Chapter 4 – Rick

"Richard Boden Grimes Jr."

I hear the Dean of the College of Business call out my full name, and wince a little, knowing that Michonne is somewhere in the crowd smirking at its use by the vibration of my phone in my pocket, probably notifying me of another text from her. She's here in the crowd and that makes this day ten times more special. Even if she is making fun of my middle name.

Hopping up from my seat, quickly scanning the crowd of faces through the blinding glare of the noon day sun, I see all of the people I've been on this educational journey with for the last four years, and I have to admit to myself that this feels good. Standing amongst my joyous peers, friends, fellow students, partiers, I feel like I've completed something. Ready to say goodbye to the flat memories of women I have slept with and nearly forgotten, relationships that should have never been, drunken all nighters that ended in lost memories and headaches. Truthfully I may be a little sad to be saying goodbye to the good friends I've made, but overall I'm hopeful that people who I've really connected with, like my roommate Ty and I, will remain in contact. I've completed one part of my life, it's likeness fading into my rearview mirror, and only those things that matter will be carried on to the next leg of my voyage.

Ascending up the stairs to the stage and accepting that rolled up piece of paper makes it seem real, final. Settling this journey and freeing me up for the next. And now, walking back to my seat, looking deeper into the throng of well wishers, I make out the round brightness of her pretty face, the sun framing her in a spotlight, its beam making her the true star of this show. I feel nothing but happiness, relief, weightless ebullience. Decked out in a pretty yellow sundress, Michonne is flanked on either side by her friends. The smile of my girl from the audience, bouncing in her seat with excited energy, steals my attention and takes my breath away. Everyone else in the crowd, seems to have melted away in to a colorless background. With a short wave, and a little pucker of her lips, she blows me a kiss, and almost knocks me off my feet before I stumble back into my seat. Damn.

XXXX

"Congratulations, son. This is a big accomplishment, and your mother and I are very proud of you. Well done. I look forward to what this means for your future. The family's future." My father leans in and gives me his classic one armed hug, pulling me in close. I'm happy to see him. He's dressed sharp in a dark blue suit and matching paisley tie. His dark hair is cut low, but still long enough to see the deep waves of his russet colored curls, and to evidence the few strands turning silver around the temples. With a fresh shave as well, it hides those silver hairs' telling presence in his beard. A proud smile is reaching his sapphire blue eyes that match my own, and the way his chest is puffed out as his large hand continues to clap me across the back of my black graduation robe, I can tell that the pageantry of the whole day is really affecting him.

My dad is a man of few words, but today is different. We spoke this morning when his flight landed, him letting me know that he agreed to my wishes that he not bring his flavor of the month to my graduation out of respect for my mother. And of course, him speaking in that booming voice of his, of the future, what my graduation means for this family. Again. With me not being able to answer that in an affirmative way, instead changing the subject to discuss the logistics of getting my furniture and things back to Georgia. That call ended the way many of them have recently when my dad speaks of my future, in a stubborn silence that neither of us care to break. This matter of my future represents a bit of a stalled negotiation between the two of us. But today, he's too content, pleased by my accomplishment to delve too far into the muck of it.

I appreciate that. That he's willing to let me have the pleasure of this moment. We are close, he knows me, and he knows what it means to me to be able to move forward. That is a subject we talk about often. What kind of man I am now, and the kind of man I want to be.

Regardless of what went down with my mother, and my father's numerous dalliances with other women, he has remained a constant in my life. I have forgiven him for what he's done. I have not forgotten how what he did damaged my mother, but with age I have tried to move on from that anger, and try to still hold on to my relationship with my father. He's done the same. We speak at least every other day. He flies up to visit me here in Knoxville pretty regularly, and there have been many nights hanging out at bars both here and at home, where we would go out drinking, and both of us went home with a lady for the evening. I suppose, as I admire the handsomeness of my father's face, and the fitness of his tall, fit build, that I learned some of my ways with women from him. How easily they are attracted to me. How effortlessly I have taken advantage of that. That's over now though, and not apart of the man I hope to be.

"Thanks, Dad. It feels good to finally be done."

Letting her eyes momentarily trail over my father and I with something curious clouding her features, then narrowing them for a moment on my dad, my mother reaches for me after my father releases his grasp on my shoulder. "Yep, you did good, kiddo. I knew you would." Hugging me tightly my mother is almost crushing me in her hold. With her stature so much smaller than mine, her tiny arms are wrapped around my torso, and I can feel the hiccups of her telling cries against my chest.

"Aw, Mom, hey don't cry ok? This is a happy day right?" I assure her, patting her back and trying to calm her down. Today my father is proud, but my mother is past that. Jubilant maybe? Probably closer to relieved.

In high school I wasn't the best student. Played football and baseball pretty well. I was the fastest running backs on the football team, and was a reliable hitter and short stop in baseball. But actual school-school? The one that you got grades on? Not so much. Sitting in classes while someone lectured to me on things that I could just as easily have read in a book, made me anxious. I needed to be out and about, doing things. Working with my hands, always moving. When I got to college one of my professors told me I'm a tactile learner, someone who needs to experience things instead of hearing or reading about them. My mother used to call it being like a shark, another animal that require constant movement. It's one of the reasons that store in Atlanta didn't make it. He couldn't stand being behind a desk, and much preferred being in the shop making the furniture instead of figuring out how to sell it.

The similarities between Sr and Jr are stacking up as I suppose I'm like my father in that way as well. Initially it is the reason that I wasn't interested in going to college, sitting behind a desk for four more years of lectures. The family business was going to be good enough for me, but my mother wasn't having it. Richard Sr. may have had his eye on my future, but so did she.

