Chapter 8 – Rick

"I'll talk to you later, I gotta get in here and get changed. Michonne and I have dinner with my folks, then probably gonna go out for a bit." I sigh, releasing the stress of a long work day.

"Yep. Hey, uh, Michonne ever say if her cousin Sasha has said anything about me? I kinda got the sense after we met that one time that she was feeling me, but she's hard to read ya know? I saw her again at the farm, and she invited me to their birthday party tomorrow night, but I don't know, she's flirty but not like what I'm used to."

"You mean she's not throwing herself at you like Andrea?"

"Yeah! I mean I put some of my best stuff out there, and she's not exactly giving me vibes like she's thrilled with it." Shane says, disappointment coloring his words.

"Well, maybe you don't need to put your best stuff out there, and instead try just being yourself. You got an invite to the party, that's something." I offer, not really knowing how to respond to this uncharacteristic bout of vulnerability I'm seeing in Shane. I've known him all of my life, he's been my best friend since kindergarten, and I've never heard him sound so uncertain about a female. "Listen, I'm pulling up at home. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Alright, bye! Hey, ask Michonne about Sasha for me!" I hear him holler into the phone as I'm hanging up. Michonne's cousin Sasha seems to have thrown Shane for a bit of a loop, and I can't say I'm not surprised. Shane has been with a lot of women. A lot. And the majority of those women have either chased him, or he has barely lifted a finger to get their attention. So for him to be so interested in someone that doesn't seem to fall into that pattern, is fascinating. Honestly, given what I know about Sasha so far, I think she's enjoying watching him chase and squirm a little bit. Good for her.

Driving down the back road that leads from the street to the pole barn on the back of my parents' farm, I see that Michonne's red Jeep is parked out front. I didn't expect to see her until dinner with my parents tonight, but it's a welcome surprise that she's here. I gave her a key to my apartment last week, and despite her initial hesitance to take it, I suppose given the fact that she's here, she has gotten over that and has used it. I'm glad that she did, and the idea of coming home to her, not just today but everyday, fills me with a sense of calm satisfaction that easily overcomes the tired feeling from a long day of work.

Opening the door, I can hear the low mumble of voices speaking a foreign language coming from the television in the bedroom, in the back of the apartment. Dropping my keys on the kitchen table, next to Michonne's own keys and purse, I head towards the bedroom. Laying across the bed on her stomach, legs crossed at the ankle, in nothing but a t-shirt of mine, Michonne's attention is enraptured by the movie she's watching, barely offering me a half wave of her hand and a grunted hello. Wandering my eyes over her prone dusky figure, with the slowly approaching night, the glow of the light from the television, casts a bluish highlight over the cute dip at the small of her back, leading to the curved hump of her plump ass.

Appreciating the sight before me, I'm wondering if we have time for a quickie before heading across the way to my parents'. The tight throbbing of my cock in my pants thinks that we do. Dragging the pads of my fingers from the soles of her feet, up her long smooth legs, to lightly smack, grab, and massage the pillowy cushion of her bottom, I release a groan deep in my throat at the sensation of her satiny skin gliding underneath my fingers. Witnessing the slight jiggle of her ass from my touch, I lick my lips, making up my mind that we can definitely make time for a quickie.

Beginning to squirm from my attention, she swivels her head my way. "Rick, that tickles!" She giggles, shooing me with her left hand.

"Say it again. I like the way you say my name. It almost sounds like you're saying 'wreck' instead of Rick. It's cute."

"What? I say it the right way." She pouts, narrowing her eyes on me as I take a seat next to her on the bed.

"You can say it however you want, as long as you say it again." Leaning over her body, I place a series of kisses along the column of the back of her swan-like neck, and over to her ear.

Giggling again at the wet licking of my tongue along the hollow of her ear, she shakes her head, denying my request. "Nope, because if I do, it's going to lead to something else that we don't have time for, Rick."

"There it is. Wreck!" I laugh, continuing to massage her ass, my ears perking at the continued dialogue from the the movie. "Is this movie in French?"

"Mmhm." She mutters, still squirming under my hand, but also attempting to refocus on the television.

