them, Rick. They were growing together in the middle. Leave it up to you, then you would have been looking like Oscar the Grouch." I tease, admiring my handiwork on his eyebrows, even as they are angled into an angry frown, wrinkling his forehead. At least there are two of them now.

"Whatever. You lured me over here with your sexy little nightgown, promising me kisses and other thangs. Then you attacked me with your tweezers and your little pinching fingers. I better still get my kisses too! And not those little pecks on the cheek either."

"Wait wait wait? I lured you?"

"Yep."

"Then I attacked you?"

"Absolutely."

"You're saying all of this under oath, Sheriff."

"I stand behind my testimony, Counselor."

"Hm. Ok. I'm going to remember that. I'm just trying to help you out. It's not my fault if your last wife didn't take good care of you. I take my job very serious I'll have you know."

"My last wife?"

"Mmhm."

"Wife?"

Catching his hint at me alluding to myself as his wife, I don't take the bait from Rick. I don't even respond, though my lips twitch at the corners, hinting at a smile, acknowledging my slip up to myself. Instead I claw my fingers through his hair, rubbing through the lengthy curls on the top, then nudge him forward a little so that I can continue trying to pop this pimple on his back.

It doesn't escape Rick that I don't speak to his comments, and as usual he doesn't allow me to hide from myself, my insecurities, my desires. My own words. Instead he calls me out on it. "You not gonna say anything about that, huh?"

Narrowing my eyes on the pimple again, not really focusing on what I'm doing, I still don't speak. Distracting myself from the conversation is more like it. I simply grunt a reply to him. I don't know what to say. It was a slip of the tongue. A slip that unexpectedly expressed how I really feel about this new dynamic between us. It is like we're married. And while there was no real fanfare or announcement to go along with it, our fated love has guided us like puzzle pieces to fit together. Everything has simply fallen into place, creating a domestic picture of family life that neither of us expected. It's honestly a marvel that we have come so far, so quickly, together.

After going to see his recommended doctor, Heath, and confirming my pregnancy two weeks ago, we have been more attached at the hip than before. Rick is clearly all in, as am I. I would like to say our closeness is annoying, cloistering, suffocating, overwhelming. But it's actually nice. For the last half of my marriage to Mike he pretty much ignored me. I wasn't included in his day to day activities, I wasn't considered in his decisions. I was informed. I was made aware after the fact. He left in the morning, and sometimes I didn't see or hear from him until he slithered into bed at night. At the end of our marriage he rarely even did that, frequently sleeping in the guest room instead of in the bed with me. Given that, I find that I rather enjoy waking up to Rick each morning. His heavy leg thrown over mine, or spooned into the crook of my own. His arm holding me close, with his hand casually shielding my imperceptible bump. His face nestled into the back of my head, his snoring huffs of breath dampened by the cottony tufts of my locs. With him, I always feel protected. Safe. Desired. Like Rick is exactly where he wants to be, with the person he wants to be with. And no one is going to take that from him. The glaring differences between my relationship with Mike and this one with Rick are so drastic that it takes everything in me not to drown myself in infamous disgrace at ever having loved someone who didn't show me even close to the amount of respect and affection that Rick has displayed in a few short weeks. It's shameful.

Our weekend visits have stretched into the weekday, and if I'm here at his place, I might hang around until he pops back for lunch. Which I usually prepare for him, often making his favorite Dagwood style sandwiches, piled high with lunchmeat and cheese. Sometimes I'm his lunch, and that's all he needs to sate his appetite. Those are my favorite days. The last time I took him lunch at his office, instead of eating the kale and salmon salad I prepared for him, he laid me across his desk, and I was his feast. If I'm home in Atlanta, we'll text each other throughout the day with stories of work frustrations, or with simple interest in how the other's day is going. Rick is usually checking to see if I'm still nauseous. I'm almost always answering yes.

Everything has just been so effortless that I have to guard myself from darker thoughts that might hound me, reminding me that things were once this way with Mike as well. Threatening with its powerful claws to drag me back into the dark abyss of self doubt. Gathering all of the positive feelings that being with Rick has engendered within me, I have to fight against devolving into that kind of thinking. Old habits die hard though, and even with us being together the majority of the time, my heart sometimes grows heavy at the idea that all of this is an illusion. It's not real, and the other shoe is soon to drop. How could such happiness have always been a very possible reality, when I've allowed myself to suffer so much, for so long without it? Every day I wage a conscious fight against these feelings. Every. Day.

There was a time where I wanted to keep tussling against my innate proclivity to love Rick. When I foolishly thought I could survive on just a part of him, and not all of him. But, now I know that's not possible. Not anymore. I've experienced what if feels like to be loved, for real. I'm not going to lose it. I'm not going to let the fear of the unknown stop me from enjoying it. This joy is mine, and I'm claiming it and keeping it close. I'm growing, and every day I feel stronger. This is what love does for you.

When Aaron and I were out yesterday looking for clothes for Liana, he reminded me to never look back. That even though Mike is back in Atlanta, to not awaken the memories of his wicked ambivalence, his particular brand of neglect and emotional torment. Like the excellent best friend that he is, Aaron's perceptive gaze has caught sight of and acknowledged the difference in me. My behavior. My look. The difference that the powerful love of a good man has caused in me. The constant smile to my lips, often following an outlook that is decidedly more optimistic than before. The light spring of my step, and the radiant glimmer of happiness and love, livening my clear skin with what he has deemed 'a heavenly glow'.

Aaron doesn't know that I'm pregnant yet, and it's killing me not to tell him, though I suspect he knows something given how many times I had to stop at the restroom because I wasn't feeling well. Rick said I should just tell him. I can't. Not yet. I have six more weeks to go and then we can tell everyone. Six more weeks is all it will take for me to get further than I have since Andre. Six more weeks will make this pregnancy even more real. To solidify this new life with Rick. Six more weeks is a mantra, a prayer that constantly stains my lips. Its utterance offered to the divine at every turn. Let this be real. Bless me with the fruition of this dream. Six more weeks.

"Well, you are kinda like my husband."

"Kinda?"

"Kinda."

"I will be. For real one day." Rick affirms, grunting as I proceed with successfully draining the pimple. Satisfied with the deflation of the puffy bump, no longer distended with puss, I dab it with a cotton ball, and unwrap my legs from his waist. "Now you're free."

"Torture complete. Thank you." Rick grouses, scooting to the edge, and jumping up from the bed, escaping before I find some other grooming activity for him. Nose hairs. I should get my little scissors to trim his nose hairs.

"Where are you going?"

"Getting a snack from the kitchen before you find some other way to torture me. You want something?"

"No. I'm good."

"Alright. Be right back."

Watching his bowlegged strut carry him from his bedroom, the muscles bunching in the cheeks of his little booty underneath the stretch of his blue boxer briefs, a tingle of excitement flourishes through me. I love him. I love Rick. I hope he knows that. I feel so silly, giddy, woozy at the capricious nature of my feeling for this man so quickly after meeting him. It's more potent than the good sex. It's more compelling than just how he treats me. It's more magical and inexplicable than me just being pregnant by him. Which is simply a miracle in of itself. It's an all encompassing and quixotic brew of passion, lust, obsession. A passive, uncontrollable plummet into the essence of another person. It's the unexplainable bonding of my soul to his. Scary. Exhilarating. Frightening. Intimidating. Breathtaking. Rick.