After my parents divorced I know my mother worried about me, about Jeff, about everyone but herself. Her main goal was to keep us afloat, and she did that, without missing a step, even as she experienced the devolution of what she thought was a lifetime commitment, and watched the man she once loved tuck his tail and head back to King County. Instead of folding into the grief and the depression that tried to claim her, with the help of friends like Michonne's parents she put herself back together. Found a better job at the bank she was working at, not able to support her family on the part time teller's salary she had brought in while married to my dad. She took a job as a bank manager, working long hours managing a staff, while also managing two boys. And even though my acting out, and subsequent withdrawal from the family could have derailed her, she didn't let it. My mother kept going. Adding her salary to the alimony and child support from my father, things stayed on course. Sports continued, shoes and clothes were still purchased, the refrigerator was still full. She even took a few classes herself over at Atlanta Metropolitan State College, setting an example that she commanded we follow. But there was an absence, a hole in our family that was still apparent, hauntingly so to all of us.

Despite the fact that her and my father were divorced, her acrimony towards him never bled over to block him from having a relationship with us boys. She encouraged it even. We spent weekends in King County with my father and grandfather at the farm, and working at the shop making furniture. Learning the businesses that we would eventually inherit. My father, and grandfather demanded it of us. No questions. No argument.

Richard Grimes Sr., an expert carpenter, with elegant but rugged hands, that juxtaposed against his pretty features, features my mother would say were too handsome to belong to a carpenter. Were better matched by a career in films, where his rakish affection for women would be lauded, celebrated as he swanned about with the cavalierly good nature and visage of a Cary Grant or a Paul Newman. His laid back humor, but no nonsense demeanor earned him the reputation of being a guy that women loved, and men admired.

For him, withdrawing back to the life he knew in King County, made him hyper focused on Jeff and I learning, participating in the family business more than ever. My grandfather, though still very much involved in the farm, no longer had the agility in his hands to make furniture. Arthritis and old age have robbed him of that gift. But he and my father say they see it in us, in Jeff and me. The Grimes focus and skill with our hands, but with me, also the smarts to successfully run a business. And so my father paying for my college education was conditional on me coming back home to help him run the business. As a man who never went to college, and didn't really know the first thing about managing a successful business, he thought me going would be the key to unlocking whatever puzzle there was to making Grimes Family Furniture the success it deserves to be. On this Richard and Dana agreed, and off I went.

Our family has been known in King County for centuries for making and selling the most well crafted furniture pieces for miles. There isn't a family in the county that doesn't have one of our cribs, rocking chairs, or tables in their home. It is something that innately we are all good at. Working with our hands, working with people. Our ability to understand what people need, and finding the artistic inspiration to give it to them, is something that we all take great pride in. Along with our craftsmanship. I designed and built my first table at the age of ten, and my mother still has it in our living room to this day. This ability is a gift that has been passed down in our family, and though I understand that it dictates my place in the world to some degree, watching my girl saunter her way up towards where I'm still hugging my mother, makes me question that.

"Oh look, I got your gown wet." She exclaims, hurriedly wiping away the evidence of her joyful tears, and dusting her fingers over the silky threads of my graduation gown.

"Mom said you're wearing a gown, Rick. Like a chick!" Jeff laughs, finding a way as usual to find some juvenile humor in even the most mundane of things.

"Hush, Jeff!" my parents censure in unison.

"What did I do?"

They go back and forth, but I'm not paying attention. My focus has already been stolen by the pretty lady coming towards me.

A coy smile tilts her lips upwards. The short sundress, skimming just across the middle of her thighs, and lightly swishing with the sway of her confident walk cushioned by her always present sneakers, steals my attention. She's heavenly in that color. In any color. But there is something so arresting about watching her come towards me right now, the gold of her dress popping against her sun-burnished skin. Her presence nearly stops my heart, and robs me of concern for my mother's happy tears, my father's fidgeting at her distress, and my brother's immature jokes.

My hands are itching to touch Michonne, to pull her into a hug, but before I can I remember my mother who's still standing in front of me, her face leaned up to mine expectantly.

"You ok, Mom?"

Leaning back, my mother looks up at me, focuses me in her gaze with those mossy green eyes of hers. Beckoning me to bow down toward her with the crook of her index finger, she holds my attention. Cupping both sides of my face in her small hands she whispers in a hushed tone meant only for the two of us. "Yes! Yeah, of course I'm ok. I'm just really proud of you, Rick. You did something that no one else in my family or your father's has ever done, and this opens up the world for you. Remember that ok? You can do whatever you want now, you can make the life you want for you. You understand? You've just bought yourself the freedom that neither your father nor I ever had. Now what are you going to do with it?" she asks rhetorically, poking her finger into my chest to drive home her point. Looking over her shoulder at where Michonne stands a little bit away from us with her friends, patiently waiting to join my family and I, my mother winks conspiratorially at me, then gives me a sly nod of her head. I understand completely.

"Yeah, Mom, I know." I promise, and drop a kiss to the top of her head. She steps aside, and in moments I'm welcoming the soft press of Michonne into my arms. "I'm so glad you made it." I mumble into the coconut and mango scent of her soft hair, placing a kiss into the twisted tufts pulled into a side-swept cascade over her creamy shoulders. "You look so beautiful."

"Yeah, Michonne. You- uh…ahem. Huu…" Gulping down his nerves, Jeff is trying his best to also compliment Michonne, but I know the strength of that boy's crush on my lady and it's making it hard for him to push the words past his braces so he can just spit it out. I'm gonna help him.

"Ye-yeah? You think Michonne looks hot in her dress, Jeff? That what you trying to say, kid?" I mimic his stutter. There you go, Jeff, a little payback for the gown joke.

Eyes bucking at me putting him on the spot, Jeff begins turning a splotchy red across his face. Swiping his brown hair from his eyes, he tries to collect himself and eek out a response. "Ye- hot, but in a respectful, uh, not hot, but uh… Pretty. You look very pretty, Michonne."

"Thank you, Jeff, you look pretty sharp yourself there, dude. Shirt even has a collar on it. Nice." She compliments and reaches out to pull on the color of Jeff's Polo shirt, sending him into a blush so scarlet red I hope he doesn't burst into flames. "And thank you, Boden. You definitely look handsome today." Lifting on her toes to give me a peck to my lips, and crushing me with her lean arms around my waist, Michonne calls me by the middle name that everyone in the world is forbidden from calling me. It's my grandfather's first name, and it's ok for a man in his late sixties, but not for a man in his early twenties. Michonne knows I hate the name, and before I get to remind her of that, we are interrupted not once but twice.