"There's no subtitles? You speak French well enough to watch a full movie in it?" I ask, surprised and delighted to find out something new about my girl, turning my head to the side to make eye contact with her, to witness the mischievous glimmer in her eyes. Everyday that we are together, it seems that I learn something new about Michonne. For one she is a close sleeper. Close as in she literally sleeps tucked right underneath my chin with her arms wrapped snugly around my waist, me spooning her with my leg and arm over her, or her nuzzled up on me with her face in my back, regardless of how hot or sweaty we may be. Somehow she claims this is the only way she can get restful sleep, which I find suspicious since from what I know she has mostly slept alone, except for if or when she slept with that other guy… but I don't like to think about that. I suspect that she really just enjoys being close to me when she sleeps and I don't blame her. On the nights that she stays here, the scent of her in my nose, with her little body pressed tightly against mine, it usually gives me a sense of domestic calm that lulls me blissfully to sleep. I wouldn't trade it for the world. Even if we have to sleep snuggled together like koala bears.

Michonne is also the most intelligent person I have ever met. This is no exaggeration. Sometimes we will watch Jeopardy, and my girl knows the answers to all of the questions, while I'm generally struggling with anything outside of certain categories. It's pretty amazing. Though some guys might find that kind of brilliance intimidating, I find it sexy that her brain is a treasure trove of knowledge, and facts, some simply useless, but still entertaining. A great example is when we were over on Hershel's farm one day, watching the pigs being fed by one of the workers, and she commented that a pig can orgasm for nearly thirty minutes. Why would she know that? Amazed, and maybe a little confused, I could only stare at her in wonderment. What was even funnier was that she couldn't remember why she knew that or how she found out that bit of odd information in the first place. Because she will literally read any and everything, we both assumed she must have read it somewhere, and her astounding memory filed it away somewhere so that she could pull it out at a moment like that one.

Probably the most fascinating thing that I have found out about Michonne though, is that my baby is a freak. A certified, newly discovered, passionate freak, which is something I did not expect, but was delighted to unearth. Our first time together, the untamed intensity of her enthusiastic orgasm, like a small explosion, its heat and vigor nearly burning me alive, virtually caused me to blackout with the gluttonous gratification I experienced. I initially believed that it must have just been about the anticipation of finally being together in that way, for both of us, and that the magnitude of her need for me, and mine for her, would decrease over time. But each time after has been even more fiery, and dynamic, with her eager to try new things, to take more control of our shared pleasure. Her hunger for me, her desire for me to ravage and gorge myself on her, excites her in a way that elicits in me a near dangerous level of obsession with her.

Initially I was worried, concerned that my age might afford me an unfair advantage with her sexually. That she might not be ready or able with her young, lithe body, only softly curved in the hips and ass, to accommodate my size, or my appetite. Lori never truly was, often complaining that I wanted to have sex too often, too aggressive, you name it. For her it was simply too much, and over time, that coupled with everything else about her got tiresome. But, this concern is completely unfounded with Michonne. The truth is that this intelligent, beautiful woman has corrupted and spoiled me, addicted me to the pleasure I find with her. So much so that I spend most of my time counting down the time until I'm in her presence again, delighted by the warmth found in her smile, her arms, and between her thighs. This is the only time that I am thankful for that other guy's apparent neglect of her. Michonne is now mine, and I intend to foster and cultivate her more amorous nature, for both her benefit and mine.

"Oui, je parle français."

"Say something else in French." I plead, attentively awaiting the seductive movement of her lips as she forms the words.

"Va t'habiller, Richard."

Aroused by the sexy sound of the foreign words rolling off her tongue, anchored by my name, I nudge her over to her back, now adjusting my lean hips between her soft thighs, my groin against her heated mound. "That's very sexy, Michonne. Why do you know French? And what did you say?" I inquire, questions coming rapid-fire. Focusing on her lips, wanting to hear the enticing lilt of the foreign language drip from her lips again, especially the way she says Richard, I quirk my eyebrow, waiting for her to stop squirming underneath me, making my dick harder than it already was, and answer my questions.

"My name is French, silly. My mother's family is from Haiti, where they speak French. And I said, that you need to get dressed, Richard."

"Fuck… Yeah I like the way you say my name in French better." Leaning in to capture her full lips, she raises up to meet me with equal hunger, licking and sucking at my bottom lip, and now grinding herself up and against me. "Wait, baby, let me take my holster off" Standing up on my knees, I begin unbuckling my belt when I notice that with her t-shirt pulled up to her breasts, the rippled cuts of her flat abdomen exposed, my eyes fall lower to see that her pussy is completely bare of the hair it had just last night.

