Chapter 9 – Rick

She's pregnant! Pregnant! Michonne! With my baby? My baby! Calm down, Rick. Calm. I need to practice that breathing or meditation thing that Michonne does, because right now? I'm freaking the fuck out, but in the best way. Walking up and down the aisles of the grocery store I'm trying to relax. Over the last week or so Michonne has been complaining of being sensitive emotionally and physically. Her breasts are tender. And now she's throwing up. Can't stand the smell of pizza. She loves pizza! I don't know why neither of us realized this, but it's gotta be that she's pregnant.

When I was at her house looking up home remedies for nausea on Google, and the first article mentioned pregnancy as the cause for the symptoms, it didn't even occur to me that this could be it. Nope. Not an inkling. I literally paid it no mind. I was just frustrated that she wasn't feeling well, and was so focused on helping her that my tunnel vision didn't even allow me to entertain the thought.

But now? Oh yeah, I got it now. I would like to take credit for this epiphany, but nope, not this time. I owe it all to another guy. A serendipitous meeting with a kind, weary looking doctor I happened upon in the produce section, also buying ginger.

"How the hell do you make tea from this?" I wonder aloud to myself, holding up the weird root looking thing. It looks like the picture on my phone's screen, and Google says this is right, but…

"Yeah, dude, that's the right thing. You gotta peel it, then boil it."

"Excuse me?"

"Peel, then boil."

"Boil the skin? Or the insides?"

"This your first baby?" He asks, frowning behind the black rims of his thick glasses. 

"Say again?" I respond, confused by this whole conversation, and the look of this brown tree branch thing that's supposed to be ginger. Turning it over in my hands, I'm not even sure how to peel this thing without also nicking the skin on my own fingers, and in dismay I'm realizing that my once bright idea to help Michonne with a remedy for whatever is causing her sickness, now feels foolish and impossible. 

Blowing out a tired sigh the guy standing next to me in a dark wool coat, dark slacks, wingtips, white shirt, and a dark tie, softens his voice and continues to try and help me out. "I assume you're over here buying organic ginger root for your wife. For nausea, cause she's pregnant?"

"What?"

"It's ok. You must still be in shock. New dads usually are. Hi, I'm Heath." He offers me his hand, and despite the staggering jolt of shock from his assumption, I accept. Giving my hand a quick, firm shake and a practiced smile, as though he's gone through this before, he continues. "I'm a OBGYN over at Emory University Hospital. Uh, so you will peel the ginger, then you can take slices of it, and steep it in your wife's favorite tea. Green is probably best, not black, too much caffeine. Or if she's having multiples and the symptoms are really bad, she can suck on the ginger slices directly, but that's not going to taste very good. Got it?"

Furrowing my brow in confusion, I'm still not fully understanding, and I hate being confused. I have no clue why this guy thinks my "wife" is pregnant just because she's nauseous. I do like the sound of him referring to my Michonne as my wife though. I could definitely get used to that. "So, yeah, that's the main symptom of pregnancy, right? Nausea?" Squinting my eyes in question, I'm attempting to keep my face a placid canvas, a look that I have perfected at work when questioning criminals. It usually works. Makes them think I'm neutral about whatever subject I'm questioning them about, when really I'm probably pissed off that they won't just confess to whatever the hell they did. I hope it's working because I need this guy to clarify a few things before I lose my shit. Pregnant? Pregnant!

"Well yeah, she might have the breast sensitivity too, kind of like when her period is coming, but worse. Didn't her doctor explain any of this to you guys?" He asks patiently, sliding his hands into his coat pockets. 

"Uh…" Deciding to play along, and maybe get a little more free information out of this guy, since he's a doctor, I continue to follow this pregnancy thing with him. "No, it's still very early. Maybe just a few weeks? We're not even certain she's pregnant yet." 

"Oh! Ok, makes sense why you're so confused then. Got it. Well, yeah you might wanna grab a pregnancy test while you're here then, because some of them now can tell like a week or so after implantation if HCG is present, especially if it's multiples. If it's multiples the symptoms and the HCG will be stronger in her system early on. Might explain why she's already showing signs of nausea. For my wife, on our first kids, twins, she could tell within two weeks. Cramping, fatigue, she had a little spotting and thought she was getting her period at first, and was pretty upset. We were trying to get pregnant. But she took one of those early tests, and confirmed it."

"Fatigue huh? Wait a minute, ok…" Putting up my hands in a stopping motion to slow this all down a bit, I try to gather my thoughts and my words into a semblance of coherence, despite the mass clump of confusion and excitement in my brain. Did he say multiples? "My wife, uh, she's been real tired, and thinks she's getting her period, but it's been at least four weeks and nothing… She's throwing up now, cramping, breasts real sore. But, what do you think of this…um… another doctor told her she can't have anymore babies. She's had two miscarriages after our son who is 15." I confide to him, lowering my voice and scanning the mostly empty grocery store for anyone who might be listening. This feels like a delicate conversation to be having in public given the sensitive nature of what I'm sharing, and it seems odd to be doing so with this stranger, but he's shedding light on something that I did consider asking her about. The whole time I've known her, she hasn't had a period. It's been nearly five weeks and nothing. I'm no OBGYN, but I was a married man, and I know to expect 'Aunt Flo' usually once a month. Not wanting to pry, and obviously enjoying all of the sex we have been having without her period's interruption, I haven't said anything. Not that I would care about Michonne being on her period anyway. It wouldn't hamper my desire to have sex with her.

Regardless, I'm eagerly awaiting the good doctor's thoughts on the situation. He seems to be giving what I said some thought, nodding to himself, taking his time, but I need him to hurry up and just tell me if he thinks she's pregnant or if it's even a possibility. Maybe the quiet, steady tenor of my voice betrayed me and falsely communicated to him that I'm calm, but I'm not. Honestly, the more the possibility unfurls in my brain, in my heart, the more I'm freaking the fuck out! Is it possible that Michonne is pregnant? With my baby? My baby!

Giving me that easy-going, gentle smile again, Heath pats me on the back, and finally offers his thoughts in the same professional manner he's been approaching this whole conversation with. "Hey man, listen, medicine is not a perfect science. Doctors would like to think it is. I mean, I have nearly $200,000 in student loans that says it should be, but it's not. Anything is possible. If she still has a uterus, is ovulating…? Anything is possible. I don't want to get your hopes up, especially after hearing about the miscarriages. I'm sorry about that by the way, but you know, the human body is both a miracle of nature and a wonder of cosmic engineering. Its design is a masterpiece of form, function, and fallibility. I have a patient, she's 50, thought she was going through menopause then showed up nearly four months pregnant. I have another patient that only has one fallopian tube, and after nearly ten years of trying to get pregnant, she popped up pregnant. Just remember, that anything can happen, my friend. You think you're retiring from baby days, and poof!" Snapping his fingers, he nods his head at me, confirming the true possibility of what he's suggesting, and immediately it sets my heart to racing. Like Nascar racing. Like hundred miles an hour, turn left, turn left, pedal to the floor, racing. 