"Hi, Rick!"

"Hi, Andrea." There is now a little faltering in my own voice, it's not intentional, but it's there, and I know Michonne can hear it. She knows me too well not to have picked up on it. My fists try to clutch her waist, but she just gives me a little arch of her eyebrow, grabs a hold of Jeff by the arm and turns her back on Andrea and I, eluding my grasp and giving my family and her friends her full attention, leaving me to a conversation with Andrea.

Snatching her cap from her head, her gaze switches over to where Michonne and my family are standing, then turns it back on me with a clear question in her eyes. Waiting a beat, as though she expects me to introduce her around, then finding that I'm not, she breaks the silence. "Well, it's over, huh. We actually graduated."

I may be standing here with Andrea, but my focus is on Michonne and the smooth way she's kind of ignoring me without making it obvious she's doing so. My staring must be too hard to not call out because the next thing I see is Andrea's fingers snapping in front of my face, blocking me from my perusal of the back of Michonne's head.

"Huh? Yeah, yep. It's done." I grimace, a little embarrassed, but ultimately ready to get this interaction over with. A general sense of unease is creeping into the once jovial setting. It's odd standing over here while my divorced parents, my brother, my best friend slash girlfriend, and her friends have a good time chatting and laughing while I'm over here alone with a girl that I have slept with on and off for the last four years.

Andrea is a nice girl. Ambitious. Tough. Smart. Double majoring in Political Science and Business Administration, she and I crossed paths many times in classes and knew a lot of the same folks, ended up at many of the same parties. We hit if off in a global economics course that was taught by a teacher from France whose accent was so thick neither of us understood what he was saying. Somehow we banded together to try and pass that class, and partnered together in other ways as well. Over the years, crisscrossing in and out of each others' lives, we have done that many times.

"Cool. Are you sticking around for any parties tonight?"

"Um no. Ty and I are gonna finish packing up our apartment this afternoon, then I'll be heading back to Georgia in the morning."

"Oh? Ok. Got a job lined up then? I'm heading to grad school."

Cutting my eyes to my left again, I quickly answer her. "Nah. No grad school. I have something lined up though."

Inching herself a little closer, and lowering her voice, Andrea raises her blue eyes to mine and gives me a smile that I once found cute. "Ok, Rick, I get it. The yellow dress?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Oh yeah. Well and I recognize her from the pictures you had of your 'best friend' all over your apartment."

"Ah."

"Yeah. It's cool. I know what's up, I get it. Good luck, Rick." She utters, leaning in as though she might hug me.

Instead I head her affectionate farewell off by offering her my hand for a shake instead. "Yeah. Good luck, Andrea."

Scoffing at the handshake, she only offers a quick humph, accompanied by an awkward fluttering of her fingers, and she's gone as swiftly as she appeared.

Before I even get a moment to refocus on Michonne and my parents, apologize for the interruption, I'm tackled from the back in a hug so strong and quick, I'm momentarily thrown off kilter. Pitching forward, I can feel two smallish hands on my shoulders, and the slight weight on my back.

"Rick!"

"What the hell? Who the f-"

"Congratulations, Rick! You did it!"

Bucking my eyes as I try to make sense of what's going on, I steady myself on my feet. Catching sight of who it is a deep groan of disappointment rumbles in my chest. Can this day get worse? "Jessie? What are you doing here? You're not graduating today."

Huffing at the exertion of running and trying to tackle me, she's giggling at herself and straightening her flower print dress. "I know. Some friends and I came to see you and some other folks we know graduating today."

Absentmindedly, not even listening to her reason for being here, or jumping on my back, I instantly look around for Michonne. I don't see her. She's walked even further away from me before I even got a chance to get my bearings. My eyes scan the crowd of people. Not finding her or my parents anywhere in sight, I drop my head back on a long sigh. "Oh, ok." I breathe out, already knowing I have some explaining to do. Rubbing my thumb against my eye, I eek out a final word, hoping to end this conversation as well so I can go find Michonne and start apologizing. "Thanks."

"You and Ty partying tonight?" Jessie asks, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. Her eyes are anxiously dancing over my face, awaiting an answer.

She's hopeful that I'm going to say yes. I know why. Jessie has had a crush on me for at least a year. When her friend Karen began dating my roommate Tyreese last year, she would always show up with her at our apartment. She was always just there. Staring. Smiling. At first I didn't pay it any attention because it was one of those times that I was with Lori, and she has always had a way of sucking up all of my time and attention. But when I had to pull Jessie's ex-boyfriend Pete off of her at a party, she became relentless. It wasn't just harmless staring, or being extra chatty any longer. She would stop by the apartment with artwork she said she made for me. Owl sculptures. Baked goods. It got so bad that it was pissing Lori off, which meant she was fussing at me, which meant I had to put a stop to it. I pulled her aside when she had turned up at our apartment for the last time six months ago, and let her know that she needed to stop coming around so often. She nodded a lot and seemed to understand, mumbled something about how she thought me helping her with Pete meant something more, and then she took off. I haven't seen her much around campus, until now. Perfect. Fucking. Timing.

"No. I'm heading home with my girlfriend in the morning. Back to Georgia."

"Ok. Yeah. Karen told me that Lori took a teaching job down in Georgia. I guess you guys are back together then. I'm sorry." Looking away, averting her eyes, Jessie makes a few hesitant steps backwards from me. Pushing her hair nervously behind her ear again, she darts her eyes to mine then turns to leave. "Sorry, Rick. I didn't realize you guys were back together. Congrats."

What does she mean that Lori and I are back together again? Lori's moving to Georgia? Shit.

XXXXXXXXX

"So…you're not mad?"

"No, Rick, I'm not mad. Why do you keep asking me that?"

"Just, the way things may have looked at my graduation. And then you disappeared, and you've been kind of quiet most of the day."