"Aimez-vous?" She asks, biting at her bottom lip, and using two fingers to rub at the dark, glistening lips of her pussy. I've never seen it like this, her arousal so obvious, and sticky, no longer disguised in part by pubic hair.

"When did you do that?" Swallowing a groan, I'm reigning in my errant impulse to latch onto her womanhood, and devour the plush, sticky lips. "Sasha and I went to the spa today. I got a full body wax for my birthday. Do you like it?"

"Yes. Yeah… I- uh. It's a surprise."

"A good one?"

"A great one." I utter. In the motion of pushing my uniform pants down, there is a knock at the door. "Fuck, stay here. Do not move from this position." I command, taking one last look at my girlfriend, spread out naughtily across my bed, legs open and waiting for my return.

Fastening my pants back together, I close my bedroom door behind me, and rush to answer the front door. Frustrated that I had to leave the comforting warmth of Michonne's thighs, I throw open the door to find one of the guys who works as a migrant farmer here, and has for a few years, standing on my step. "Hey, Tomas, what can I do for you?"

"I just saw you come in and wanted to let you know that today is my last day. I'm heading back to my country. It has gotten bad for us here in America. It's not so good right now with your American politics."

Frowning now, hands on my hips, I'm trying to understand why or how things have changed for Tomas. I know that there has been a lot of discussion about illegals since the last election, but Tomas and a lot of the other guys have been working here for years. We only hire documented legal workers here, but I know that not all of the farms do, and even as a law enforcement professional I realize that people need to work, so I won't pass any judgment, deserved or otherwise.

"I'm sorry to see you go. Did you talk to my dad yet?"

"Yes. The other guys and I talked to him this morning, but I wanted to talk to you because a lot of the guys who are left have been getting harassed in town. It's… difficult. If you could help in any way that would be great. You are a good one, Rick. Thank you." Tomas offers his hand to me. Accepting it, I reciprocate with a firm shake. Watching him turn to leave, I have to admit that I'm pretty upset to hear about the trouble coming to some of the workers around here, but realize that this might explain why Hershel has also been experiencing some issues with having enough help on his farm as well.

Backing away from and shutting the door, my head is swimming with the information I was just given. My arousal from earlier is nearly forgotten, until I re-enter my bedroom to find Michonne no longer how I left her. With her hair pulled atop her head in a bun, and now fully dressed in a royal blue, shorts romper, with gold designs zig-zagging across it, she's standing in the mirror applying lipstick.

"Hey! What the hell happened to me telling you not to move? You're so hardheaded sometimes. I'm gonna have to teach you a lesson." I toss up my hands in fake frustration. Easing up behind her, one of my arms around her tiny waist, hand splayed across her abdomen. With the other across her chest, caressing her lips, smearing her lipstick with my thumb, I'm kissing along the nape of her neck, hoping to get her back to the bed so I can partake of her newly bare pussy. Dropping the tube of lipstick on the dresser, ceasing its application, and delighted by my attention to her, Michonne gives a tiny whimper, then proceeds to suck my thumb into her wet mouth. The heated suction of my thumb, her tongue laving the length of it, sets my dick to stone with the mere thought of her using her mouth on it. I have yet to experience that with her, but know that given the ferocity of her sexual affection for me, it would be a mind-blowing experience.

Feeling the prod of my cock against the cleft between her ass cheeks, Michonne turns around to fully face me, and begins unbuttoning my uniform shirt. On a tortured groan, red lipstick smudged on her lips, she raises her sultry eyes to me. "Rick, you need to get dressed. You said your parents are expecting us for dinner at 6, it's 5:30. We don't have time for sex right now."

"First, that's blasphemy, Michonne. There is always time for sex. Right now is the perfect time for it. Second, you look very nice and put together, but all I wanna do is get you wet and messy." I flirt, trying my best to get her back in the mood she was in before Tomas was at the door. Placing my hands around her waist, I hoist her little frame on to the dresser, and step in between her widespread legs. "We need to pick up where we left off. You were playing with those plump little pussy lips of yours, remember?"

"We need to get over to your parents' to eat, Rick." She breathlessly reminds.

"My parents aren't going anywhere." I declare, kissing her neck, then moving lower to skim across her clavicle, around the edge of her collar, and then over the tops of her full breasts. I mumble into the swell of her bosom. "I'm ready to eat something else right now. Just a taste, pretty girl? Please."