Resting back on the pile of pillows propped against the headboard, I hear Andre's self assigned ringtone, Kanye West's 'Power' blaring from my phone, looping over and over again, pulling my attention to it. As the words sound off I always wonder at how fitting these bars are for Andre. How self-aware of him to choose them for himself.

"I'm living' in that 21st century
Doing something mean to it
Do it better than anybody you ever seen do it
Screams from the haters, got a nice ring to it
I guess every superhero need his theme music…"

"Hello, Andre."

"Hey, Ma. Where are you?"

"I'm at Rick's. Where are you?"

"Grandma and Grandpa's. How are you feeling? Your stomach bug or whatever getting better?"

"Ah, sure." I stammer, remembering that Rick and I told Carl and Andre that I was suffering from a stomach bug. Hopefully the nausea subsides soon. Otherwise it's going to become even harder to keep convincing them of the lie. Which neither Rick nor I am very good at anyway. A two-week long stomach bug is hard to sell. A three month long one is impossible. Those two are very perceptive, and like Aaron, they may not know I'm pregnant for sure, but I know they suspect something. My two detectives have been eyeballing my every step, every low whispered utterance between Rick and I. I think they are on to us too, and it's one of the reasons that I have also been dodging my parents and my brother Noah. Maybe we really aren't fooling anyone but ourselves?

"Good. Good."

"Are you having a nice time with your father and your grandparents?"

With a slight, pensive strain to his voice, Andre answers. "Yeah, I guess. What are you and Rick doing? Did him and Carl go camping without me?"

"No. They were going to. Carl wanted to take Macy with them, but it's too rainy, and cold, so Rick postponed. That way you guys can all still go together another time."

"Cool! I was kinda upset about not getting to go, but Grandma and Grandpa wanted me to come to this church anniversary thing with Dad. Is Rick mad I cancelled on him?"

"No. I don't think so. He wants you to have time with your dad, and your other family. I think he understands."

"I don't want him to be mad at me. Things are weird with Dad living around the corner now, and just being around more. Ya know? I don't want Rick to think I like Dad more than him or nothing. But I do love Dad cause he's my dad. And I missed him not being around so much. But Rick is cool, and he gets me. He understands and listens to what I'm saying. How I feel. Dad doesn't always do that. Sometimes he wants me to just listen and obey and I want to make him proud, but… I don't know. I- I don't want to hurt either of them." Clearly conflicted, Andre is, as I suspected, trying to figure out how to incorporate all of these emerging feelings that present themselves with this new dynamic. While the formulation of our new little family is exciting, it is also a little frustrating trying to incorporate the old and the new. I'm not going to lie; it was so much easier when Mike was in New York. Out of sight out of mind. When he wasn't here, Andre felt his absence deeply. Now that he's here, he is experiencing his constant presence in a different way. He's not a naive 13-year-old who idolizes his father anymore, and he can see things much clearer now. He can see Mike much clearer now.

When he wasn't here, a living, breathing, constant reminder of everything that was, it was easier for both of us to breathe freely. It was easier for me depart the crumbling chrysalis of my old life, and emerge, with my son in tow, charting a course for a whole new trajectory in life.

But, Mike is back now, and there is agitation all around from the adjustment. In the two weeks since he decided to announce that he was moving back to Atlanta, so much has transpired, that it feels like lately I have been living this otherworldly compressed version of real life, where I experience the milestones of life in the briefest span of time. My son turned 16. My ex husband returned with a rejuvenated desire to bring his family back together. And I found out I'm pregnant by my boyfriend of only five weeks. It's a lot to balance, and while Andre is communicating and working through the difficulties, I'm fending off Mike's unwanted advances, and Rick is trying to be amenable, Mike is not making it easy.

Why would he? Mike has never been known for his ability to indulge or acknowledge the needs of others, so I suppose it is unrealistic to expect him to start now. Despite me telling him that there is no chance for a reconciliation between us, he is not giving up. Apparently he bought a condo around the corner from me last month, but neglected to inform me of that until two weeks ago. He is back in his Atlanta office again, which makes it easy for him to pop up at my house uninvited. He calls frequently at all times of the day and night, and regardless of the fact that Rick is a constant presence, he never speaks to him directly. Never. I would block number if I could, but there is always the possibility that he's got a legitimate thing to discuss concerning Andre.

Rick is not happy about Mike being back. Even though he handled the dramatics of Andre's party well, allowing me to take the lead, it's easy to ascertain from the snarling grimace he gets on his face at even the mention of Mike's name, or even an unnamed reference to him, that he would rather crush his fist through his face than deal with his undesirable presence.

"I don't think either of them are going to be hurt by you spending time with the other. Don't worry about adult drama, Andre. You worry too much for such a young man. Leave that to the old folks, ok?"

"You always say that, Ma. I'm just… I like Rick. I know Dad doesn't. He wants you guys to get back together, and before you had Rick I did too. I thought it would be easier if things could go back to how they were. But now it's different. I know you love Rick, and I know he loves you. You guys don't make it a secret. At all. And he and Carl make it like I have this new bigger family, and I like that. It's not all… I don't know, weird like when you were with Dad before. Everyone is so happy now. Well, everyone but Dad. He's pretty miserable about you and Rick. He doesn't make it a secret either. He says stuff sometimes, to like try and find out about you guys, and stuff."

Curious, definitely caught off guard by Mike unconscionably using Andre to find out more about Rick and I, I sit up in the bed, holding my phone tightly to my ear. I don't want to miss a thing, so that when I give Mike an earful about this I have my story straight. "Like what?"

"I don't know, Ma. Just…stuff. I don't want you to be mad at Dad anymore."

"Andre Miles Anthony…"

"He just asks how long you've been with him. Where you met him. If he's the only guy you're seeing. If I like him. If I think you really like him. I don't know. I don't wanna talk about it." Andre huffs, his voice rising, cracking over the last few words as though he's becoming even more agitated at having to talk about it.

"Well, you tell your father that if he wants to know about me and Rick, he can ask me directly. Ok? Otherwise you don't need to get into that with him."

"Ok."

For a brief moment there is silence, and then I hear shuffling on the other end of the phone, then a familiar voice in the background.

"Is that your mother? Let me speak to her. Michonne?"

Heavily sighing, releasing a breath, I roll my eyes in exasperation that he has interrupted my call with Andre. Blocking his number wouldn't even help. Dryly I respond in the clipped, succinct manner I have reserved just for him, "Mike."

"Hey, babe. How you feeling?"

"Fine."

"Good. I was worried about you."

"No need."

"I know you hate feeling sick. You're like a baby when you don't feel well. Pouting and whatnot."

"I'm fine, and being taken care of."