"I told you, I saw a guy I know. The girls and I went to say hi. I don't know where your parents went. But, when I saw all the little blonde fans 'The Famous Rick Grimes' had, I went to go say hello to my friend." Snorting, she uses her fingers to make air quotes, she's smirking as she rolls her eyes. Michonne may not be mad, but she definitely isn't pleased either, and with this mess with Lori moving to Georgia heavy on my mind, I know that now is the right time to have a discussion with her about some things. But first…

"Zeke?" I ask, needing to get to the bottom of who the guy was that Michonne walked away from me to talk to.

Twirling away from me, the snug fit of her little cotton panties stretching across her ass as she bends over to pack away some of my dishes, is distracting me.

Michonne rolls her eyes at me again when she stands back up, as though she has grown tired of this conversation, and huffs out a short response. "Yeah."

"Wanna tell me more?"

Lifting her shoulder in a one armed shrug she slowly shakes her head, and frowns, "What more is there to tell?"

Needing to soften her up a bit, feeling the prickly bristles of her little attitude flaring up, the telling angle of her elbow jutting out with her hand on her hip giving her away, I place a tiny peck to her lips that she doesn't pull away from. She's mad at me. She doesn't think I can tell, but I've known this girl for most of my life. I can tell when she's upset. I still remember when she got mad and stayed mad at me for two whole weeks because I kept beating her at Mario Kart when her parents first got her a Wii. Competitive and petty, with a temper to boot. That's my Michonne. "Hey, Chonnie, I'm just curious about how you know this guy all the way in Knoxville is all."

"His name is Ezekiel Jones. I met him at that comic book convention in Cali I went to with my dad and Glenn last summer. He wants to be an actor. We hit it off and have semi kept touch. I didn't know he would be at your graduation. It was just a coincidence that he's from Tennessee and was there for his brother Morgan."

Searching Michonne's face I'm not convinced. "Coincidence?"

Evidencing her disinterest in this conversation she begins picking at her cuticles. "Yep."

"Well, you could have said something before you disappeared to run off with him. I was worried about you."

"Why? The 'Famous Rick Grimes' was preoccupied with his fan club. I didn't think you would miss me." Making a move to walk away from me before she even fully finishes her last sentence, the edge to her tone, one that belies the sugar sweetness of her softly spoken words, tells me everything.

Blocking her retreat with my body, I wrap my arms around Michonne and fold her into my body. "Don't you start. I'm just your Rick, Michonne. You know that." Tilting my head, I kiss her softly, inching my lips to the little nook underneath her ear, and inhale her. "You know that, right?"

"Whatever…"

"Nah, don't whatever me, sweetheart. Tell me you know that I live to love you. I've only see you."

"You always do that, Rick. Make something about you, that has nothing to do with you. You're so spoiled that way. Always have been."

"What?"

"You want me to say the magic words so that you are forgiven and we can just move on like I didn't see all these little blonde groupies falling all over you. One literally ran up out of nowhere and jumped on your back. And I didn't get pissy then, Rick, cause I trust you, even though sometimes I feel like I shouldn't. You have a history with women that sometimes gives me pause, but I'm trying very hard to push those icky feelings away, ya know. Especially with me leaving for LA soon, and everyone telling me that long distance relationships don't last. But, I just gave you some space to handle your business, cause I'm trying to be mature and not act like the little inexperienced 18-year-old. So, I went and found a friend to chat with, and you're giving me shit about that, and I'm just confused about why."

"Mich-"

"The problem here isn't that you have a past that includes tons of women. The problem here is that you want me to allow you to explain and give you time to clean it all up so you don't have to deal with me being upset with you, but you never want to give me the same courtesy because you don't trust me. Remember when I told you that I needed a little time and space to break up with Mike? You acted like it was some major deal. You had to pout and push, and make it about me not being serious about you instead of me just wanting to be careful with the feelings of a guy that I really cared about. I'm trying here, Rick, but you have to try too."

She's right. I wish I could argue these points with her a little better, but she's got me pinned. Michonne has always been good with her words, a natural debater, so much so that her parents have teased that if writing and comic books don't work out for her then she should go to law school. Her verbal gymnastics have stifled more than one argument with me, and kept her out of trouble with her parents more than once. It's how, in a way I still don't understand, she talked me into cutting their grass for a whole summer instead of her. Her intelligence is one of the things that I have always admired about her. That and her ability to see right through me. Though to be honest I'm not liking it too much as she stands tall in front of me, lean arms crossed over her full breasts, sans bra, causing them to rise up over the low neckline of her tank top, manicured brows furrowed. Fit little body swayed to one side, with all of her weight relayed to her back leg, causing the muscles in her thighs and calves to bunch and tighten. I don't mean to be distracted by her while she's pissed at me, but…even right now she's gorgeous. Her lips are moving, but I can't hear her. I can see her, nostrils flaring, eyes rolling. Fuck she's beautiful.

Michonne is calling me out on this, and she's right to do so. I was upset about the whole Mike thing. Probably because I know how much she liked him. It always lived in the back of my mind, every minute after the first time she let me touch her, that had Mike played his cards right, she would have been underneath him, gifting him with the pleasure of her body, writhing and pleading, begging for more of him instead of me. It's a quirk of my personality I suppose, that I can't tolerate things being broken or unsettled. There is an innate need in me for the pieces of a puzzle to all fit nicely where they belong, and well, when they don't it's difficult for me to cope. I'm not proud of this. But I understand that it's why I could almost feel the fire building under my skin when she told me Mike came to the airport to see her off.

Mike is the guy that I know Michonne has always seen herself with. Tall, good looking, black guy. Smart, well off. He represents the path of romantic affection that at one point Michonne willingly chose. The guy she intended to have a long term relationship with. I'm the friend who filled in when the guy she really wanted fucked up. At least that's how my brain had twisted it, and that made me feel like at any moment the rock of our long history together would crumble like the fragile porosity of volcanic formations, and simply not last under the pressure of choosing between romantic love with her dream guy, and a familiar friendship with me. Flawed reasoning like that is what caused me to stomp on the gas all the way down 75 South to get to her when she got back from Europe. To have a little fit about the whole Mike thing, which oddly enough, ended up resolving itself.