"Really?"

"Really. Ya know, if I were you, I would just pick up a test. What's it gonna hurt? And if it's positive, here is my card. Good luck, man. I gotta get this ginger home for my wife. We're expecting our third baby in seven months, and she's feeling kind of like your wife is right now." Clapping me on the back again, and giving me a large smile, a knowing one that shows all of his teeth, he turns away, pushing his cart towards the front of the store while I stand there, dumbfounded. Pregnant? Michonne? With my baby? My baby!

And I still don't believe it. I've been walking the store for nearly thirty minutes, purposely avoiding the aisle that might have the pregnancy tests in it. I just… I don't want to get my hopes up, though I committed everything Heath said to memory. I could recite our whole conversation word for word if needed. And maybe I will need to, in order to discuss this with Michonne, because I know this might be a difficult conversation. I realized on the night of the Maxwell concert we attended, that the idea of pregnancy is a sore spot for her. I get it. I know why it is. I know that asshole she used to be married to didn't have enough empathy in him to treat her with the care and respect she deserves, and now the conversation of babies is a non-starter. But, how can we ignore this potential miracle? How could we simply disregard the possibility that we have created life, together?

The very thought has me sweating. My hands are clenched in a death grip on the shopping cart, knuckles white. Forehead is clammy, perspiration dampening my face. A baby? My baby. My Michonne. It's all swirling around in my head, a cacophony of possibilities filling me with the sweet, sticky happiness of cotton candy confections and dreams. Michonne swollen, beautiful, glowing, carrying our child. The delectable sable cast of her exquisite skin, stretching, it's velvety smoothness glowing, luminous as it fans out over her body to house and protect our most precious creation. The evidence of our love, our passion, our commitment to each other. And now I'm grinning, like an idiot, a fool, so in love with this woman, with the possibility, that I'm floating on air, light and feathery, dropping all manner of random things into my cart.

Big Kat chocolate bars? Let me grab a couple of those. Michonne has been inhaling those. Eggs, bread, milk, sugar? Need it for the French toast I'm going to make her in the morning. Turkey sausage, grab some of that. Andre and his no pork rule. Ranch dressing. Let me get this big bottle so Carl can drown his chicken in it. I don't know how he can even taste the chicken under all the damn ranch dressing. Beer? Nope, not anymore. Gotta keep my senses sharp just in case we've got a baby on the way. Green tea? Yeah, he said green not black. No more caffeine, gotta get rid of the coffee at her house. No more caffeine for the baby. The baby. My baby. Our baby!

Feeling my phone vibrating in my coat pocket, my attention is pulled back from the random aimlessness of my grocery shopping. Reaching into my pocket, I retrieve it, noticing that it's a call from Carl.

"Hey, Carl, what's up?"

"Is the coast clear for Andre and I to come back yet? Is everything cool?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, with his dad showing up unannounced, and the noise coming from Michonne's room, we thought it might get…awkward?"

"Noises?"

"Yeah, Dad, noises. Loud…ahem… adult noises."

"Ah, got it." Sheepishly I duck my head, even though Carl can't see me, I'm slightly embarrassed that my son heard Michonne and I having sex. We got a little carried away I suppose. I did. She caught me off guard. There was no expectation on my part that we would be having sex tonight with her not feeling well. But, in true Michonne form, she left me speechless when she mounted me with her soft, wet body in the bathtub. I tried to restrain myself, but how could I? She owns me. And she knows it. I can't turn her down, it's simply not possible. And there's no way in hell that I wasn't going to fuck her, and punish her when she asked for it. I don't even own the kind of restraint that would require. Oh well, nothing I can do about it now, though it is amusing to think that her ex probably heard us too. Good. The thought of that spineless, son of a bitch hearing me take care of my lady, and her so vocally enjoying it, pleases me. Instead of feeling ashamed like I just did for a brief moment, I smile, and offer my son a quick apology. "Sorry you guys had to hear that."

"It's not the first time, Dad. Probably won't be the last." Carl groans, and if I know my son, at this minute he's rolling his eyes and flushing a bright crimson red as well. "But, you and Andre's dad are getting along? Everything is cool?"

"It's cool."

"Not the word I was expecting, but ok, Dad." He nervously chuckles. "That's why we got out of there. We were expecting something more dangerous to go down. Sometimes you have a temper."

Laughing a little at their strategic move to make themselves scarce just in case, I have to agree that it was a good idea, and yes, I have been known to have a temper. Not always, but, it's happened. In my younger days when I played ball, and when I was first a deputy, there were instances where aggression was my first response to adversity. It made me a good pitcher. My coaches, and even the recruiters who came to see me play often remarked that it gave me some unique qualities that more passive or neutral pitchers didn't have. When I was on the mound, I simply didn't care what anyone thought of me because I knew I was good. I worked hard, I'd been playing the game since I was five years old, and had my own pitching coach since I was ten. My stats and the amount of attention I got for striking some of the best batters out was my reward for all of the hard work, it's what kept me working harder and harder. For this reason, I was one of the most well known, and most feared pitchers in the state of Georgia.

As a deputy it made me unafraid of confrontation. Hell, I actually thrived in the more intense situations that others might shy away from. And when paired with Shane, it made us a pair that no one wanted to cross. It was that way on the baseball field, and that way in King County. Rick Grimes was real cool, until he wasn't, and you simply did not want to fuck with him. Period. I had become well known as a leader, someone guys respected, and women wanted. I guess Carl has heard enough of the stories from my dad about me hitting batters with 90 mile an hour pitches and not giving a fuck, and from Shane about neither of us ever running from a fight, to know all about my temper. So, yeah, the kid is right.

After Shane left the sheriff's office, and things started crumbling with Lori, I tried to reign all of that in. Be a little more reflective on how all of that could have contributed to my failed marriage. To how my son might see me, and how he might grow up, emulating that kind of behavior himself. Seeing how it can dangerously turn in on a man, toxically poison the purity of families like the Peletiers, the Andersons, the Anthonys… I just don't want that to ever be me. So, I fell back from that a little. Losing my MLB future, my wife, my family, it has humbled me some. Taken down the cocky confidence I once brandished like a weapon in the very basic fiber of my being. He's still there though, just under the surface, waiting. The truth is, sometimes when trouble hits too close to home, when those I love are threatened, that man isn't waiting that far in my rear view either, as Shane learned a few days ago. I'm still a work in progress, but I have noticed that being with Michonne seems to have reinvigorated parts of that dormant man. Some of the more dominant, aggressive, pieces, the need to protective, the confidence.

"Nah, it's all good. No fighting. And actually it might be a good idea for you guys to head back to the house. Michonne's still not feeling well. Started throwing up. I'm at the store now grabbing some things for her to help her feel better. I'll be back in just a bit."