"Rick, huh? If you say so. Look, Dre and I will be back in town tomorrow, and I just wanted to be sure you were feeling ok. If you're not, he can stay at the condo with me until you're better. I have furniture now, so it's all good." He utters on a slightly nervous chuckle, laced with a hint of genuine concern. The tiniest bit. I don't buy it.

"No, I'm good. Andre isn't a child really anymore. He doesn't require a lot of supervision. And Rick is usually home with us. So, it's not a big deal."

"That's what I hear. That he's always around." Mike grouses, a biting snark to his comments. "Anyway, you're right. Andre's turning into a man now. Hell, he made dinner for both of us one night. Shocked the hell out of me!"

"Yeah. He's growing up very fast."

"Too fast for me. I miss him being that little wild child who used to dress up like Superman and run around the house jumping off stuff, thinking he could fly! Remember that time he jumped from the top step in our old house and thought he would fly down?"

Not wanting to go down memory lane with Mike, a device he has been using lately to try and remind me of the good times we had together, I almost don't answer him at all. Yeah, we had some good times. But, we also had some awful ones, and those are the ones that I do not need a reminder of. They still live and breathe, taking up permanent residence in the part of my brain that stores painfully repressed memories. Despite not wanting to encourage him in any way, this is a cute memory of my now overgrown son. "The child tumbled all the way to the bottom, then jumped up to do it again! He's always been fearless."

"Something was wrong with that boy and his hard head!"

"Yeah. His head is still hard sometimes."

"For sure. We did a good job there, Michonne. He's a good boy."

"He's turning into a great man, Mike. We did great there."

"Thank you for him. You did the hard work with him. I just watched. I was a shit husband and father, right?"

"Yes. Yes, you were."

"I've… I've fucked up so much with you and Dre. I feel like a broken record, but you have to know, Michonne, that I want to make it right. I need to do that before it's too late. I know you have your little friend now, but all I want is a chance to fix what I did wrong with you two. How I hurt you both is unforgivable."

"It is. That's why you should let this go."

"I realized we're going to look up and in two years Dre is going to be gone. You and Dre are all I have, and when he leaves for college, that's the end of us for real then. I'm not ready to let go forever, Michonne. We were in love once. Remember that feeling? Do you remember Hawaii? Hm? How happy we were? The passion we had for each other?" Pleading, the words tumble in a mass, unknotting and unfurling through the phone, laying themselves in supplication at my feet.

Groaning, uncomfortable with him putting me in the position to hurt him once again, I close my eyes to the straining pressure forming in my head. "Mike, listen, I already told you, I'm with Rick. I know you want to fix things, and I'm a little shocked that you even think you can. But, honestly it's way too late for you and I. Focus on the time you have with Andre."

"I need you to forgive me for how awful I was to you. You were the best thing to ever happen to me. The love of my life. My heart is sincere, Michonne. I'm not perfect. I fuck up, I get it wrong. I did at Dre's party. You might think your white boy is perfect, but he's not. He can fuck up too. He will. When he does, I'll be here for you. I'm a better man now. I'll be better for you. I promise."

"I've forgiven you, but that doesn't mean I forgot. This conversation is over, Mike, I don't want to have to keep explaining this to you. I need you to let this go."

Like a robot that is programmed to keep talking, never fully computing your commands, Mike keeps going despite my protest. "You know there was a time when we were so in love we couldn't keep our hands off each other. Hawaii, Michonne. That bikini. Me and you in that little cabana on the beach?"

Feeling my face flush, run warm at the memory of what Mike and I did on the beach in Hawaii. The wanton carelessness we felt. How we abandoned our inhibitions and immersed ourselves into each other. We were different people then. It was before the rigors of life intruded on us, melted us down and reshaped us into something harder. Coarser. I decide to cut this call off, not wanting to entertain this stroll down memory lane any longer. "I'm gonna go now, Mike. I'll be home when Andre returns tomorrow. Good night." Blowing out, releasing the breath I didn't realize I was holding, I turn off my phone, and toss it on to the night stand next to Rick's.

Entering back into the bedroom, a glass of water in one hand, and a bowl in the other, Rick's eyes wander my face in concern. Searching out the source of my scowling facial expression. "Who was that?"

"Huh?"

"On the phone?"

"Oh, it was Andre. Then Mike."

"Ah, calling from Andre's phone again?"

"Something like that." I confess, peering up at him from my relaxed position on the bed.

"Andre having a good time?"

"Yes, he is. He'll be home tomorrow."

"What did Mike want?" Rick asks, settling back onto his side of the bed with his bowl of bright red strawberries, sprinkled with a few tiny white granules of sugar.

"Nothing important."

"Hm." Setting the bowl on his night stand, Rick turns to me, his face an eerie calm, despite the frustrated furrow of his brows. "I wanna talk to you about something. Come here." Offering me his hand, he pulls me over to straddle him and settle onto his lap. "I love you."

"I know. I love you too."

"This is permanent for me. Me and you. I hope you know that."

"I do."

"I'm a man. I'm going to always love you, and take care of you. Of our family. You are everything I've ever wanted, and I'm not going to let anyone or anything get in the way of us being together. Even Mike."

"What's wrong, Rick?"

His face brightens some. The semblance of his familiar smirking smile tugs at his lips. "At Andre's party your father pulled me aside while you were straightening up with your mother. We had a good talk."

"What? You didn't tell me that? Oh god, I hope he didn't threaten you or say anything embarrassing."

"No, he didn't. He's a father who loves his munchkin very much, and wants to see her whole, and happy. He and I are similar in that way. I appreciate that he approached me to express that, to see where my intentions are. I had no problem telling him just like I have told you many times before, like I just told you, and plan on telling you every day for the rest of our lives. Also, I made him a promise."

"A promise?"

"That I won't fuck this up! I made that promise, and I will follow through. You with me?"

"Of course."

"Good, because we are going to have to figure some things out. Soon."

"Like?"

"Mike. Housing. The kids. Work."

"You're right."

"Every time he calls, he comes by, all of it… it's a battle for me not to kick his ass. I'm trying."

"You are. I know. It's hard. I know, and I love you even more for how you've handled things." I lean my body into Rick's, and lay on his chest, nuzzling into his warmth, and trying to soothe over his irritation. Running my fingers over his pecs, circling the rise of his pink nipple I tell him about Andre's concerns. "Andre is worried that you might be upset that he's been spending so much time with his dad now that Mike is back in Atlanta."

With his arms crossed over my shoulders, his long fingers span the expanse of my back in a calming caress. "I hope you told him I'm not mad. Disappointed sometimes. Like when he had to cancel on the camping trip. But, I want what's best for Andre. Sometimes that's going to be Mike and not me. I get that. It pisses me off. Makes me upset that Mike is even his real father, that I have to even share Andre with him. He's such a good kid, that deserves better than what Mike has given him. I want to give him that, and it does frustrate me that I'm not always able."

"Real talk? I feel that way sometimes too. About Lori. It's selfish and crazy, but when Carl goes home and he's not with us, I feel a little jealous that he goes back to be with his real mom. I'm just his dad's girlfriend, but I love that boy like he's mine. You go back to KC, and Andre and I are in the city, and it's like our little family is broken up. It's silly to feel that way isn't' it?"