When Rosita's boyfriend Spencer divulged to her that Mike was a bit of a whore and had been cheating on Michonne with a number of girls, and Rosita quickly relayed the scandalous admission to Michonne, the need to be so delicate with Mike's feelings wilted away. Michonne confronted him about it, but he simply dismissed it rather cavalierly noting that she is the girl of his future. A perfect match for the Senator's son, who could only actually be in a relationship with a certain kind of girl. Michonne comes from the right family, and those other girls, while more sexually experienced, were just a way for him to hold out for her to be ready for him. The way Michonne told me the story, Mike was fairly matter of fact about his clandestine indiscretions, but also seemed confused that she was so upset about it. He did like her, he did want to be with her, and for them to have a future together. But he had needs and was not going to be able to wait forever for her to hold on to as he put it "the whole special virgin act".

In the long run, it made it much easier for Michonne to bid farewell to Mike, and for us to move forward. I took my baby to prom, feeling pretty proud and excited to have her on my arm. Our parents were probably even more excited than either Michonne or I, somehow believing that they had all called this at one time or another in our history, and this was just the fulfillment of Michonne and I realizing what everyone else has always known. That we were made for each other.

Laughing at myself and the absurdity of this whole situation, how far we've come, how much further we have to go, I drag my hand over my face, and pull my focus away from the pout of her sexy lips. I shake away the thought of them all over me before I find myself in more trouble with her over my obtuse arrogance at Michonne's jealousy and my own, as well as the absurdity of it because my full heart is hers. She doesn't realize it yet, doesn't know what I have to tell her, but right now my heart is pumping furiously at the simple thought of her being upset with me. My stomach is sick to think that things with her and I might be unsettled in any way. Reaching for her arms, to loosen their tight knit over her chest, I try to pull them apart and diffuse this situation. I can't stand her being in a bad mood.

"I- You're right, Michonne. I guess I am a little spoiled. Maybe. But I do trust you, babe. I- I know how good all of this is, how great this can be. And you know me, you know I try to control things. Sometimes too much maybe, but it's only because I want only the best for us. I want this to work out. Don't you?"

"Yes." Michonne huffs, her arms finally falling down to her sides. "You know I do."

Using my index finger, I lift her face to mine, and immediately I fall, love sick, into the warm molasses of her pretty eyes, and I feel myself melt. For a moment I can feel my words choking me, throttling my voice in my throat I'm so overcome with feeling for Michonne. I have to close my eyes for a moment to gather myself before I drown. Clearing my throat, I push out the words, "Babe, I love you, I trust you. Do you trust me? Do you love me, Michonne?"

"You know I do." Michonne admits, her eyes lifting to mine, then dropping lower to where her hands are placed, palms flat on my chest, running them over the soft cotton of my orange UT t-shirt. Heating my body with the simplicity of her touch. Soothing the agitation between us. "And don't give me that look, Boden."

"What look?"

With the tips of her delicate fingers she rubs them over my eyebrows, then over my eyes, across my eyelashes. "That one. The puppy dog, I'm sorry, forgive me, Chonnie, look. Same look you gave me when you lost my first iPod when i wasn't even allowed to take it out of the house. When you accidentally stepped on my retainer."

Grabbing her up off the floor, placing her on the kitchen countertop, I put one hand behind her head, and the other around her waist. I move into her her, standing between her legs, and pull her closer. "Come here. I'm not giving you a look. That iPod was too small and easy to lose, and your retainer shouldn't have been on the floor in the first place. And, I'm just telling you that you are right, and I'm sorry. I want things with us to always be good, and I know I mess up sometimes. I get jealous and possessive, but it's not because I don't trust you, or because any of those girls from before matter. It's because I love you, and I want to be with you more than anything in my life. And because I believe in us I made a decision."

"What decision?"

"Remember when we talked about what we can do to try and make you going to LA work for us?"

"Yeah?"

"I uh, I found a way to make it work. The perfect way."

"Ok. What you got?" Rubbing her fingers through my hair, Michonne is almost stealing my focus with the steady scratch of her nails against my scalp.

"Damn, babe, I love when you do that." I mumble, quickly losing focus.

"I know." She whispers, leaning closer to my face, her breasts mostly visible down the neckline of her tank top, swaying dangerously close to my lips.

"Hmmm…"

"That feel good?"

"Yeah, you know it does." I whimper, falling forward to nuzzle my face down into her cleavage. Her chest begins to heave, breathy pants easing out in cadence. "You smell good, too."

"That's the perfume you gave me last month. You like it?"

Licking my tongue between the valley of her breasts, I'm lost in her, our conversation officially derailed. Completely forgetting what I had to tell her. "Yeah, babe, smells amazing on you. Makes me want to take a bite." And I'm not lying. The silky feeling of her breasts with my cheeks buried between them, my jaw abrading her satiny skin with the whiskers of my beard, and the tight cherry of her nipple rolling over my tongue has replaced any thought that may have seemed at one time very important.

"Mmmm, Rick, baby, didn't you have something you were trying to tell me? Some decision you made?"

Swiveling my head back and forth, I do not care about whatever I was talking about before. I'm about to lay Michonne back on this counter and have a little taste.

Grabbing a handful of my hair in both of her hands, Michonne yanks with a little jolt and tries to get my attention. That little sting though? It just makes my need to get inside of her more urgent. Moving up and sucking the skin of her neck into my mouth, I pull it between my lips, then ease my teeth into her flesh, giving her a little bite.

"Ooooh, god… Wait, Rick, stop for a sec so you can tell me what you had to say." She huffs out on a long staggered pant. "What were you going to say?"