"You left her alone with him?" Carl whispers, as though he doesn't want those around him to hear. Namely Andre. This is an odd situation, so I completely understand his hesitance for his friend to hear him concerned about his parents being alone together. Carl is smart, and he's clearly thought through the dynamic of me dating Andre's mother, his father showing up, hearing us together, and Andre wanting his parents back together, at least he did only a few short weeks ago. It's my hope that he's changed his mind considering how close we have gotten, and how happy he sees that his mother is with me, but it's not incomprehensible that he's not still holding out hope. Given all of this, it's a perfect storm of sorts, and I can sense that Carl is approaching it with precarious forethought because he doesn't want things, this new family we seem to be building with Michonne and Andre, to destructively fall apart. I get it. Carl is as wounded by the events of the last few years as any of the rest of us. He has seen his family eviscerated by adult drama, and I'm keenly aware of the scars he bears as a result. The tinge of fear underlying his maturing teenage voice bear witness to what Carl has survived, and I won't put him through it again. If I learned nothing else over the last year, it's that divorce doesn't just wound the adults. It leaves behind it a trail of broken hearts, and destroyed promises for adults and children alike.

"Carl, I don't want you to worry about this, ok? This is adult stuff that Michonne and I will work out. Everything will be ok. I promise. Ok?" It damn sure better. Especially if she's pregnant. Looking up I realize that I must have been so distracted by my phone call that I have somehow ambled into the very aisle that I was carefully avoiding, and now I'm face to face with a plethora of pregnancy tests. Stumbling over my words as my eyes erratically scan the shelves, I offer in closing, "Uh, so you guys head on home whenever you're ready. I'll be there directly."

"Ok, Dad."

"Ok." I mutter, and hit the end button on my phone's screen. Narrowly focusing my gaze on the rows of glossy, pink and blue boxes, I begin to more intensely scrutinize the words on them and notice the advertising is promising a variation of the very thing my heart is now seeking. I run my fingers over the words emblazoned across each box. Accurate results! Early confirmation! First response! Clearblue Easy with digital results! How the hell am I supposed to choose the right one? My head is spinning again, it's all a bit much for a guy like me. A guy who just a little over a month ago didn't have a whole lot to look forward to. Who never would have imagined that a beauty like Michonne would give me a glance, let alone sleep with me. But now there's the prospect of lasting love, and a second chance at a family. A baby. It's a whirlwind, a raging torrent of emotions and experiences, filling my once staid existence with love and hope. And overwhelming my once dormant senses in such a short amount of time.

Since I met Michonne that is the story of my life. This amazing woman has blown my mind and turned me upside down, and inside out, shaking me up and releasing me in the wonderful world of Michonne. Like Dorothy in Oz, I'm a little imbalanced by this magical turn of events, but I couldn't be more thankful for the possibility offered in this adventure. An excursion, an exciting journey anchored in love.

Thinking of her, and wanting to get back to her, to not allow that asshole any more time alone with her, I grab one of each of the tests, and rush to the front of the store. Scanning each of my items through the self-checkout in record time, I speed back because there's no place like home. To my lady. To my Michonne.

"Yeah, I'm moving back to Atlanta. I think it's the best thing to do. For me, for Andre. For all of us."

"I'm sure Andre will be pleased to have you back here. He definitely misses you."

"He the only one?" Mike asks Michonne. Walking through the front door, I can hear his voice before I see him, and I'm thankful for that because when I do see him, had I not been prepared by his verbal pleas, I might have punched him first and asked questions later. On one knee in front of Michonne, who's laying on the couch in the same spot I left her, Mike has her delicate hand clutched greedily in one of his, while the other is cupping her cheek, his thumb caressing the softness of her skin.

Before she notices me, Michonne jerks away from his touch, flinching as though burned by him daring to touch her, and her eyes light up, a flicker dancing with something I've never seen there before. Anger. Instantly it cools my own temper to know that she and I remain on one accord. No one, nothing gets between us, and as she becomes aware of my presence, her gaze transforms, softens as it lands on me, the twinkle of stardust glittering on the surface of her dark pupils. And it helps me remember the most important thing, she loves me. Not him. Me.

"Everything ok here? Michonne, honey, you feeling any better?" I ask, my own cool eyes never leaving hers, completely dismissing her ex's intruding presence.

"Yeah, baby, I'm good." She confirms in her breathy voice, a smile curving her full, pretty lips as she yanks her hand away from him. "You were gone too long."

Displeasure drops his face into a frown at her coldly taking her hand from him, and no longer gifting him with her attention. Rising, he moves to sit on the end of the couch opposite her, and folds his arms in a petulant pout.

"I picked up a few things." Lifting the bags for her perusal, I pull out the ginger, and show off the other things I bought that we probably didn't need. There are still other bags though, two others that hold all of the pregnancy tests I purchased. Those remain in the back seat of my truck. I should have brought them in with me. I didn't. I chickened out. When I pulled up into the driveway, a little voice in the bag of my head kept at me, guiding me, telling me to be easy. She's skittish still. This is a difficult subject for her. I know! I know! I gave in. I left them behind, and will have to figure out how to broach the subject with her later, ease her into the conversation. But, accosting her with bags of impulse purchases is not the way to approach this with my delicate little bird. I can't risk her fluttering away from me, hurting both of us in the process. Or worse yet, stoking the fires of her discontent, back into the dangerous arms of her feckless ex. No, I need a little more finesse on this one. "I'll fix you some tea, then we can head up for bed."

Walking into the kitchen, I drop my bags on the counter, and within a few moments I can feel the press of Michonne's tiny body to my back, and her toned arms around my midsection. The closeness of her form warms me, knocks the chill from the January wind from my clothes, and engulfs me in her welcoming heat.

"Looks like you got more than a few things?" She whispers as I begin unloading the bags, a questioning lilt at the end of her words. Reaching around me she begins to help as well, and as soon as my eye catches the sight of the blue and pink packaging of one of the tests in her hand, I drop my head because know I'm in trouble. Shit. This is why I don't lie and I don't sneak. I'm terrible at it. While my brother Jeff can lie and be sneaky with a straight face, get away with anything, I start sweating and confessing within minutes of even being suspected of wrongdoing. Guess who got in trouble the most when they were kid?

Now standing next to me on my right side, Michonne raises the box to her face, and seemingly freezes. Glancing over her head to where her ex is still sitting in the living room, distracted with his thumb gliding over the screen of is phone, I take a deep breath, ready to come clean. "Let's go upstairs. I'll explain."

Unblinking, unsmiling, Michonne keeps the box tight in her hand and does a curt about face to turn towards the steps. As her foot hits the first few steps she announces over her shoulder just as Andre and Carl walk back in through the front door. "Rick and I are heading to bed. Mike you can stay in the room at the end of the hall like you usually do. Andre, Carl, I'll see you guys in the morning. Love you. Rick?" Slightly turning her head to find me, she quirks her eyebrow, as though needing to ensure that I'm following her orders. I am. I'm also trying to quickly figure out how I'm going to ease her into this conversation, and wondering how they hell that one test got in the bags that came in the house?