"Rick, no." Slowly shaking her head back and forth, she throws her arms around my shoulders, lightly rubbing and caressing the back of my neck. "You're such a horndog." She utters on a thinly veiled moan, apparently enjoying the sensation of my lips dancing against her creamy skin. "I don't want to be late." Moving each of her hands to the sides of my head, she pulls me back to her gorgeous face, attempting to regain my focus on getting ready for dinner with my parents. "Can you please shower and change your clothes, Rick?"

Seeing that she's not going to let me have my way, I give up, but only on one condition. "Do you promise that later we can pick up where we left off earlier? You know, with the French speaking, and the fucking?"

"Oui, Richard." 

Smiling at her use of French, and my name to get me back in line, I'm also sobering at the thought that Michonne is about to meet my parents. "You ready for this?" I ask. While I'm not concerned in the least about how this will go, I am interested in how Michonne feels about it, especially given that I spent a good amount of time last night preparing her for what to expect. Though I never used the words racist, I did let her know that my mother is not entirely thrilled with the idea of Michonne and I together. Part of that displeasure is because of how close our family is with Lori's, and everyone thinking Lori and I would eventually get married. And another part of that is simply based on Michonne being black. But, as I told my baby before, none of that is our problem.

"I'm ready. Now that I know that your mother is probably going to hate me no matter what I do, then I'm actually pretty relaxed about the whole thing. And…" She trails off, her hands inching beneath my undershirt to push it up and over my head. "I'm just happy that we're doing this. It feels like a big step for us, don't you think?"

Taking a moment to appreciate the light touch of her slender fingers rubbing through the hair on my chest, I pull my undershirt the rest of the way over my head and toss it to the floor. "I don't feel like you meeting them changes anything for me. I'm only doing this for you. I want you in my life, completely. Whatever it takes for that to happen, for you to be happy and to trust in me, then I'm with it. Meeting Rance and Ellen is just a formality."

"It's not, not really. This shows me, and them, that you're serious about me. You say that whatever they think of me doesn't matter, but it could."

"It won't. When I set this dinner up, I let them know who you are, and what you mean to me. I'm not going to tolerate any drama from them. Or should I say from my mother." I roll my eyes at the thought, already exasperated at the idea that my mother might do or say something to ruin this night for Michonne.

"Ok. Then I'm ready."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you. Your step-dad speaks very highly of you, young lady."

"Same here. It's very nice of you to have me over for dinner." Michonne smiles widely at my father, her straight white teeth lighting up her face. Sitting next to me at the dining room table, my girl is the most beautiful woman in the world. Radiant, confident, I couldn't be more proud to introduce her to my parents. To let them meet the woman who will one day be my wife, the mother of my children. The words have yet to cross my lips to communicate this to her, but my heart knows it to be true. And I think she knows that when I told her that I love her, that it's basically me delivering my heart to her, gift wrap and all. She has to know that my heart is constantly full of nothing but love and adoration for her. She has to know that thoughts of her consume my mind. She has to know that my body is so connected to hers that at this point I can't imagine it would respond to anyone else. No, Michonne is it for me, and I hope that getting these introductions out of the way shows her that there is nothing but sincerity behind every word and action directed towards her.

"Well he demanded we do it, so he we didn't really have a choice." My mother drolly responds, not even bothering to make eye contact with Michonne when she speaks. Her words fall flat, and draw my father's censoring glare, as well as my own.

Like the polished woman she is, Michonne doesn't even let my mother's rude comments bother her. And in true Ellen Stafford-Grimes style she has pretty much reacted to Michonne exactly as I described to Michonne that she would. Not making eye contact, small, slightly dismissive comments. As long as she doesn't make any overtly rude or racist comments I will consider this dinner a success.

"I'm thankful that he did. So, what are you kids up to after dinner?" Sitting at the head of the table, my father, Rance Grimes, the man most people call my twin, offers up some lighter fare to help keep the discussion polite and even keeled. As the realization that I was in love with Michonne blossomed in my heart, I sought my father's guidance on how to move forward. There is so much to consider, that I didn't trust myself to figure this out on my own, and who better to consult than the man who taught me everything about being a man, and quiet as it's kept, a hopeless romantic himself.