Releasing her skin from my teeth, I lean back. Standing straight up I can see how the light from the overhead kitchen light is hitting her skin, showcasing the glossy remains of my saliva all over her. God I want to fuck her right now, but she's looking at me with earnest question in her eyes, searching, looking for a hint of what I have to tell her. Wiping my hands over my lips to calm my hungry appetite, I give her one more peck, then pull her hands away from my hair and hold them together in mine.

"I applied for a community outreach position with the city of Los Angeles, and… I got it."

Eyes bucking at what I've said, the initial surprise only allows her to blurt one word. "What?!"

"It will be working with at risk youth through the city schools. It's not making a lot of money, but it's enough for me to afford an apartment, and that way we can be together. I don't want us to have to wait four more years. We've already waited too long."

"What about your dad and grandpa? The furniture store and the farm? They're gonna be mad."

"I will handle them; don't you worry about that."

"It just…wow! It's a surprise."

Backing away from her, at the uncertainty clouding her features, I steel myself against a possibly negative response. Swallowing thickly, I have to admit this isn't the reaction I was hoping for. "I won't accept it though if you don't want me to. I should have-"

Extending her hand out towards me, she rubs her palm across my jaw, pulling me back closer to her. "No! I just don't want your family to get upset with you. I know your dad only paid for your college because he expects you to come work for him."

"He does. But, Chonnie, I will handle everything. Just tell me that you're ok with this. It was presumptuous of me to do it, and I don't want you to feel any pressure. You can still live with Sasha and the other roommates you have lined up. I'll get my own place so you still have some space, but I needed to make a way for us. I wasn't going to make it without you."

"I can't believe you did this, Rick." Inching forward on the counter, Michonne seems energized by my news, and lowers her lips to mine, gifting me with a long, slow kiss. A deep exploration of my mouth that nearly buckles my knees. She may be new to sex, but she's an expert at kissing. I don't want to think of why that may be, who she has practiced this with before me… Instead I focus on the sensation of her fingers scraping against my scalp again, her legs winding tightly around my waist. As though on queue, the song from the speaker attached to my phone changes the track, and Gary Clark Jr.'s blues guitar blares soothingly into the apartment.

"Oh baby, things are changing now

And I can't tell where I'll be from here on out
Ooh, it's hell
Knowing that from now
We shouldn't kiss and tell
It's so good…"

"We're gonna make it aren't we, Rick?"

"I hope so, babe. I'm trying everything in my power to make sure we do."

Dropping her head to mine, our foreheads kissing, Michonne speaks softly, her voice so quiet and small I almost can't hear her. "I didn't want to say anything cause I was scared of what you would think, but… I was worried about what was going to happen while I was gone. I mean Sasha broke up with her boyfriend that she's been with for a long time cause he got deployed. And this is so new."

"Hey, that's not us though. Michonne and Rick aren't new. You've been my girl, and I've been your guy longer than either of us would admit, but it's always been there. You've been in my heart for thirteen years, girl."

"You too, babe."

"See?" I grin at her confirming her love for me. It emboldens me, steels my spine, energizes my heart. Cupping each side of her face with my hands, holding her in place, I lace her lips with a series of kisses. Small pecks at first, tiny ones, just to kiss away the doubt that wants to spill out. But her whimpers and moans hit me in the chest, a powerful blasting thrill to my groin as she pouts her full lips to kiss me back. Her pink tongue inching out just a hair to taste my lips that grow hungrier with each touch. I don't want to pull away but I have to tell her, make sure she knows. "Even if I wasn't going to LA with you, I'm not gonna lose you, Michonne. You're not gonna lose me. Not now, not ever. I can't. I won't."

There are no more words to speak, and the chorus of melancholy, love-sick lyrics sufficiently blanket us under the yellowish glow of the kitchen light. The singer's ballad tells the full story of my heart, how I feel about this girl. Have felt for too long. Wasted too much time trying to be her friend instead of allowing myself to be in love with her.

Pulling her soft wet kisses from me, retreating and causing me to moan at the withdrawal of her love, Michonne pulls her tank top off of her form, up and away, tossing it over her shoulder and onto the floor. She's not wearing a bra, and instantly the jiggle of her heavy breasts again draws my attention. Causes my mouth to water and my palms to itch, sweat with the need to grasp them in my clutches. Suckle them back into my mouth.

Michonne hops down from the counter and stands in front of me in only her panties. Regardless of the kitchen light's odd yellowish cast, my girl emits a luminosity that is unmatched by even the sun, and I need inside of her right now. Thank god Ty already left to head back to Memphis an hour ago with Michonne's friends departing not long after. It's been a tortuous four weeks since I have had the pleasure of her, the silky feel of her wrapped around me. It's this obsession with knowing her, loving her that drives me, and robs me of the words right now.

"I told you already, girl
That I was so gone
But that sweet, sweet loving
It had me hanging on, so strung out…"

Lowering her gaze from mine, Michonne's small hands begin pushing my sweatpants and underwear down my lower half, not stopping until they pool at my feet. I can only watch, a spectator in my own scene as she drops to a crouch before me, and wordlessly urges me to lift my legs so she can remove everything. On her way up, she stops momentarily to gift my thighs with a series of small, wet kisses, inching dangerously close to my pubic area.

Standing tall, and at her full height, Michonne kisses under my chin, my neck while her hands grasp, clasp around my length and brush underneath my t-shirt and against the hair on my chest and nipples. Agony is the only thing I can compare it to. Torture. The sweetest, fieriest death burns me alive. My shirt is too much. Sticky against my sweaty skin, I have to get rid of it, I can't tolerate the cling of it to my torso. I can't allow it to obstruct my body from her wandering hands and tongue tickling over my skin. Her firm grasp bounces from playfully dancing impishly through the thick dark hair covering my groin, then higher up and over my abdomen, then back to my cock which arches towards her, desperate for her touch.