"Nah, I don't think so. After Andre's party Lori called me complaining about how late he was out Sunday night for the football game. About his new girlfriend Macy, and who asked her if he could have a girlfriend. Hell he didn't ask me either. But, she gets pissed that he spends his weekends with me in the city at your house instead of in KC, and it all just feels like an unnecessary hassle. In a perfect world there would be no Mikes and Loris to contend with because we would have found each other first, and gotten this right the first damn time. But that's not where we are now. The reality is that Carl and I want to be with you and Andre, and with you being pregnant I really don't like leaving you in the city, and I don't like when you leave me here."

"Would you ever consider staying in the city with me? Permanently? Is that something you would want?"

A long pause, a silence between us engulfs the room and for a moment I wince, beating myself up at even throwing the idea of him uprooting his life here to move to the city with me. Is it selfish? Am I too in love to be reasonable anymore? Maybe. I tried to stop this. To keep myself from loving him. From being so immersed in this experience with Rick, but the magnetic attraction, it was all an unexpected blitz that I couldn't stop. A runaway train of ecstatic emotions. It's a lot, and in reality, I know I shouldn't blame him for not yet answering such a loaded question. Rick taking his time to put me out of my misery with a response tells me everything I need to know, and the ensuing shame of pushing for what I want is causing me to shield my emotions and I try to pull away from him, but don't get far.

"Nevermind. It was a stupid thing for me to ask. You've lived here all your life. You're the sheriff for god's sake. Sorry, we have just been steamrolling straight ahead, and this is a big step you might not be ready for. Forget I said anything." Hurriedly wiping at my eyes, polishing away the tears that seem to water so easily these days, I turn my face away from his prying gaze.

His strong arms don't allow my retreat. If anything they grow increasingly tighter around me, as his right hand inches from it's lazy grasp at the back of my neck, to ease into the drape of my dreads flowing over the planes of my back. Leaning his face to the side to make eye contact with me, Rick searches my face.

"Yeah. I would."

"You don't have to say that if you don't mean it, Rick. I just threw it out there. Stupid."

"Nah, not stupid. You're right. Our family should be together."

"But?"

"I guess I imagined it all a little differently. Not me moving in with you necessarily, but us moving into our home, together. More traditional I guess."

"Nothing about us has been traditional. We slept together before you even knew my name, the same day we met."

Chuckling at the memory of how we came to be, Rick tosses his head back, his chest rumbling with his laughter.

"True. We've written our own story, our own way, haven't we? In my mind, I want to give you everything just right. This isn't the first time for either of us, and I want everything to be as perfect as it can be."

"Nothing is perfect, Rick."

"You're close."

"You always say that."

"It's true."

"But you don't want to live with me."

"I didn't say that. You are a woman who has the means to do whatever she wants to do, without me. You don't need me. Not really. That first night we met, I could hardly believe you spoke to me, let alone came back here to my house with me. Look at you, Michonne. You're gorgeous. You're intelligent. And you're wealthy. When I say you're perfect, I mean it. So perfect that sometimes I wonder, what the hell does she need me for?"

"I need you. More than you know."

"You still don't know, do you? How powerful you are all by yourself. I've never met a woman with so much going for herself, who is so ruefully unaware. You are everything any man could ask for. You are everything any woman could hope to be." Grasping my face in between the strong hold of his hands, Rick centers his pensive gaze on me, his lips pressed hungrily to mine. Foreheads touching, noses kissing, his eyes bore into me, darting over my face, seeing past the physical. "Sometimes I think about it, and I don't know how I fit into that. Your ex is pretty well off. Whether I like to admit it or not, you guys fit in a way that I'm not sure I can ever compete with. And it kills me. But I don't have a choice but to love you. Of course I want to live with you and make this permanent. I want that, Carl wants that. Every night you're not with me, or I don't see you, everything in the world feels wrong. I need you in a way that is beyond fatal. My life is forever yours because you made me brave enough to love again. Yes, I want to live with you. There's nothing in this world I want more than you and this family. We just have to figure out how."

"What do you mean how? You make it sound so complicated, Rick. It doesn't have to be. We're already pregnant, I already chose you. There is nothing for you to prove to me. Mike doesn't matter. Money doesn't matter. You are what matters. Me and you. The boys. This pregnancy."

"I- I just need to be able to do for you, for our family. That's all. Let me figure some things out to make this right for all of us. I've been planning, thinking on it. Give me a little more time. Ok?" Creased into a stern glower, the lines around his eyes crinkled, he's rejecting how easy I believe this all can be. Rick is fighting a battle with something that I know isn't easy for him. He's showing vulnerability.

My macho sheriff may have no trouble extolling the virtues of his love for me. But, like a lot of men, he sometimes struggles with feelings that might show any sign of weakness or inadequacy. In his own words his love for me and the kids makes him stronger. Drives him to do better, to be better. To work harder. But this is something entirely different. It's about me having more money than him. Me being used to a more lavish lifestyle. Jokingly he's commented on it before. Last week when we went to the car dealer and traded in my old Range Rover for a brand new Audi Q7, I thought he was going to pass out right then and there as he looked at the price tag on the window and noted that I could buy three of his pick-up trucks for just this one car. I had hoped that my response that if he wanted to do that we could, would have allayed any potential feelings of financial inadequacy, but I suppose that's not the case.

Personally I think Mike's reemergence in our lives doesn't help either. Mike throws his money around, and peacocks about as a way of hiding who he really is. Hence the new car he tried to offer me. Rick doesn't need to act out in that way because he's rich in character, and I know that, but sometimes I wonder if he does. His remarks right now lead me to believe that he's still not convinced.

Nodding my head, I decide to give him what he needs in this moment. "Ok, Rick. I'll follow your lead."

Relief flushes over him, softens the glassy ice of his cool blue eyes, and with that he pulls me in to cradle me against his chest again. "I'll figure this out. I know you're tired of going back and forth between here and your house. I'll fix this." He promises, his hand massaging the back of my neck in tranquilizing strokes.

"I can work from anywhere, Rick. Here or the city. And you're right, I am tired. Not just from the back and forth for us, but from this case I'm working. After it I'm going to take a break. Heath said I need as little stress as possible, so when it's done, I'm going to be done for a little while. Maybe that will help us figure it all out?"

"If you want to. You know, I've already told you I can help you with this case. Since it's a KC thing-"

"I can't." I interrupt, not wanting to get too deep into any discussions about Mr. Rhee's case. So far I have been successful at skirting it at every turn, even though Rick has alluded more than once to me being able to trust that he wouldn't try to deter or manipulate anything. But, with the depositions quickly approaching next week, I grow more and more nervous each day with the prospect of him finding out everything.

"Wait a second, Michonne, just listen. If me helping can ease the strain on you, in your delicate position, then why not let me? You can trust me, and we agreed that the most important thing right now is to make it past the next six weeks successfully. I understand that things in a small town have to be handled a certain way because of the culture of things. I know folks, I have a position that might be helpful because everything isn't always so cut and dry, black and white. Especially in a place like KC."