"Coming." I answer, then swivel my head to greet the boys and offer them a few brief hugs, needing to hurry so as not to give Michonne time to come up with her own theories on why I bought the pregnancy test. I'm not saying she's dramatic, but I am saying she has a good imagination. How can she not with all of the movies this woman watches? She told me once that she thought her neighbor across the street was a spy because he comes and goes at odd hours of the night, and is always wearing dark clothes. Last week when I tried to explain to her that I met him one night when I was taking out the trash, and that he's an airline pilot who flies in and out of town at all hours, her only response was an eye roll, and a pat to my knee, as if I was the one who was wrong. In a condescending tone she advised me sweetly, that of course he would say that, that's his cover.

"Rick?" she calls for me again from the top of the stairs, and I can see she is stopped in the doorway to her bedroom, her fingers drumming loudly against the frame of the door.

"Awe man, Rick, what did you do?" Andre whispers, his hand over his lips as though he was trying to hide his communication from his mother's scrutinizing stare from upstairs.

"What makes you think I did anything?"

"I heard how she called your name. You better go before she throws in your middle and last names also, then you're really in trouble."

"That's true. She called me Carl Robert Grimes a few weeks ago when I left my plate in the sink instead of putting it in the dishwasher. Then I got a polite talking to about cleaning up after myself, and how she doesn't work for us. So, yeah, Dad. What did you do?"

"You two mind your business, I'm a grown man. I don't get in trouble."

"Richard!" Michonne sweetly calls again, and yeah, I think I'm in trouble.

"Coming!" Running up the stairs two at a time, to the snickering laughter coming from the boys, the last thing I hear before shutting the bedroom door behind myself, is Mike asking Andre if it's always like this around here.

Sitting calmly on the bed, one long leg daintily crossed over the other, peeking from between the opening of her robe, Michonne is still holding the box in her hand. But instead of the scowl I thought I would find, her sexy lips are pursed into a sly little smile. A smile?

"You think I'm pregnant?"

"Don't you?"

"I told you I can't have anymore babies, Rick. I know you want more kids. I know, baby, and I wish I could give you that. I hate disappointing you, but…"

"You could never disappoint me. But, let's think this through, ok." Counting off on my fingers, I list the symptoms that I discussed with the doctor in the grocery store. "Nausea, throwing up, fatigue, cramping-"

"Rick, baby-" Putting her hands up as if to halt my list recitation, Michonne is sadly shaking her head back and forth, refusing to entertain the very idea of it.

"What's it gonna hurt for us to check?" I shrug, echoing Heath's words spoken to me at the store, and unable to look directly at her any longer. I can't. I don't want her to see the hopefulness that is surely swimming in my own eyes. And I can't bear the pity for me daring to hope, that I'm sure to find in hers. Instead I step across the floor in front of her, back and forth, eyes downcast, watching my feet sink into the carpet, awaiting her answer.

Softly, in an almost inaudible voice, so small, barely there, she offers. "If I take this test, will you let this go?" Reaching out for me now, taking a hold of my hand, she halts my movements and clutches it tightly and squeezes, regaining my attention to her face. Nothing but the warm chocolate of her alluring eyes can be found there. Not pity. Something else. Something loving and kind. It's welling up in the depths of her wide eyes. That something pushes forward, transforming the emotions on her face from anguished pity, to clear, transparent adoration. For me. It's this feeling for me that brings her to her feet, pulling me into the bathroom behind her, to put to rest either way, regardless of her disbelief, the possibility.

Walking in to the small room with the toilet, test in hand, Michonne quietly closes the door behind her, sectioning herself off from my wandering eyes with the soft click of it latching closed. Dropping to the white stool placed in front of her vanity, I lean my head forward, catching it in the palms of both of my upturned hands. And I wait. Briefly I can make out the twinkling of her peeing in the toilet, then a flush. Then nothing.

It's in this span of time, where everything is still, petrified in the moment, that my life becomes so clear to me. My world, every one, everything that means anything to me is here in this house with me. And regardless of the results of this test, the best thing to ever happen to me is waiting, probably petrified, behind that closed door. It's the purest, sincerest thought I can muster right now. It's a sobering premise. That no matter what, this thing between Michonne and I, is enough. The family we've already put together, her, me, Andre, and Carl, is enough. It might have to be, and despite the flood of anticipation and desire that drives me to want to create more love, more life with this woman…she is enough. Now and forever.

Minutes have crawled by, and with my head heavily drooped forward, engulfed in the loud busy traffic of my own rapid thoughts, I have somehow missed that Michonne is standing in front of me. But I feel her, her energy calling, pulling at mine, a magnetic and visceral attraction I've come to recognize as my soul's recognition of its compliment. In tuned to her cosmic vibrations, I look up, ready to face the expected revelation of truth, but unprepared for the actual sight. My chest begins to bulk, and sink, protecting itself against the attack of spasms blasting through my heart as I bear witness to the life transforming sight of my lady.

Tears. Damn. What have I done?

"I'm sorry, sweetheart." Instantly I scramble to try and make it better, to correct any wrong I've done. Why did I push on this when I already know she can't have children? Why? Now I've hurt her, pressed into the flesh of an already open wound.

"Rick…" Frozen, like a deer in headlights, my sweetheart is stock still, an ethereal glow bathing her beautiful face. Fingers, thin, trembling, brush over the rough stubble on my cheeks. Dark eyes, shiny, glistening. Round, wide…so big I can almost see my reflection in her gaze. Dazzling, shiny, fat tears roll, thunder down her face. Over the rise of her soft rounded cheeks. Across the slope of her wide nose. Cascading down the drawn in pucker of her pretty lips. Streaks of wet, dewy emotions, escape, leaving behind the slick trail of her tears. Tears that evidence the evolution of us, our journey. Together.

"It's good to see you guys together."

"Thanks, man."

"No problem. You're good for her. She needs good. She deserves good. More than any woman I have ever known. She's fought so hard for it. For herself, for Andre."

"I agree. I love her."

"She loves you too. She's a tough egg now, harder to crack than before. But she and I talk, and I know how she feels about you."

"I know. She told me too." Grinning, I watch my sweetheart skimming through the crowd of young bodies sporting high top fades, colorful shirts and jeans, baggy pants, and big earrings, grinding, shaking, twisting, moving to the beat of a song that I have never heard before. I've actually never heard of any of these songs, but when you mainly listen to classic rock, and country music that's bound to happen at a 90s themed birthday party where the DJ sticks to mostly rap and R&B. Among the party crowd, I spy Andre, grooving, dancing smoothly, bumping his body to the beat against Cyndie, who is fluidly bumping right back. "I love her more."

"I believe that, Rick, I do. I can see it all over both of you. And Andre looks happy, really happy. Not so serious and watchful as he has been over the last year. This is what I have always wanted for her. After our little, ahem, experiment back in high school, and I realized that I am indeed a gay man, I was a little sad for her. For both of us really."