My breathing is shallow. Weak puffs of air. It's insufficient. Only the anticipation of what this beautiful woman will do next sustains me, keeps me alive on the very edge. Michonne is the only woman who has ever done this to me. Filled me with life, desire, at the simple idea of her, being inside of her. I remember the heated suction of her mouth killing me softly on that night so many weeks ago, and a sinful thought skips through my brain, suggesting that I could simply ease her to her knees and place my dick on her full lips. Caress the seam over the tip, relieve some of the pain arching through the shaft. Remove the tension of wanting, needing her to swallow my cock into her pretty mouth. Just the way her lips are nipping, biting and pulling at my own right now. Or bend her over, pull apart the bubbled cheeks of her ass and find succor between the damp sweetness of her walls. Something. Anything to feed this rapacious addiction to her.

I don't though. But maybe if I can at least look at her face. See the intention, her plan for me in her eyes. The round pools that I have seen glassy with tears, dance with her laughter, shine in accompaniment to her dazzling smile. Years. Months. Days. Hours. Minutes. I have loved this woman for most of my life, and this feels like the pinnacle of that, peaking at this moment that I choose her. Where I toss my life into her hands and ask her to accept me, to allow me to accompany her as a mere passenger on her journey. Perhaps I could relax if she permitted me to fall into the abyss of her beauty, and at least allow my soul to languish there while she tortures my body with her playful game of cat and mouse.

Michonne's heated breath bathes over my lips, as she seems indecisive of her next steps and simultaneously lifts her eyes to me. That simple movement, the fulfillment of my anxious desire, unfurls my passion for her. My love for my best friend. And I can see in her face, the quiver to the sly curve of her lips, she accepts what I'm offering. But does not understand.

"You are doing this thing for me, Rick..." She repeats her statement from early, clearly still wrestling with how we've come to this place. "It's like you're giving me your life. You don't have to, ya know? You have a family, commitments. Your home is in Georgia, as a carpenter. Running a family business with your dad. Not in LA with me. I don't deserve this. Why would you do this?" She wonders aloud. Leaning back against the counters, her hands retreat to her sides, twisting at the satin trim of her flower patterned panties. Worry deflating the courage in her once certain stance.

Finally daring to reach out and touch her, this angel. My friend, my lover. My everything. I crouch down to meet her eye to eye. "You're my family, Michonne. You're my home. Wherever you are, is where I want to be."

Hiding behind her hands, the angst in her voice dampens her questions to a gurgled mumble. "Why? What makes me so special? So different from the parade of women who all want a piece of Rick Grimes? Why would you do all of this for me? Now?" she asks, raising her eyebrows high in question. And I get it. I do. I wondered the same about her the night she gave herself to me that very first time. Why me? Why now? I still wonder it when I'm alone with my thoughts, my insecurities. What makes me more special than that other guy?

I don't want that for her though. Hell I don't want it for myself. Every day I have to remind myself that this thing between us is destined. It has to be. It's not just the regular affection a guy may have for girl. It's not the simple need to sate my sexual desires with a female. It's love. And this love has kept me awake at night, tossing and turning, hoping, yearning, planning a life for us. This love makes me anxious to set my sights on her. To hear her voice. To go against what has been predestined as my future for years to follow the girl of my dreams. Michonne is the special girl. Everything about her is special to me, and because of that this love is special. This is no ordinary love.

Pulling her into me I simply cannot get close enough to her. My hold swallows her, keeps her under the cover of my arms and my body, shielding her from her insecurities.

"Just like you chose me that night, gave yourself to me, let me be your first. This is me choosing you. I can't turn back time and make you my first. God I wish I could. But this is me telling you that you are my first love. I'm choosing a future with you for as long as you'll have me. Giving us the chance to make this something…permanent."

"Permanent? Like marriage permanent?"

"Not yet. Maybe some day?" With hope in my heart, a feeling that I pray Michonne can read in the sincerity of my words, in my eyes, I offer her something I have never extended to another person ever. "I would like that. If-if that's something you want. Someday I mean, not now, but eventually I want you to be my wife. I do."

"That's… I don't know what to say, Rick." Michonne shakes her head back and forth, her teeth worrying the corner of her lips. Nabbing it, pulling them in a tight press between her lips.

"You don't have to say anything right now, Michonne. I'm not proposing this minute. I don't have a fancy little promise ring or nothing. Just my heart, my word, my intentions. If this isn't what you want now, just tell me what you do want. I'll make sure you have it. I didn't mean to come on so strong." I laugh, and drop my head back. I've said way too much. Too soon. I'm planning her future for her just like that other guy did, and that's not fair to her. She's young, still has a lot of life to live. On her terms. I have to give her the space to do that I realize, and just as I'm thinking I need to pull this back, stop trying to hold on so tight, she snatches me off the edge of my surging melancholy.

Throwing her arms around me, wrapping me tight in her hold, Michonne leans in and whispers across my lips, "I-I want you to come to LA with me."

XXXXXX

"Grandad! What's going on with you?"

Giving me a quick wink and grin, my grandfather dips two fingers into his tobacco tin and pinches off a small dab that he places underneath his lip, close to his gums. "Same stuff, different day. New pains in my ass."

Dropping a kiss to the top of his head balding head, only a few stark white strands remaining, I take a seat in the wooden chair next to his. "Going that good huh?"

"Yeah I guess. You're looking awful chipper today. Been with Michonne I suppose?" Focusing his weary blue eyes at me over his wire framed glasses, my grandfather gives me a sly, knowing smile.

"Yes, sir. She's down in the stables chatting with Maggie. Gonna take Flame out for a quick ride while I chat with you and my dad."

"Is that right?" He doesn't sound surprised. Everyone knows that Michonne's favorite place on the farm is in the stables with her horse. For her 10th birthday my grandparents gifted her with a horse of her own, which seemed fitting since she and Glenn learned to ride right here along with Jeff and I when we were all kids. "Flame could use a good ride. Michonne hasn't been out this way in a while. Guess she's got something, or someone else taking up all her time. You know anything about that?"