"Rick, justice is justice. Right is right. I need to make sure that my client gets justice regardless of small town politics or culture."

"Don't say it like that. I don't mean that small towns don't have to follow the law or nothing like that, hell I'm the sheriff. But KC is not like Atlanta, Michonne. Everything can't be handled with a heavy hand. Sometimes you get more with sugar than with vinegar. I might be able to help you with that is all I'm saying."

"It's not a good idea for us to be having this conversation. Just know that when it's over, I'm going to follow Heath's orders and take it easy. Six weeks, Rick. Six more weeks, ok?"

"Yeah. Six weeks."

For a moment there is nothing left to say. It's all been said, at least the words we can allow. In his lap, the steady cadence of his breaths in and out match mine, and I wonder at how often we find ourselves in synch like this. Without conscious thought. It just happens. With my head turned towards his night stand, my eyes catch the forgotten bowl of strawberries. Instantly, as though there is nothing more important in the world, hunger strikes.

"Can I have a few of your strawberries?" Anticipating the sweet juice crushing and exploding in my mouth, my attention is now miles away from our discussion.

"Michonne, didn't I ask you if you wanted something from the kitchen?" Tilting his head to the side, Rick stares at me a moment, consideration on his face as though he might deny my request. He won't. He never does. He has already confessed to me numerous times that he's too in love with me to ever tell me no.

"Yes, but I didn't want anything until you showed up with the strawberries prepared just how I like them with a little sugar. And you know I'm pregnant so my appetite is big. It's your fault really."

Scoffing at my claim, he chuckles, shaking his head. "Oh no! Don't you dare blame it on being pregnant. You always do this, eating off my plate, stealing my food."

"Are you gonna share or are you gonna keep judging me?" He reaches for the bowl and pretends to put up a fight, holding it away from my hungry stare, but I know better.

Finally giving in, like I knew he would, he dips his fingers into the bowl. Rick lifts one of the sweetened berries to my lips. I open my mouth to accept it on to my tongue, savoring the cool rush of luscious candied sweetness. Chewing, the ripe juice from the fruit streams onto my tongue. I know I just had dinner not even an hour ago, but since I've been pregnant I can always eat. Always. Even if I might not be able to keep it all down, my desire to eat is bordering on insane. At this point I think I'm giving Carl and Andre a run for their adolescent money in terms of who can eat the most. It's going to be a long nine months.

Lowering his clear azure gaze to my lips, Rick is smirking, enticed, maybe even a little turned on by how much I'm enjoying the sweet treat. "You want some more?"

Nodding, I watch as he plucks another berry, the biggest of the bunch and holds it up to my lips. Brushing its ripe red flesh against my puckered lips, back and forth, Rick swallows thickly. Watching as I wrap my lips around the offered fruit, and bite down, a guttural groan erupts from him as a thin trail of juice escapes over the crest of my lips, and down my chin. Leaning forward, he licks the evidence of my snacking from my chin, and up to my lips. Slowly, he eases my lips apart, sweeping his tongue through the candied taste of strawberries in my mouth. Hungrily sucking, smacking, our kiss deepens, and setting the bowl on the night stand, Rick roughly drags me forward on his lap by the tight clutch his large hands have on my thighs. And then I can feel it. The hard steel of his dick pressing against the dampening folds of my womanhood through his underwear.

With a thick handful of my long locs in his hand, Rick grasps tightly and gently whisks my head back, separating our lips. Gasping at his gruff handling, my chest and the smooth satin of my nightgown heaves, breasts bumping against the wall of his hard chest. Licking at my bottom lip again, he sucks it into his mouth, nipping at the plump flesh. Continuing to travel his lips over me, licking at my pulse, Rick mumbles into the hollow of my throat.

"You're even sweeter than the strawberries. How is that possible?"

"I don't know."

"I'm done talking."

Inching himself down, slumping until he's laid flat on the bed, Rick hoists me higher to settle the apex of my thighs onto the warmth of his mouth. Nibbling at my folds, he grabs a tight hold of my ass, kneading the plump cushions in his palms. Flattening his tongue, I can feel it separate the lips of my pussy as he licks a languorous path from my hole to my clit. Again. Again. The lazy laps lull me into a quiet frenzy as erotic pleasure steadily builds in my core. With my hands holding tightly to the strands of his hair wildly strewn over his pillow, my eyes are rolling underneath my closed lids, the carnal combination of his wandering hands, and his hungry mouth now applying tiny popping sucks to my clit. Heating me to the point of an explosion. Snugly holding me still over his mouth with one hand pressed to the small of my back, and the other still gripping my ass, Rick slurps down my leaking essence. The sound echoes in the room, a vulgar slosh that would make me blush if I weren't so drunk from the way he's masterfully inching his tongue further and further into my pussy. Alternating between a wicked flick back to my clit, then returning to my hole. I can't prevent my hips from shoving my pussy down onto his face, muffling his satisfied hums with my womanhood, wanting to bathe him with my scent.

With a strong orgasm already wrenching through me, stiffening my limbs at the cresting wave of excitement, my head droops forward until I can see the crystal of Rick's eyes focusing up at me from between my thighs. Gently removing me from suffocating his mouth and nose, Rick expertly flips me until I'm shielded underneath him, his arms creating a barrier between the both of us and the world that would intrude on this moment.

"Better than strawberries." His grinning pink lips and beard are wet, sticky with the evidence of my satisfaction. Breath perfumed with the fragrance of me. My arms are wrapped around his waist, pulling his heavy weight down in between my thighs, his dick pressed to the puffy lips of my pussy. Penetration. I need it. That first forceful dip. The powerful plunge, insistent, until our very souls are connected. Desire pushes my hips up into him, begging for his fat cock to fill me and satisfy the need that only he can meet. To push through the tight clench of my canal, to nudge and tickle against the sensitive cluster deep within me. The piece of me that only Rick has ever explored, untouched until the day I met him.

"Rick, please, baby." I whisper, I beg using my bent legs to leverage my position and thrust up into him. Biting at the angled jut of his masculine jaw, covered in a thick swath of salt and pepper hair. Edging down to his neck, I lick and suck along the column, even as I maintain the murmur of my ardent pleas for completion.

"Please what, Michonne?" Biting down on his bottom lip, his eyes narrow, alight with lust, ignited with passionate fire at the sound of me needy, begging for him to fuck me and put me out of my misery.

"Mmm…Rick…"

"Please what, Michonne?"

"Please fuck me, baby?"