"Probably going out for a spell. Michonne's birthday is tomorrow, so a little pre-birthday celebration is in order." I answer, placing my hand on Michonne's warm thigh underneath the table, and crawl them sneakily up the leg of her romper's shorts to the fat lips of her pussy, barely covered by her lace panties. Michonne responds with a small flinch, obviously not expecting my naughty touch at my parents' dinner table. Squirming at the erotic feel of my hand, my girl returns to me the prettiest grin, nestled amongst a dusky blush across her velvety skin. When she looks at me like that, so full of her own unspoken love for me, I can't help but want to tell her again, as many times as I can, until my voice is gone and I literally can not physically say it anymore, how much I love her. Some might say it's too soon, to which I would respond it's not soon enough. If I could convince her to marry me this minute, I would. My father said he married my mother after dating for two weeks. I suppose sometimes you just know. My heart knows. Who am I to disagree with own heart?

"Not too late and not too much partying, Rick, you have work tomorrow."

"He's an adult, Ellen, I think he can sufficiently manage his own time." My father offers, then turns the conversation back to Michonne as he takes a bite of his food. "Do you work, Michonne?" Tilting his head, Michonne in his sights, my father's question is asked with actual interest, and a kind smile.

"I don't work. I'm a full time student right now. I'll be entering my second full year at Spelman next month, but I should actually be graduating at the end of the school year because I took college courses in high school, and last summer. I already have an associate's degree in American history."

"Impressive. Smart and beautiful. You've got a winner there, son." He winks over at me, his own pride at my choice evident on his face.

"Then what do you do for money? I hope you're not expecting Rick to give you his. He works very hard as a deputy, and he can't live some frivolous life some people are known for. You understand that don't you?"

"I do understand, and no, I don't need anything from Rick. When my father passed away I was left with a fairly generous trust fund, so I don't really have to work again. Ever." Politely, Michonne smiles at my mother, but I know she's pleased with herself, the way she handled her ridiculous question. Digging in to the tuna noodle casserole that my mother prepared for dinner with her right hand, she anxiously grasps at my hand that is still placed high on her thigh, softly caressing her lips. With the strength in her hold, I can tell that she is still quite annoyed by my mother's insinuation, but also slightly turned on by my touch.

"How nice. Was he an athlete of some sort? A basketball player perhaps?" Nodding her head as though her comments make complete sense, she's looking directly at Michonne now, my father and I completely forgotten in this conversation, or should I say interrogation. There is a negative connotation to her questions, and I can see the slight shadow of anger animating my girl's features.

Thinking that perhaps I should step in, my father, seemingly on the same wavelength as I am, smoothly re-inserts himself by answering for Michonne. "Uh, actually, Ellen, I believe Michonne's father was a professor right? Physics I think your mother told me. Hard subject, physics. I was a pretty awful student myself." Chuckling at his own self-deprecating humor, my mother shoots him a quick withering glance, put off by him answering on Michonne's behalf.

Instead of falling back, and letting the conversation remain cordial, my mother continues with her line of questioning. "Oh. What college did he teach at?"

"Morehouse, ma'am. His alma mater."

"Ah. A black college. Makes sense." Scoffing, my mother takes a hold of her wine glass. Perched haughtily in her chair, a smug smile is across her lips as she takes a sip and pretends at innocence.

Bringing up her father is a bit of a sore subject for Michonne. She loved him fiercely, and misses him even more, so my mother discussing him in any sort of disparaging way is a definite way to aggravate her. With bitter tightness in her words, and a frown on her pretty face, Michonne decides to answer her. "My father was a brilliant man. He taught at Princeton, where he obtained his PhD. I was also born there, in Princeton, New Jersey, before my parents returned to Atlanta so my mother could take a job here, as a sports medicine doctor, the best in Georgia actually. My father decided to teach at his undergrad alma mater as a way of giving back to our community. He was a good man, and I would ask that you not be rude regarding his legacy."

"Mom, please be cool, ok? Michonne comes from a family of academics. She's got a brilliant mind, and will be heading to law school soon." Inching closer to her, I place an affectionate kiss to Michonne's cheek, hoping to ease some of her tension caused by my mother's abrasive questions.

"Thank you, Rick. You're pretty smart yourself." Michonne sweetly smiles and swivels her head to return the kiss, laying a soft press of her lips on my cheek. For a brief moment, our eyes meet, and I'm sucked in by the passionate affection for me in her coffee brown eyes. With my hand still on her mound, my thumb soothingly stroking at her lush flesh, and the cloying compassion of our kisses between us, we are in our own world. Just me and my baby.