Bouncing his baby daughter Liana in my arms, my gaze finally leaves Michonne's smiling face, to look over at her best friend Aaron. Over the time that Michonne and I have been going out I haven't had a lot of time to spend to get to know him, dedicating the majority of my time to her and Andre, but from what I do know of him, I like. He seems genuine, and now that I understand the nature of their relationship better, I'm grateful for it. Aaron loves her. He is one of the main reasons that she escaped her marriage in one piece. Andre told me how Aaron would spend multiple nights with them when they moved to this new house, keeping her company, safe, happy. He helped her find the movers, to bring her things to this new house, and pick out new furniture for a fresh start. Kept her consistently moving forward, the memory of her failed marriage buried under her triumphant feet. And on those days and nights when she was lonely, when she couldn't forget, he was there. A true friend, inciting more bouts of laughter than tears, his watchful, caring support and camaraderie helped guide her through a very difficult time. For that I am eternally thankful.

"Why?"

"Because I wouldn't be able to keep her, protect her, forever. Not like that. I would have to let some guy have that spot, and as soon as I did that son of a bitch Mike showed up." Clenching his jaw, the words grind out angrily from the usually calm man, his stoic nature betraying him. "She met him in college, and I could have kicked myself. Ya know we had a little pregnancy scare after that one time together. We were so silly, we didn't use a condom, we basically fumbled through three minutes of the most comical sexual encounter ever. It was too pitiful to even really require a condom if you know what I mean. Kind of over before I really got started."

Shakily I laugh, because it is funny. Yes, I know what he means, given that my own first sexual encounter lasted about an embarassing 10 seconds after I got inside of the girl. But, it's also not. We may be friendly now, but I really don't wanna hear about him having sex with my lady.

Maybe Aaron can sense that my laughter is not genuine because he gives me a quick chuckle of his own, even as he delivers a narrowed eye glare and sneer towards my feet where Teeny is slithering and swaying herself adoringly between the wide stance of my feet. "It was more of a farce than anything, and definitely not sexy, but because of our love for each other it was memorable and special. Anyway, for a tiny speck, a little moment, when she said her period was late I wished she was pregnant."

"Really?"

"Really. That way she could always be mine. In a very real way. Just because I'm not romantically attracted to her doesn't make our love for each other any less real. She always talks about how I saved her, and I take care of her, but she has done that and even more for me. That woman has loved me when I couldn't love myself. When my southern Baptist parents decided that a gay son was unlovable. So, everything I do, everything I feel for her, is in repayment for what she has already done, and how she has loved me."

"She's special like that."

"She says it's 'black girl magic'." Hooking his fingers to add quotations, I'm inclined to agree, and can only laugh, a loud guffaw that nearly wakes the sleeping baby in my arms. Jostling her, and rocking her, she quickly settles back to sleep, nuzzling into the crook of my elbow. "Now I hear this idiot wants to move back to Atlanta and ruin all of the progress she's made."

"Yeah, that's what I hear. I'm not worried though." I say this with the strongest confidence I can muster, raising my voice a little to be heard over the DJ who begins to slow the music down, and speak into the microphone.

"This is a 90s slow jam dedication from Mr. A to Mrs. A." Instantly the lights in the living room, which has been cleared of most of the furniture to create a dance floor, are lowered, and the smooth sounds of a guitar and a female voice croon through the speakers.

"I don't want to be (be without yah be without yah)
I don't want to live (live without yah live without yah)
I don't want to go (go without yah go without yah)
I don't want to be alone…"

As suddenly as the song begins to play, I notice that Mike has Michonne's hand and is fruitlessly trying to lead her to the middle of the room. Even under the sepia cast of the low lights I can see that she is not smiling. But that doesn't deter her clueless ex. He's probably not used to this Michonne. No, he's more familiar with the capitulating woman who tried desperately to please him, willing to do almost anything to keep him. But that woman doesn't exist anymore. I smirk to myself realizing that he'll have to find out the hard way.

"God I hate him. I know it's not a nice thing to say, but I do. I hate him." Aaron grouses, watching Mike continue to try and sweet talk Michonne into dancing with him. Still without success.

"Yeah, me too. But, I'm still not worried."

"How can you be so cool about this. Look at how hard he's trying." Gesturing his hands towards them, Aaron is clearly agitated. Turning red, blustering at the sight of them together. But I don't have even the tiniest speck of concern. Her eyes are on me. She may be somewhat distracted by getting rid of him, but Michonne's eyes find mine, and we share a tiny knowing smile. And that's all it takes to send my heart fluttering, beating against my chest. My pulse racing. She shoves Mike's hand from her arm for the last time, and gives him a push with some kick. Just enough to back him away from her, then she begins walking towards me.

"Hand me my baby, Rick, I think it's time for me and Liana to head on home." Aaron commands, witnessing the intent with which Michonne approaches me. Reluctantly I hand the sweet, sleeping girl over to her father, and with a parting glance, my feet begin to move me towards my lady.

"When we hooked up
We sat down
Made an agreement
We vowed that

That we'd always be together
Do whatever
We said that
No one ever get between us

That we'd never ever leave us
That was a while ago…"

In the living room, Michonne and I meet each other half way, as her ex-husband stands behind her watching, forgotten in the mix of swaying bodies, clearly displeased for how his song dedication worked out. Reaching her hands around my neck, she brings me down to her and kisses me delicately on the lips. Once. Twice.

"This is one of my favorite songs. Dance with me."

"How could I ever say no to you?" I answer, with more truth in that quip than she knows.

Spinning her body around like a graceful ballerina, dangling from the lift of my hand connected to hers, she's backing up into me, her plump bottom now nestled into the curve of my groin. In a pair of baggy, colorful jeans, a tight half top, that exposes her abdomen, her hair in a high ponytail, a choker, and a band aid beneath her left eye, she looks so much younger than her 30 plus years, and it's as though we are transformed from this place. From our 30s and back to our teens. When I was a baseball prodigy, destined for major league greatness. And when she was a brilliant scholar, eager to take on the world armed with her optimism and thirst for change. So pure and untouched, before injured shoulders, and ex spouses taught us a tough lesson about such inexperienced idealism. But I can feel it again, a buoyant elation that's reminiscent of those youthful dreams, washing over us with the promise of something new, just as pure and well within our grasp.

Seductively glancing at me over her shoulder, she wraps my hands around her wide hips, lacing her fingers with mine. Licking at my lips, I can only stare at her, wondering at her movements. In sync with the music, no longer tense from her interaction with Mike, Michonne loosely begins a slow, sexy grind of her own, winding her body in a sensual, figure eight wave against me. All I can do is hold on. I've never danced like this, so I don't know what to do.

She owns me with the wiggle and writhe of her perfect form, nonverbally instructing me on how to remain in sync with her movements. Her sensual motions, so fluid and erotic. I've only seen her move like this while we are in bed, and there is something even more carnal and enticing now, watching her this way, in a room full of people. Her ex-husband included. Especially with the amusing thrill of him glaring, focused on the way she drops low, lower, then winds back up into me.