"I love to hear how much you want me." Fisting the rigid thickness of his dick, he angles it between my sticky lips, tapping lightly at my clit. And then there's the blunt strain of pressure nudging against the cloistered tightness of my hole. Pushing, prodding, plunging his way through me. Rick digs and winds his hips, his descent crucial, until we are fully connected, and there is nowhere left for him to go. "And you're so wet. That pussy is so slippery, shit…"

With his back bowed, Rick sets to working me into a tightly coiled frenzy. The fluid wave undulating from his powerful hips, masterfully guides his cock in and out, over and over again, sliding, abrading the throbbing veins of his cock against my canal. Setting a learned pace as old and treasured as life itself. Grunts, curses, pants, ease from the lips of my lover, followed by the hallowed compliments of how good he feels. How good I make him feel. How perfect this is, this sticky, nasty, romantic coupling of two people who love each other with their whole being. And I do. It covers me in a luminous glow that urges me to press my softly curved body into the unyielding muscle of his chest that crushes me in a dominating pin to the bed.

Strong, powerful, massive in the mirage of impenetrability it poses, Rick's face is red, contorted into a glistening mold of purely masculine beauty, tortured by the voluminous weight of our love. It's the sweetest misery, an untainted tribulation that motivates and drives him to be guided by his basest instincts to protect and love. Me. Our boys. These babies. To provide for those he loves. It's not archaic, it's an expression of his love, and without any further question, I set my mind to fully accept it. To accept every part of him as mine to love.

Pressing my hands to his chest I urge him to roll over on to his back. Following my lead, Rick flops over to his back, his legs askew. Settled on my knees between his legs, I lower my face to his groin, then proceed to kiss and lick my way across the damp skin, tickling my lips with the wet hairs that are splayed about, plastered to his skin. In the center of the wild mass of dark curls, anchored at the juncture of his thighs is his long cock. Admiring its rounded head pointing in a tilted curve up towards his belly, I fist his husky girth and proceed to suck the weight of his balls into my mouth.

"Fuck…" Rick blows out, the word stretching to create a repetitive series of melodiously chanted curses, strung together as though it was one long word. Sucking then laving my tongue across the bulbous heft of the ridged sack, I pump and twist my fist, applying constant pressure on the upward pull and graze of my thumb over the head. "Babe, oh shit!" Rick hisses, his eyes fixated on the hugging kiss of my full lips no longer tugging at the fullness of his balls, and now focused on the stalk of his cock. Swallowing as much of him as I can before I feel him pressing against the back of my throat, I ease my gag reflex, and widen my jaws.

Tugging the tendrils of my errant dreads, wild and draped around my face, Rick gathers them into his fist, using them to guide my slurping mouth over him. My mouth waters, leaking in vertical streams down his sensitive flesh, gathering in pools of saliva in my hand, lubricating the pumping of my palm moving in concert with my lips.

"Baby… whew, Michonne, Michonne… what the fuck!"

Popping his length from my mouth I rise back to my knees, ready to mount him and ride his cock to a satisfying completion. Releasing his grip on my hair, Rick's eyes are laser focused on the breathless pants escaping my pouted lips. Reaching out to me, he wipes his long fingers worshipfully over my lips, a reverent swipe of the wetness glimmering on my mouth.

Rick has no plans in allowing me on top. Instead he gently tackles my body to the bed, landing me with a soft drop on to my back.

Elevated above me, resting on his knees as he attempts to catch his breath, Rick looks down at me along the pointed slope of his nose. "What was that?"

"I love when you fuck my mouth."

Momentarily closing his eyes, I can see how affected he is by my naughty words. A shiver courses through me, a commensurate sensation to accompany his response.

"Michonne, the shit you say sometimes. That mouth…"

"You love it."

"I do. Come here." Dragging me further beneath him, Rick proceeds to gift me with an orgasm so complete that I tumble effortlessly into a slumber that carries me into the next morning, with only a slight memory. A recall of something fuzzy around the edges, witnessed only from the weary split of my eyelids. An image of Rick, propped against the headboard, glasses on, leaned over his laptop. Focused and pecking away at the keyboard. I'm not certain if it was real or imagined. A mirage conjured by my tired mind. A manifestation of the worry and drive that often animates him from his sleep to do something. To take a late walk. To read. To sometimes simply watch me as I sleep. Under the influence of the babies that steal every ounce of energy I have like little precious thieves, pulling me down, submerging me in quiet slumber, I close my eyes again. Floating on dreams of a future filled with love, and little brown babies, I don't move once I feel the heat of his return. Stilling his thoughts, wrapping me in his love, holding me snugly under the cloak of his body until I have no choice but to ride out my dreams until dawn, and the new day intrudes on our solitude.

"Hello, Mrs. Grimes."

"Hello, dear. Call me Amanda."

"Uh, ok. Mom? I didn't know you were coming as well."

"Well I wanted to do some shopping, and when Amanda mentioned she would be seeing you this morning I figured I would tag along."

"Ah."

"And look at you, Michonne. Oh my you are as stunning as my son said you are. You and your mama, both of you. You know, I'm really looking forward to getting to know you better now that you and my son are dating." Rick's mom exclaims, a beaming smile on her face as she adoringly cups my cheek with her right hand, then follows my mother through the front door of my house, the hard heels of her Tory Burch flats clicking against my wood floors.

I suppose I should have expected this. The mothers. After all of the guests left Andre's party last weekend, my parents had to leave too, and didn't have time to stay and ask me 21 questions about my relationship with Rick, and what went down with Mike. But I know they have been itching to do so, and honestly I'm surprised that either of them have waited this long. I suppose learning that my father already had a chat with Rick is what has held them back so long, and for that I'm grateful.

What I didn't expect was for her to bring Rick's mother into this, but I probably should have expected that as well. Nia Alexander is a bit of a gossip. Not in a malicious way. She's just very into what everyone has going on. My brother Noah and I can barely make a move without her being on top of it, asking questions, probing for information. My father says she just likes to be in the know, to keep track of all the pieces on the board, and as a stay at home mother that was always her job. To keep the family running, to make sure everyone was where they were supposed to be at the right time, and to always have a handle on what was going on. She was great at it, and while some might disparage the fact that she is a military veteran, and a college educated woman, with a bachelor's degree in economics, who decided to stay home and raise her family, she takes great pride in it. Especially given that she ran our home, our family, like it was a Fortune 500 company.

Perhaps it is a result of her always being the new kid when she was growing up. Needing to understand the lay of the land to strategize how best to fit her charismatic personality into the current structure of things. A military brat in her own right, she mastered that skill. Her well organized, no nonsense, social butterfly persona is a hallmark characteristic of Nia Alexander's personality. My father said that's what drew him to her in the first place.

When they met she was an 18-year-old girl from Detroit, newly stationed in Germany. With sable dark skin, a tall curvy body, and a gregarious, outgoing personality, she was well known on the base in Stuttgart. As my father tells it she was popular and friendly with the locals, and with their fellow servicemembers. There is something about her, a bubbly, effervescence that exudes from her like fresh water from a spring. Refreshing. Enticing. He was a 26-year-old officer from Georgia, and though he said his best friend saw her first, and asked her out before he did, it was my father with his down home southern charm, and handsome smile that drew her in. And they've been together ever since. Her raising the family, and him raising hell.