"Ahem. So, Michonne, you will be heading back to the city soon, then? And then off to law school?" My mother's words, seemingly now with a dash of an upbeat tenor, break through the swaddling barrier around us.

Releasing her gaze from mine, her eyes momentarily flutter to catch my mother's, then nervously down to her lap. "Yes, next month I will be heading back to the city, to finish school. Then law school."

"Pity. It's a shame your summer fling will be over so soon."

"Michonne is my girlfriend, Mom, this isn't a fling." I admonish my mother, and the apparent negative spite in her words. Glaring at her, I hope that she can see the anger in my eyes, and will temper her words from now on. Michonne is my future, and I have no problem with choosing her, choosing a new life over some controlling existence my mother favors for me.

"I didn't mean anything by that, son. Just that long distance is not ideal. Michonne will go back to her life, and you can get back to yours."

"Rick is a part of my life now. I… I love him." Stuttering a bit, Michonne boldly utters the words I did not expect to hear. Not now. But she does, and it sends an electric jolt to my heart.

"I love you, too, pretty girl." I return, an uncontrollable grin pulling my lips up, and a pink blush to rush over the expanse of my heated skin. If I could, I would usher her away right now. Take her home and show her how much I love her, how much her confession of that shared love anchors my heart to hers.

"I know."

"We'll make it work." I promise to her.

"We will." She nods, returning the vow to me.

"I'm confused, Rick, last I remember you loved Lori."

"No, Mom, it's not the same." I grind out, surprised by her introducing Lori into such a special moment between Michonne and I. "I loved Lori, but not in the same way at all. She's been a friend for a long time, I couldn't help but have love for her. But I was never in love with her."

"Michonne, I think you will have to excuse my son for his fickle nature. You know how men are when they see something shiny and new. Their attention span is so short."

"I-" Michonne attempts to answer, her stuttered response not getting far before my father intervenes. But it's too late. She has withdrawn from me, subtly easing her body away, slapping at my clutching hand underneath the table.

"Come on, Ellen, let's cut the shit, ok? You know that the relationship between Rick and Lori was cooked up by you and her mother Mary as soon as those kids were born. They never had a chance to figure love out for themselves. Now that Rick has, leave him alone. I won't say it again. Stop meddling, and let my son be happy. It's enough already." I've never heard my father speak to my mother in this way, so abrupt and terse in his communication. "Are we understood?" He asks, staring at her over his glasses, his hawkish blue eyes focused on her.

"Watch how you speak to me, Rance. I won't put up with you disrespecting me!"

"I won't put up with you trying to control my son's life any longer. I have given you too much rope over the years. So much so that my oldest son Jeff never even comes home to visit any more. That's your fault, Ellen." He points at her, levying the blame for Jeff's constant absence on her, which is wholly deserved. She's always been unceasingly hard on both of us, always manipulating us with her false fragility and self-serving guidance. Jeff is too stubborn, too much like her to tolerate it, and left here for the military as soon as he graduated from college. He has only returned once, and that was when our grandfather died. On the other hand, I'm probably too much like my father, too laid back and uncaring of how she has strong armed the men in this family. Pushed Lori and I together, coerced my father into doing some rather selfish things over the years, hurting those closest to him. But now, when her hate filled words and machinations might jeopardize this fledgling relationship with Michonne, I think my father and I have simply had enough.

"How dare you blame Jeffrey's selfish behavior on me?" With false innocence I watch the argument unfold, as my mother does what she always does, rustles up some fake tears in the clear blue eyes she and I share. Beautiful beyond reason, Ellen Stafford-Grimes is used to getting her way, using her wiles and charm to bend and sway the will of others. At only 48 years old, her long dark hair is only now showing hints of age with a few silvery strands spun throughout her lengthy French braid. Wrinkles are haunting the corners of her eyes though, and have been for years, prematurely aging and displacing her once youthful visage. But, she is still breathtaking, and that is probably what has always kept my father on her hook. Her slight petite frame so much smaller than his own hulking one, she has always played the role of the damsel in distress with one face, while employing sneaky venomous tactics of manipulation with the other. "This is all so absurd! I've done nothing wrong. I have only protected this family from those who know no better than to prey on our kindness, take what is ours, or sully this family's name. My name. Rick, this girl is not the one for you. Maybe for someone else, but not you. Not this family."