Damn. I love seeing her like this. Indulging herelf in the happiness of the moment. Twisting back to face me, her arms on my shoulders, she's working me over some more, backing me up to the empty hallway that leads towards the laundry room. With less eyes on us, I'm drawn back to her lips. Angling my face down, closer to hers, I need just a taste of the slick red gloss coloring her juicy lips, making them appear like succulent, sweet, slices of strawberry. I sip from those lips, sucking them smoothly between my own. With my hands around her waist, I no longer remember or care about the music, or the people around us. I can only see her. It happens all the time. This tunnel vision I get when I'm around her, hypnotized and willingly lured into her seductive web.

The song ends, and without words, we continue to kiss. And it takes on a life of its own, growing in fervor and need, my hands squeezing her ass in my hands until she whimpers my name, breaking the spell.

"Rick."

"Hmm?"

"Slow down, baby."

"Hmm?"

"Slow down." Breathless, she finds a thread of restraint and withdraws from my hungry kiss. "Kids around." Panting, a few erratic gasps filter between the modicum of space between our mouths, as she nods back towards the living room.

"Sorry, but your little performance out there…" Tugging on my stiff cock, the restriction of my black jeans is stifling and uncomfortable, and I briefly wonder if we could sneak away upstairs for thirty minutes without anyone noticing.

"I got carried away. Can you believe that asshole dedicated that song to me, and had the nerve to think I would dance with him!"

Sensing that she is gearing up to get upset, hearing the snap in her voice, I pull her back in to me for a hug. "Hey, don't let him get to you, and ruin this. It's a perfect night, right?" I ask, looking over the crowd, and seeing both of our sons dancing closely with two girls. Andre still with Cyndie, and Carl with her sister Macy. We both smile and laugh a little, especially once we both lay eyes on the way Carl seems so out of sorts in his baggy jeans and Timberland boots, his dancing a little jerky, while he and Macy move in a slightly stilted back and forth. Andre on the other hand, the suavest 16-year-old I know, is wearing a black leather vest, a gold chain, with a scarf tied around his head, boots, and a fake nose ring. Apparently he's Tupac. And he's clearly got the same rhythm that his mother has, following right along with the hyped up grooves of the new song that is raunchier than the last. Raising my eyebrows at her at the lyrics, Michone just dips her head and giggles.

"It's our first time together and I'm feeling kinda horny

Conventional methods of makin' love kinda bore

I wanna knock your block off, get my rocks off

Blow your socks off make sure you G spots soft

I'm gonna call you Big Daddy and scream your name

Matter fact I can't wait for your candy rain…"

Even though Andre's birthday party seems to be a success, and pretty perfect in its own right, that's not the only thing I'm talking about when I allude to this night being perfect. We share another smile. A wide, knowing, grin that vibrates the energy between us with light and love. "Right." She agrees, and with a little kiss, she looks up towards the hallway to the front door. Turning the same way, I locate her parents. "Let's get to the best part of the night. Presents and cake!" Rubbing her hands together, she hustles it over to the DJ letting him know that it's time to cut the music.

Skipping the record in a purposeful scratch, the DJ easily mixes the beat into a song he announces as "Dre Day". No lyrics play, just the funky layering of the intro, looped over and over again, as Andre steps to where his mother is standing at the DJ booth. Mike joins them, and for a brief moment it bothers me. I hate to admit it, but it does. Just because of how perfect, and normal they look there together. Andre a perfect mixture of them both, their features and mannerisms so evident in his makeup. The dark sable of his skin, an impeccable reproduction of his parents'. He's got Mike's height, his thick eyebrows, his face and smile. He's got Michonne's lips, and her eyes. It pains my heart, causes a tiny wound, as Carl sidles up next to me, watching me. I guess to see how I'm dealing with this. I hope he doesn't sense the inkling of distress crawling over my skin. It's small, imperceptible. But I can feel it reminding me, showing me in glaring detail that no matter how we cobble together our families, someone else was there first. Mike. Lori.

"You ok, Dad?"

"Yeah, Carl, I'm fine. You having a good time?"

"Awesome time! This is the best party I've ever been to!" He answers enthusiastically.

"Good. You look like you were having a fun time with Macy. She's very pretty."

Blushing, and dipping his head as though he could hide the scarlet flush of his pale skin, Carl can only snort out a quick, "Yeah…"

"You really like her, huh?" I pat him on the back, as Michonne takes the microphone and begins to make an announcement.

"Yeah… I do. I would like for her to be my girlfriend." Carl nods, a crooked grin to his lips. "I wanna spend more time here. In Atlanta. With her, and Andre, and Michonne. I would like that."

"You would?"

"Yeah. I mean, I don't wanna leave Mom or nothing. Just weekends, like I already do with you in KC. But here. Like a family, ya know. Michonne says maybe." Carl nods, and probably more out of habit than anything, he swipes his hand across his face to move back the hair that isn't really there anymore. And now that it is shorter, no longer shrouding him from my scrutiny, I can really witness how his features have matured, taken on a more adult look. When his longer hair hid more of his face, it was hard to tell that his baby fat had begun to thin out, in place of chiseled cheeks, and finer features. Some of them mine. Some of them Lori's. Like Andre, he is a mix of his parents, though it's probably more of me, as he looks a great deal like I did at his age with hair growing in fine, and dark across his top lip, and his chin. And I laugh to myself in recognition that he will probably be hairy like me also.

I am aware that he hit puberty many years ago, but I suppose in the quiet drama of my marriage deteriorating, and the subsequent divorce, Carl's maturation has been assumed, and not so heavily acknowledged as it might have been had his mother and I both been more focused on our son instead of salvaging our own lives. A hint of shame withers me for a moment, droops my shoulders and stills me where I stand, as I think of how much I may have missed simply for not paying close enough attention to my son.

Carl spends his weekends with me, but sometimes I'm so tired from work that we literally just eat and watch television together. Or sometimes we hunt, or fish. But those activities require that there not be a lot of talking. This is something that Lori always accused me of. Doing, but not talking. Not paying attention. Not being present, as though I didn't want to be there. Maybe I didn't. I found solace in silence, retreating into and welcoming the comfort of my own thoughts. But now? My eyes are wide open now, and since Michonne, I can't stop talking and noticing, wanting to be present. Her and Andre talk constantly. About how they feel, about what they notice around them, in the world. About goals. Books, movies, music, current events. They consume, analyze, discuss, and experience the world together. And now Carl does too.

Andre may be a smart ass, but he is a very intelligent one who can easily maneuver through critical thinking and expression. It amazes me. Though I'm proud that I have built a fatherly connection with Andre around certain things, I am learning so much from him and Michonne on how to be present. How to be in the moment with the people I love, sharing myself, who I really am, the things I'm passionate about. And, for Carl and I, this is eye opening. And like Carl, yes I want this more often. This invigorating way to truly experience life and loved ones. I want to be here, as a family. To be present.

So, now I watch, I listen, I talk. And standing in this spot watching my adolescent son, crushing on a girl, just like his old man is, I know with certainty that what Michonne and I are building here, together, is right. How could it not be? At every turn, despite roadblocks, obstacles, there is confirmation that this is different. This is right, and it's where I want to be.