Bringing my thoughts back around, I release a deep sigh as I remember that yes, she is a gossip. And the fact that I am dating again probably has her pretty head, covered in perfectly coifed, and carefully dyed black hair, ready to explode. And from the giddy way Rick's mother winked my way and bopped into my house, gliding through the door on her own tiny ray of sunshine, I would say she's pretty much ready to burst as well.

"I'm excited to get to know you better as well, but I can't do a day of shopping and lunch. Not today. Rick only mentioned breakfast as I actually have an um, an appointment at 1. It's a really important one." I answer, not wanting to completely divulge the nature of my appointment, but wanting to emphasize that I can't miss it.

"Can't you move it, sweetie? We came all this way. Just push it to later in the day? You and Noah are so far away from me now, it's like you've abandoned your mother. When do I get to see you?" Attempting to guilt me, my mother heads straight for the kitchen to inspect the refrigerator. She always does this. Has been doing it since I left for college. It's her way to make sure I have enough food and don't need anything. I don't know why she still does this, seeing as I am pretty wealthy at this point, and there's nothing that I could possibly need her to buy for me, but I suppose old habits are hard to break. Am I going to be like this when Andre graduates and leaves? When Carl is living on his own? When these babies move out?

Thinking of the babies, nestled deep inside of my womb, growing, hopefully getting stronger, a tiny smile creeps onto my lips, and my hand absentmindedly brushes against my stomach.

"No, Mom, sorry I can't."

"Well how about at least we stick to doing brunch then? If you hurry you can get dressed and we can go right now. We're going to Southern Art & Bourbon Bar. Sweetheart, they have the very best grilled honey peaches. Probably just as sweet as you are!" The way Mrs. Grimes speaks, pronounces her words, over emphasizing and prolonging her vowels, is cute. Saying 'yew' for 'you', and 'way-uhl' for 'well'. It brings to mind a character from a show that my mother used to watch when I was little. Rick's mother reminds me of Julia Sugarbaker from 'Designing Women'. I wonder if he's ever seen it? I will have to find it on the internet and see if he realizes that they must have patterned her after his mother with her malaise dripped southern graces, and demeanor.

"And bourbon." My mother laughs, pointing towards Rick's mother with a sly grin. My mother may be from Detroit, but she is now a southern woman through and through. And Nia Alexander knows and loves her bourbon.

"Of course the bourbon, Nia. That's the main reason we go there!" Rick's mother laughs, while winking at my mother and pointing back at her. Amanda Grimes is a small woman, very small. Probably not even a full five feet tall, and a hundred ten pounds soaking wet. But what she lacks in size, she makes up for with what appears to be a bubbly sweet personality. With sea green eyes, caramel brown hair flattened into a bob, and straight white teeth, she doesn't look that much like Rick. Not really. Until you get to the wry playfulness of her lips, and then you can see it. It's a tilted, crooked smile that always seems ready to break out into a full on grin at the moment's notice. It's a sprite like frivolity, that on Rick plays as masculine mischievousness, but on his mother brings to mind a certain impish quality, like a fairy.

"Well of course, Amanda! My Michonne appreciates a good bourbon as well, don't you, sweetie?"

"Usually yes I do, but I'm uh, dieting."

"Dieting? Honey, how does not drinking bourbon fit into that? And as thin as you are, what are you dieting for? You've got a perfect shape on you. Nice full bosom. Good child bearing hips. And of course, your mother's good looks and round bottom. I can see why my Rick likes you so much. You're a big step up from Lori." She sniffs, assessing my physical features, while also effortlessly showcasing her dislike for Rick's ex.

Before I can even answer her, or fully wonder what Rick has told her about me, she quickly schools her face as though she just realized how distasteful the thought of Lori is, and wrinkles her nose at me, giving me that grin that makes me think of her son again. I want to roll my eyes at her, the same way I do at him, simply because it always disarms me, makes me feel giddy, like a young girl. But I remember myself, my manners, and I don't. And I like her. I like her energy, and I agree with Rick's assessment. She is very much like my mother. Instead I try to redirect the conversation away from why I might not want to partake in a drink today. Or for the next 8 months.

"The peaches sound like they would fit in my diet though."

"Honey grilled peaches?" My mother questions, squinting her eyes, laser focusing them on me. Setting me in her sights. I know this look. She's trying to see if I'm telling her the truth, and oh my god, I have to look away. I am a terrible liar, and if I let her needle me with that look too long I will break. And I can't. Not yet. Just gotta make it to the third month. Six more weeks.

"Yes. Well, fruit…is good. It's allowed."

"It's settled then. We'll go to brunch, and have you back here in time for your appointment at 1. Go on up and get changed, Michonne, we'll wait right here for you." With a wave and snap of her manicured fingers, my mother dismisses me with orders to get dressed.

As I'm walking up the stairs I can faintly hear my mother and Mrs. Grimes happily chirping away, their voices a low hum of conspiratorial whispering.

"They would make the most beautiful babies together, Nia! Just gotta get them down that aisle, then I can get my hands on some little caramel babies!"

"I know, Amanda, I know. We called it when they were kids. It's a shame it took them so long to find each other."

"True. Rick had to get rid of that money grubbing, Lori."

"And Michonne had to finally wise up about that scoundrel Michael! It's about time they get this right."

"Indeed. They just needed to meet each other again, and look what happened."

"Well, you almost ruined it with that blonde girl. I have barely forgiven you for that, Amanda."

"Come on now, Nia, I was just trying to get him to date someone! What about Arthur, hm? Setting her up with Shane Walsh? If y'all had bothered to ask we could have told you that boy thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow. Cockiest man I've ever met, and I've met my husband." Sniffing and clapping her hands to signal finality Amanda continues. "It's time to rest the mule on this, and let's just look forward to what's happening now. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"I had a really good time, and the food was excellent! Thanks for taking me out."

"Of course. It's nice to get to see you. You're such a big shot, and you're always so busy with your new boyfriend." My mother teases, sounding much more like a teenaged girl than a middle aged woman.

"Mom!"

"Don't harass her, Nia. I've only seen Rick once since they started dating. He hasn't even returned my calls to confirm you two will be attending his grandparents' anniversary dinner. You will be attending, right?"

"Um, I guess? I don't really know. We haven't talked about it. There's been a lot going on lately. I'll ask him."

"Perfect. It's next weekend. Everyone is going to just love you. You are such an improvement over his ex-wife. Now that was a huge mistake. The only good thing we got out of that union was my sweet Carl."

"That's the weekend of my birthday."

"You're a Valentine's baby? How romantic! I hope my son is going to do something very special for you. He better."

"What happened to the diet you were supposed to be on, Michonne?" My mother asks, situating herself in the wingback chair across from the couch. Crossing one long leg over the other, she lifts her chin and eyebrows at the same time, enhancing her look of interest at whatever my answer to her question might be.

"Hm?"

"Well you had the honey grilled peaches, the shrimp fried deviled eggs, and the bourbon apple pie French toast, and eggs. You had a very good appetite for being on a diet, sugar."