Never one to raise his voice, maintaining his cool, my father speaks, a quiet steely menace to his voice, before I even have a chance to. "Excuse your mother and I, Rick. I'm sorry you had to see all of this, Michonne. You are my best friend's daughter, and apparently the woman my son loves. You don't deserve such toxic treatment. Rick, you guys should probably go. Take your girl and have a good evening. Happy birthday, Michonne." On a weak smile, my father pushes his glasses further up his nose, and tosses his napkin to his plate with a sense of sad finality.

"I'm sorry you feel like I'm not good enough for your son, Mrs. Grimes. But, he loves me. Anything else is irrelevant." Raising from the table, Michonne looks down at my mother, pity and disgust for her warring in her eyes.

Taking a hold of Michonne's hand, I lead her from the dining room, from the wreckage of this failed family dinner, leaving my parents behind to attempt to salvage what's left between them.

"I'm sorry, Michonne. I really am. This isn't how I wanted things to go. All of that wasn't even about you." Sitting in my truck, her face is turned away from me, her gaze directed somewhere in the haunting darkness outside of the truck. Reaching out to her, needing to see her face, my fingers lightly caress the rounded swell of her cherubic cheeks.

"No, I suppose it's not. At least not entirely." Hesitantly she allows the pressure from my fingers to turn her face towards me. What I witness in her face nearly kills me. Shiny and wet, her eyes are glossy with unshed tears, now devoid of the love I saw there earlier in the night.

"Baby, Michonne, listen to me. When I said I did love Lori, please tell me you understand that it's not the same love I have for you. That you have for me. She's just, been there." I plead, needing to convey to her the difference in my heart, not wanting her to get mired in the word, but more in the feeling.

"Ok."

"Ok?"

"That's what I said." Flatly, she chokes out a response, a quick succession of blinks sweep away the threat of tears. Fake and without sincere inspiration, she folds her hands in her lap. Now prim and proper, the relaxed, fun loving woman from before dinner is now replaced with this staid, grim faced Michonne. This transformation is killing me, and I can't help but feel completely responsible for it. Why did I ever think I could trust my mother not to be exactly who she is, and try to ruin this for me? Why did I believe that she would allow me to be happy without her being the conductor of that happiness?

On a heavy sigh, I lower my eyes to her frigid ones, and promise to myself that I am going to try and salvage what is left of this night. Remembering the pre-birthday activity I had planned for us, I throw my truck into drive and guide it to the other side of the large white barn that sits centrally on my parents' property. Backing my truck up so that the bed is facing the side of the barn, I shove the gear into park, and turn my body fully towards her. Taking a hold of her hands that rest in her lap, I enfold them inside of the cocoon of my own hands, needing to feel the warmth of her touch to hopefully begin melting the frost that has developed between us.

"Do you remember that night you watched that Clint Eastwood movie with me, the cowboy one, and you told me your favorite movie is Coming to America?"

"Yeah."

"And you told me it was also your father's favorite movie, and that the last birthday you had before he died a few months later, you watched it with him and your mother. That you haven't watched it since."

"Yeah."

"I know you have this big shindig planned for tomorrow, but I wanted to try and give you back this happy memory, of you and your dad watching your favorite movie." My words tumbling out in a nervous jumble, her current displeasure making me eager and unsure of myself, unwilling to release my needy hold of her hands. "So, we're going to watch it. Here. Come on."

Jumping out of the truck, I rush over to her side, and open her door before she gets the chance. Though it has become custom for me to open all doors for her, she appears to be regressing and pulling away from me. I don't want that. My mother divulging my friendly love for Lori, and my admission that it does exist, has put such a chasm between my Michonne and I, that I'm questioning every move I make now. Opening her door, I make an effort to grab for her hand to help her down as usual, but she hustles out on her own, not giving me the chance. Standing before me, smoothing out the short legs of her romper, a slight frown still mars the beauty of her angelic face, and it's crushing me to see her like this. Unhappy and uncertain of my love and devotion to her. And I can't help myself, I reach for her, to guide her to the back of the truck. Instead she pulls away from me, crossing her arms across her chest, as though she requires protection… from me.