"Yeah, Carl, maybe." I grin, echoing Michonne's response and knowing in my heart I'm already strategizing on how to turn that noncommittal maybe, into a firmly committed yes. Especially given the circumstances.

Our attention is snatched back to the front of the room where Michonne is talking into the mic, just in time to see that her parents have joined her, and are handing over the keys to a car to Andre. This is the first time I have actually seen her parents, and knew that they are her parents, and I have to agree with my father's assessment, her mother Nia is very pretty. Not pretty. She's beautiful, and is definitely built very well. Her and Michonne favor each other so much it's uncanny, and I'm very pleased to know that this is my lady's future. With the same smooth dark skin, a flawless and creamy shade of brown, the color of rich, fertile earth, and the same full lips, together they are a sight. A matching pair of feminine perfection. Her father on the other hand is a very tall, lighter brown skinned man, with a large presence. Big hands hang at the end of large well muscled arms, and a barrel chest. At first glance his stature is intimidating, but the proud smile on his face, and the twinkle in his eyes, showcases the softness he has for his family.

"Nana, Pops, and I are giving you this car. Not just because it's your birthday, but because you have earned it by showing us that you are a responsible, mature young man. You get straight As, and you juggle that very well with your extra curricular activities. I'm very proud to see you becoming such a wonderful young man, Andre. Happy 16th birthday, sweetheart!" With tears in her eyes, a common sight as of late, she hugs Andre tightly to her. Then Mike joins in, and takes the mic from her hand.

"On this joyous occasion, I want to give a gift of my own. Not to my son though, his gift is tomorrow when we go to the Falcons game. But, to his mother. Michonne, today isn't just Dre's day, it's our day too. It's the day we became parents, when you gifted me with my son. We became a family on this day 16 years ago, and I want to thank you. I got you a little something. Well, like what Dre got… a big something! Come outside and see."

From there things seem to move quickly, with Andre rushing outside to see the new car he got, and Mike leading Michonne outside as well. Making eye contact with me on her way out through the front door, with me not too far behind, Michonne gasps at what she sees in her driveway. Among the numerous other cars from the partygoers, is a brand new, shiny black Range Rover, adorned with a large red bow.

"Mike… this is-"

"I know, I know, it's expensive, but you deserve it. I want you to have it. I know the one I bought you years ago is giving you trouble, so I'm replacing it with this new one. It's all paid for cash, the title is in the glove box."

With her hand to her forehead, as though a headache is coming, Michonne rolls her eyes at his presumptiveness, and turns again to find me. I'm standing within arm's reach, so that's what she does. She reaches for me, and I for her, sensing her distress. Grabbing a hold to her hand, I give it a squeeze, letting her know I'm here for her.

"Mike, it's a nice, very generous gift. But, you shouldn't have, and we will need to talk about this. Later. I don't want to embarrass Andre right now, but this is not good."

"What?"

"It's not a good idea. We'll talk later." She firmly states, then leads me over to where Andre and Carl, as well as his grandparents and a bunch of his friends are checking out his own new ride, a fairly new Honda Civic. Mike has followed us, and I'm wondering how this is all going to go down, especially since Michonne has let me know that once her parents found out about Mike and his behavior, they have not had a kind word to say since. This ought to be good.

"Michonne, hey don't walk away from me, what the hell are you talking about this is not good? Do you know how much that damn truck cost me? It's brand new. $78,000. You need to show $78,000 worth of gratitude." Mike spits, stalking up behind us, his words rushing out in a confrontational manner. I'm not even here for that.

Backing him up from her with my outstretched hand, I meet his charge head on. "Mike, you need to relax. Calm your tone and how you speak to Michonne, ok? Don't cause a scene at Andre's party. Don't do this. It won't end well."

"Man, don't come at me like that. Just because you're some small town cop and shit. Don't do that. Stay outta family business."

"You heard what he said, Michael. You need to keep a civil tongue with my daughter." Mr. Alexander speaks up, crossing his burly arms over his chest, clearly unimpressed by his ex-son in law.

"It's ok, Rick, Dad. Mike, it's a bad idea. All of this is. I know what you're trying to do. Moving back to Atlanta, the extravagant gifts for Andre, for me. It's too little too late. I don't want to embarrass you here in front of everyone, I'm not like you, I don't want to hurt you. But, all of this is really ridiculous."

"Babe, listen, why don't you and me go and talk without all of these folks around. You got your parents over here, your white boy, you can't think with all this interference. Me and you can work this out without the peanut gallery, ok? We just need some time to talk, and be alone." The last bit he directs to me, eyeballing me, then turning back to Michonne. Lowering his voice, perhaps taking note that his actions are drawing the attention of others, namely his son, he leans into her. "Me and you, baby, we can put this back together. Better than before. I bought this truck as a gift, a gesture of my feelings for you. Like I said last night, I know what I did wrong, and I can fix all of that now. Just give me a chance. There's nothing this guy can do for you that I can't. You know that. You know I love you."

"You should go. This is so…ARGH! This is so gotdamn crazy, Mike!" Michonne yells, tossing her head back and laughing, her hands covering her face, then raking through the strands of the ponytail of her thick dreads. It's like a dam has broken within her, and she can no longer hold back the swell of her feelings, rushing forward to overwhelm her.

Placing my hand on Michonne's shoulder, it's hard for me not to want rescue her, to swoop in and make this situation right for her. Right now, she doesn't need the stress, but I'm learning my girl and I know that despite what Mike might think, she is strong and capable, and she is empowered enough to save herself, to fix her own problems. She doesn't need me, or her father to fight her battles for her, though I would, gladly. Because she shouldn't have to do this kind of shit on her own, but that's not the real world, and I can't always be there. So, instead of stepping in and punching Mike in his face, the way my fists are itching to do, I try to restrain myself and let her handle this. At least until she gives me a signal that she needs me to step in, or if Mike crosses a line. I will gladly rearrange this son of a bitch's face then. I'm actually looking forward to it.

"Mom! Ma! Is everything ok over here?" Andre excitedly inquires and hurries over from the driver's side of his car, now standing between his parents. A posture he does not seem unfamiliar with. Stepping in, taking up for his mother. Soon Carl joins as well, his face shuddering at seeing her in distress. Taking note of the rising tension between Michonne, Mike, and myself her mother and father begin to usher the crowd back into the house.

"Come on kids, nothing to see here. How about we do some more dancing, and get ready to cut that big ol cake in there!" She hollers, as her husband ushers the group of teenagers back into the house, leaving the rest of us behind in a small group huddled by the curb in front of Andre's new car.

"Dad, what's going on?" Andre questions, looking into the face of the man he resembles, still waiting for someone to tell him something. Looking his father over, then bouncing back to his mother, there is a struggle. He loves them both. Respects them both. But, when his glare lands on his father again, I can also tell he knows. He can see him. What he's done to her. What he's doing now.

"Dre, I'm moving back to Atlanta. We're gonna be a family again. Me, you, and your mother. I was just trying to tell your mother how this is gonna work if she'd just stop trying to be so bitchy and listen."