Dropping my purse on the couch, I stop in my tracks at my mother's recollection of my brunch order. I did eat all of that. I did. And it was so good, I couldn't stop myself. Completely forgetting about my little white lie about being on a diet and not wanting to drink. I'm terrible at this. But just as I'm about to try and explain away my sudden forgetfulness around my supposed diet, Rick follows behind us, entering the house through the garage. I gave him a garage door opener for his truck two weeks ago, and of course now is the perfect time for him to use it, right in front of our mothers.

"Michonne! You ready to head to the doctor? I told the guys I was leaving early, and that idiot Leon Bassett had the nerve to ask if he could leave early too. I should fire his ass for even asking." Rounding the corner, his face reddened, either from the cool weather outside, his recollection of his least favorite deputy Leon, or at finding our mothers seated on the living room couch as he spouts off about taking me to the doctor. Good job, Rick. "Mom?"

"Hello, Richard." Waving her fingers at him in welcome, she instantly turns to give my mother a knowing look. Probably sharing a smirk at the fact that he has his own access to my house.

"Mrs. Alexander, hello. This is a surprise. Michonne, I didn't know both of our mothers were coming here, when you have that appointment in thirty minutes. I thought you and my mother were just doing breakfast. Much earlier in the day."

"We both surprised your lady and took her to brunch instead, Richard." His mother offers, her drawled words syrupy sweet, and that shared grin of theirs now directed towards him.

"Oh, ok. Speaking of food, I stopped by that stand on the way from KC and got you some of those boiled peanuts you like." Handing me a bag of my new favorite snack, I immediately dig my hand in and grab a handful, then begin to crack them open.

"Yes! Thank you! These are so good."

"Honey, you just ate. You hungry again?" Rick's mother asks, a concerned frown angling her brows.

"Uh-"

"Michonne, you have never liked boiled peanuts." My mother offers, disbelief and concern now clearly coloring her words.

"What? Babe, you love these things. She's probably inhaling a bag a day!" Rick laughs, shaking his head, dismissing my mother's claim of dislike.

Narrowing her eyes on me even further, she's quiet for a moment, but her gaze is laser focused. Scrutinizing.

"There's something going on here. I can't put my finger on just what it is. But there's something." Pointing her manicured index finger between Rick and I, her cool façade is a mask for what I'm sure are the calculations buzzing through her head. "Now what is this about a doctor's appointment, Rick? And why did you have to leave work early to take her? Ya know my Andre did say something about you not feeling well, Michonne. Throwing up? What's going on here? Someone needs to spill the beans. Fast." She sucks her teeth, and I know what that means. She means business, and one of us had better give her an answer. Now.

"Um, it's not a big deal." I stammer, stepping up to try and control this before Rick caves. He's never been grilled by my mother before, and given how easy he cracks, I think I'm better suited to try and manage this. Though honestly I'm probably not much better at manufacturing lies. Think! Think! My mother is already sniffing out the chinks in the poorly constructed armor of our half truths, and like a shark who smells blood in the water, she's gonna move in soon if I can't neutralize her suspicions.

"Then why did Rick have to drive forty minutes to escort you to the doctor? You've managed to get around just fine previously."

"Richard, is there something you both need to tell us? You know you're not good at keeping secrets, dear. Hell we knew all about what Lori had done before you could say a word. It's your handsome face dear. You don't have a liar's face." Mrs. Grimes nods his way with a tight smile, seemingly trying to coax the truth from him.

Sucking his lips into his mouth, trapping them between his teeth, his hands riding his lean hips. Rick is trying not to say anything, but the sweat beading on his forehead, and the blush coloring his face are giving his anxiety away.

Turning to me, he takes a hold of my elbow and turns me away from our mothers for a chat, absent their knowing stares. "I'm not a good liar, Michonne, you know this. Should we just tell 'em?"

"Oh my god, Rick! You fold so easy!" Groaning and dropping my face into my upturned palm, I suck my teeth in the same manner that my mother does, but more in disappointment at how quickly he's ready to give full disclosure. I should have known he wasn't going to last a full three months. He couldn't last thirty seconds before dropping an untimely hint about my 'condition' in front of Andre, Carl, and even Mike.

"We can't keep it a secret forever, Michonne." Nervously his eyes dart over his shoulder at our mothers, now huddled together on the couch, their faces mirroring each other's, both filled with concern, and intrigue.

"Six more weeks, Rick." I whisper to him, my hand over my mouth to shield it from the prying, lip reading eyes of our mothers.

"They're asking questions now. Hell, Andre already told your mother you've been throwing up." With his head tilted down towards mine, he drops a kiss to my pouting lips and catches my eyes with his. "We may as well just tell 'em. Aren't you happy about this?"

"I am, you know I am." Sighing, as though the weight of the world instead of a simple pregnancy announcement is weighing on my shoulders, I can feel my breathing begin to quicken in a panicky flush of fear, and tears begin to well in my eyes. Telling other people makes this real. It will make the potential threat of losing my babies, of miscarrying again very real. Remembering the pity and sadness that clouded my mother's coffee brown eyes the last time I lost a baby, I'm not sure that even with the strength of Rick supporting me through it, that I could survive reliving that nightmare again.

"We don't have to tell them, but it might be good for you to not hold it all in. This is a joyous thing for so many people. Maybe just tell them, and swear them to secrecy for the next six weeks?"

"Is your mother as bad at keeping secrets as you are?"

"No!" Softly leaving his lips, his buoyant laughter that accompanies his answer lightens my mood. "She's actually really good at it. My dad still doesn't know it was me that crashed his Cadillac when I was fifteen. He still thinks it was stolen by some backwoods hoodlums going for a joyride."

"My mom can keep a secret too. It's not that I don't want everyone to know, I just need…"

"I know. But this is more support for you, for us. Let's throw these nosy ladies a bone. Ok? I've got your back, I'm right here."

"Ok," Groaning, I turn back towards our mothers. With Rick standing close behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist, giving me the support I need to face the worried stares of our mothers, I pull out my phone. Swiping over the numerous pictures I find the one that makes my heart flutter every time I look at it. "Mom, Mrs. Grimes, Rick and I have something to tell you, but you have to promise not to breathe a word of it to anyone for six weeks. No one. Not Dad, Mr. Grimes, Auntie Tina, Carl, or Andre. No one."

"We know what no one means, Michonne. Y'all need to just say what it is because you're scaring me."

"Don't be scared, Mrs. Alexander. This is good news." Rick promises from behind me, then lowers his chin to my shoulder, gifting me with an encouraging kiss to my neck.

"You're getting married?!" His mother squeals as though she just had an epiphany, at the same time my mother seems to have put all of the pieces of the puzzle together as well. On top of the words spoken by Mrs. Grimes she blurts out at the top of her lungs. "You're pregnant!"

Turning my phone to face them, I showcase the source of my secret. It's the picture of the ultrasound I snapped with my phone. The fuzzy black and white proof of our babies.

"You're having a baby?" Mrs. Grimes asks. Her eyes widen in gleeful surprise, as my own mother's face holds a mix of both shock and concern. Slightly shadowed by the painful result of these kinds of announcements in the past.

"Babies." Rick offers, upping the ante for his mother. "We're having twins."