"Please?" I offer, my voice breaking over the word, a pleading tone evident. Directing my hand towards the bed of the truck, she walks ahead of me, stomping away. Approaching the bed, I move to the side of her, and drop the gate to the truck. Inside I have pillows, blankets, the projector, and a cooler full of her favorite drinks and snacks. "

"Rick… what did you do? Oh my god…"

"I figured it would be like we're at the drive in. Our own personal drive in. Here, get in." She doesn't move, just runs her fingers over her face, wiping hurriedly at her eyes as though she doesn't want me to see the liquid emotion flowing from them. But, I do, and as long as there is still emotion for me, feeling, I am encouraged that she's still with me. That I can repair any damage between us. So overwhelmed by everything, Michonne doesn't even protest when I wrap my hands around her waist and lift her to place her gently in the bed of the truck.

Hoisting myself up to join her, I ease my way back onto the nest of pillows beside her. Fumbling with the projector for a moment, I release a sigh of fervent relief as I get it to run. Blasting across the screen, words and images introducing the beginning of the movie, are accompanied by the blare of sound from the speakers in the truck.

Swiveling her ahead around, taking stock of my preparations, her eyes finally land on me. Quiet settling between us, I wait for her to speak, to do something.

Lifting from her seat, she climbs over to me and sits sideways on my lap. With her head leaned against my shoulder, one hand in my hair, the other resting flatly against my chest, her breathing is heavy and erratic. Needing to relieve the disquiet and torment wafting from her in waves, I wrap my arms tightly around her waist, squeezing her body to me. "This is really a nice thing for you to do for me, Rick. I don't know how you do it, but you seem to remember every word I say, every move I make, just… you pay attention to me in a way that no one ever has. And it… it makes me feel like this is real, like I can trust you. But, what happened in your parents' house, makes me question that. I don't want to be afraid of you, of what you could do to me, but I am. I am frightened of how strongly I feel for you."

"Love, how strongly you love me." A quiet panic is erupting in my chest at her refusal to say the words again.

"I've never been in love, Rick. I don't know, I said it in the moment earlier because this feeling came over me, in that moment I couldn't put another word to it, and I... I think it's love, but shit, when you tell me you love Lori I certainly question everything. I just can't reconcile all of this, between my heart telling me to greedily snatch up everything you offer, and my head telling me to run the other way. And you know what? Your mother is right; I am leaving next month. What then, Rick? Out of sight out of mind. You gonna run back to Lori?"

"Gotdamn it, Michonne! I've never felt about Lori how I feel about you. That's honest. I swear it to you. I loved her like you love a long time friend, but not like this, baby. Not at all like I love you. Like my life is incomplete without you in it." Asserting the strength of my feelings for her, I kiss her, no longer able to restrain myself from connecting with her, from sipping from the plump cushion of her full lips. Tightly I'm pulling her as close as possible, crushing her curves to me, with no room for doubt to fester and wedge between us. Voices from the movie waft around us, but the only sound that matters is the deep thump of my heart, fighting against the cage of my chest to relieve it of the pain of her skepticism. Breath rushing from my lips in a quick succession of pants, drifting heavily over hers, I implore her on a strangled cry. "Trust me, please."

"I'm trying…" She offers, trying to rise from my lap, but my strong hold keeps her in place.

"Wait. I want to give this to you." Reaching into my pocket I pull out a small black jewelry box, and immediately she tenses in my arms.

"Rick…"

"No, not yet." I chuckle at her nervous hesitance, concern in her voice at the implication the jewelry box presents. "This isn't a proposal. But I want you to have this." Handing the box over to her, she slowly opens it, and a tiny quiet gasp falls from her lips. Inside is a delicate, shiny, yellow gold necklace, with a small cursive M charm attached. "I was searching for something for you, a gift, the same day you told me when your birthday was. You're questioning my love now, and that hurts me more than you can know. But I promise you, pretty girl, my heart is sure of you. So sure that I knew it was love from a mile away, the first time we touched hands." Lifting the slight chain from the box, I drape it around her neck, locking into place the secure lobster clasp. "Promise me that when you look at this necklace, you will think of me. That you will remember that I love you. When you're away at school, anywhere, that you will never again doubt my feelings for you, your place in my heart." Her initial silence murders me, leaves my heart devastated that she is still so dubious of my fealty to her.

Instead of words, she gifts me with a soft nibble of my lips. Offering sweet, wet kisses and licks, that disarm me and calm my weakened heart. Rubbing her fingers slowly across my cheeks, I'm strengthened by her touch, confident that she once again believes in the veracity of my words. With the lovesick fool in me sated, I utter the only words I can gather. "Thank you."