"The fuck you say?" I utter, feeling the word erupt from my lips before I have a chance to censor them, "You need to watch what you say to her and about her."

"Mind your business, dude. I'm not gonna say it again. This isn't about you, this is about me and my family. You don't belong here." He points his finger at me. I should break it, and the rest of his hand off and shove it up his ass. Breathe, Rick, just breathe I remind myself, narrowing my eyes on him, as my hands involuntarily ball into fists, and my anger rises, cresting to its peak.

Pushing at his chest, Michonne advances, charging at her ex. "Wait! Mike, you're out of line. You don't belong here. That's what I'm telling you. Rick is my boyfriend. He's my family, and he's here because I love him, and I chose him. He's the reason that I can smile again. That I remembered that regardless of every negative thing you said to me, I am smart and sexy, and beautiful, and desired. And he loves all of me, every perfection and every flaw. And I love him right back." Hearing Michonne say the words out loud, in front of him and our kids takes me by surprise. She's usually fairly reserved with her words, saving these declarations for times when we are alone. But not right now. Not given everything. I can't help but grin, even amid the discord of what Mike is attempting. I smile.

Blowing out a breath, and beginning to pace back and forth I get the feeling that Michonne is just getting warmed up, and has a lot she wants to say to Mike. Matter of fact, I know that after years of repressing how she really feels, all the pain, the uncertainty, tip toeing around his feelings and forgetting her own, she's got a lot to say. She doesn't disappoint as she begins to unload on him. "I have no idea where you are getting these delusions about us getting back together, but that's what they are. Delusions. I'm in a good place, now. I'm happier than I've ever been. Part of that is because of Rick. He's given me back so much of myself, every bit you tried to take from me. Rick helped me really see how special and powerful I am. That I've been that all along, but it's you, Mike. You're the disappointment. The toxic one. The bitchy one. The broken but beautiful one. I'm fine. I'm whole again, no thanks to you."

"You can't be serious, Michonne!" Frowning, his eyes wildly scan her face, searching for the woman he used to know.

"I am. You can't hurt or control me anymore, Mike. Do you know why? Because I'm not interested in what you or anyone else thinks of me, I'm not going to break my neck to please you, when you don't even respect me. You can not buy my love, or forgiveness. I can't be bothered to care anymore. I can't. After all of those years of love I gave you, the best things you ever did were giving me Andre, and walking away."

"What the fu-"

"Mike, you can't be this stupid, man. She already told you she's not interested. If you can't accept that then you should leave." Nostrils flaring, stepping in front of Michonne, I ease her behind me, back safely towards Andre and Carl. I need her out of harm's way because my temper is fuming, and I'm done talking.

"Dude, you need to back the fuck up!"

"I don't think you know who the fuck you're talking to. This is the last time I'm going to give you a chance to leave. I don't want you here upsetting her in her condition." Rubbing my fingers against each other, I'm trying to tamp down the burning sensation in them to ball up into fists and just kick Mike's ass. I should bomb on him first. One good crack should be enough.

"What condition? Ma, are you ok?" Frantic at the catching of that one word, Andre quickly snaps his attention to his mother.

So, I wasn't supposed to mention that just yet. I said too much.

"Rick… I thought we were gonna wait for awhile?" She groans, a crooked smile belying any hint of irritation that my loose lips have caused, and cracking through.

"Sorry. But you don't need the shit this asshole is shoveling."

"Wait! What condition? What the fuck is this guy talking about, Michonne?" Mike yells, his wild eyes bouncing behind me to try and speak directly to Michonne.

"Ma?" Andre asks again, a worried tremble to his voice.

"Michonne?" Carl utters, his own concern bubbling forward in the shaky pronouncement of her name.

"Nothing is wrong, boys, let's just all settle down and go in the house. I'll explain later. But, there's nothing wrong. Ok?" Michonne calms the boys, her hands cupping each of their faces lovingly. "Things are great actually. They're just right." She promises, taking both of their hands. She then does an about face and heads back into the house, leaving her dumbfounded ex alone on the curb.

Staring Mike down, I leave him on a final few words. "Get your shit and go."

"Oh I used to love this song! It's my favorite. Come on, Rick, baby dance with me. Don't be so stiff!"

"I'm trying!" I laugh, knowing there is no way I can dance as well as she does, or keep up with the rhythmic gyrations of her hips, seemingly hitting the drop of the bass just right every time. The music just doesn't move through me the same way it does for her. I'm not a great dancer with my two left feet, but my Michonne is. And tonight she's feeling good. She just had some tea, a little salad for dinner, and a tiny piece of birthday cake. No nausea right now, though she did throw up this morning. She's laughing and teasing me, attempting with no luck to teach me to dance to a mix of 90s hits that the DJ from Andre's party made for her, while we wait for the boys to get back from the football game. Despite their reservations, Michonne encouraged them to go. Andre drove his new car, and they met Mike at the stadium. With him angrily getting his things and leaving last night, it was best that he not come back today.

"You're the only one for me
You're the only one I need
Can't nobody make me feel
The way you're makin' me feel
And girl you know this love is real…"

On a cloud, seemingly weightless and free of worry, in a silky grey nightgown that hits every sleek curve and skims very high on her thick thighs, trimmed in black lace, Michonne two steps back and forth in front of me, then swings her hips, while mouthing the lyrics to yet another of her 'favorite songs'.

"I'll spend the night with you
If you promise you will do
All the things to make me scream
And you know just what I mean
Cuz tonight you taste like ice cream…"

Strolling away, spinning, then bopping her shoulders side to side while inching up closer to me again, she lightly flings her arms around my neck then places her head against my chest. I wrap her up in my arms, my palms cupping the teardrop plumpness of her ass. With my head tilted down towards hers, I listen to her pretty voice as she's singing the words to the song.

"I wanna make you fall in love
Make you touch the stars above
Bring it low and be my friend
I'll come back again and again
And again and again and again…"

"Whew, ok, I'm tired now." She mutters on a breathless huff. "That kinda wore me out."

"Well you've been bopping around all day. Drug me to the mall, and out for dinner. You should be."

"It's your baby in there making me tired. Not shopping and eating."

"Yes it is." I smirk, knowing that she's right.

"Five tests later it's still hard to believe."

"I was convinced after the first one."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'm excited to go to this doctor of yours who diagnosed me in the produce section of Publix. Hear the heartbeat."

"Me too."

"And…I hope…" Sagging a little further into my chest, gifting me with more of the weight of her tired body, she sighs, "we can make it successfully to the end."

"Don't be scared, Michonne."

"I am, though, a little. I'm trying to be brave, but… I've been here before, Rick."

"Not with me you haven't. We got this."

"Just-" Getting choked up, she cuts off her own words on a heavy swallow, followed by a lengthy pause. "Just need to make it past that third month ya know. Then we can breathe, and tell everyone. But, we can't until then. Ok? Not even the boys."

"Ok. We'll make it. Whatever the doctor tells us to do, we'll do it, and we'll make it. Together." I proclaim with all of the confidence and certainty I have, because I believe we will. Together.