"Yes, sir." My smile is spreading wide across my face, the infectious joy in me probably oozing from my pores as well. I don't care. Last night after our talk, Michonne and I had the best sex yet, right there on the floor in my apartment. With my bed and other furniture already loaded on the moving truck, we didn't have a choice, and Michonne didn't seem to mind. Well not until this morning when she saw she had a bit of a rug burn on the small of her back. Nevertheless, she was still happy, with me, with our plans for the future. And I have to admit, it's got me on cloud nine as well. At this point I just need to address one more thing with my father and granddad.

"Oooh wee! Look at that smile. You're just as happy as a pig in shit aren't you?"

Not even bothering to try and conceal my good mood I have to laugh at my grandfather calling me out. "Ha! Yes, sir, I suppose I am."

"Good for you. I heard you and my favorite girl had finally decided to stop pussyfootin' around. Always hoped you would."

"Thank you, sir. I love her."

"Yeah, I know." Leaning towards me, he lightly slaps the side of my face with his palm. "Your father is out in the woodshop working on a new crib. I hope the way you're grinning don't mean your sinning is gonna cause him to make another new crib anytime soon."

"No, sir. That's definitely not my plan."

Relaxing back onto his chair, he hooks one thumb into the elastic of his red suspenders, and puckers his lips to spit the refuse from his chewing tobacco into a cup, then gives me a long sideways look. "Well alright then. Then you ready to get to work?" he asks, reaching for his cane and beginning to rise slowly from his chair in front of my father's large mahogany desk. A desk that has been in this office, in my family, for longer than I can remember. Jeff and I used to play in here while my dad worked. Underneath the desk also used to be Michonne's favorite hiding place when we played hide and seek. She always hid here or in the horse barn, and I found her first every time. My girl may be brilliant, but she is predictable. At least Jeff and Glenn used to try and mix it up and hide their small bodies into more inventive places than underneath a desk. Matter of fact, I can remember when Michonne, Jeff, and I spent the better part of an afternoon looking all over for Glenn, only to find him in the back of the kitchen pantry asleep with a bag of potato chips tucked under his arm.

Stomping into the office with puffs of sawdust kicking up from his cowboy boots, and billowing off his plaid button up and blue jeans, my father's larger than life presence centers the attention in the room on him.

"That's a good question, Pop. Nice to see you finally made it down here, Rick. I expected you this morning." My father grinds out, clearly irritated by my absence.

"Stopped off in the city to get some things squared away at Mom's house. Chat with her a little bit."

Taking a moment to sip from his favorite coffee cup, a ceramic mug that Jeff and I made when we were kids, emblazoned with some crudely painted hammers and nails and the scrawl of young children, dubbing him the 'Best Dad Ever'. "I see. Does your presence here today mean you are ready to get to work? I have a few orders for some rocking chairs which should be easy enough for you, a credenza, and a roll top desk. Could use your help on all of these, and I need some assistance with this Quicken thing. Maggie loaded it on my computer and I can't figure this shit out. Should be a breeze for you, college boy."

"I want to talk to you and Granddad about that."

Nudging my shin with the rubber end of his cane, my grandfather pushes me to go ahead and say what's on my mind. "Spit it out, boy. I know this has something to do with my favorite girl, so just get it over with."

At the latter end of his sixties, my grandfather is definitely one of my favorite people. Where my father is known for being a quiet man, smooth with the women, and good with his hands, my grandfather is more of the big hearted, loquacious type. A tall, heavyset man, a big joker, his loud voice, and awful jokes usually introduce his presence in a room before he even makes it past the threshold. With large hands, and elongated fingers that have grown stiff with arthritis, joints locked in seizing pain from the many years of furniture making, hammering, drilling, sanding, and tending to a farm, he has served as the widowed head of the Grimes clan for many years, taking on the business that his father before him helmed. He is the last remaining brother out of 13 kids, only survived longer by his sister Tammy, my cousin Shane's grandmother, who lives just up the road with his parents.

Honest and straightforward, probably to a fault, he's one of those people who just really has love for everyone. One would think coming from such a small town, one that he's only left a handful of times, most notably to serve in the Vietnam war, that he wouldn't be so welcoming of folks not like him. Folks like Michonne and her African-American family, and their Korean-American son. But he's just not like that. He's too soft hearted to keep anyone at arm's length, and because he thrives when he's around others, and hates to be alone, I can't imagine him any other way. And honestly, I've inherited a bit of that myself I think. That and his romantic side.

Only five years have passed since my grandmother died, and not a day goes by that my grandfather, Boden Samuel Grimes, doesn't speak of her in some way. To note how much he misses her. Her smile. Her friendship and her cooking, especially her homemade shepherd's pie. How her sewing was beautiful, and she should have rightfully one that quilting competition in 1978, but Big Butt Bertha Hale had somehow bewitched the mayor and gotten his vote. My grandparents married early, both only sixteen years old at the time, they often said they simply never had eyes for anyone else.

I suppose its that perceptive, knowing way about my grandfather that caused him to look upon a pretty little black girl, only five years old, and see in her something that deemed her forever and ever as his favorite girl. Same, Granddad. Same.

Despite the fact that at his first introduction to her, our first Thanksgiving living in Atlanta, he was told that she punched me in the nose, it seemed to only endear her to him even more. He was just taken with her. Her spunk. How unafraid of the world she was to mix it up with the boys. Tenacious, forward, always ready to speak her mind. Sharing Thanksgiving with the Anderson family, Michonne walked right up to my grandfather, not waiting on an adult to introduce her, and offered him her hand and her name, and told him that he looked just like J. Jonah Jameson from her Spiderman comic book, and wondered if he was as ornery as he was. Her parents were mortified, mine were amused, and my grandparents loved her from that moment on, with my grandmother noting that yes, he is certainly as ornery if not more, even though she had no clue who or what a Spiderman or a J. Jonah Jameson was.

From then on, in my grandfather's mind, she was his grandchild every bit as much as Jeff and I were. He and my grandmother used to keep us all out at the farm during many hot summer days, keeping a watchful eye on us as we swam and fished in the pond on their property. Climbed trees, played games, and learned to ride horses. Just thinking over the highlight reel of my past, I smile to see how intertwined in the story of me that Michonne is. Her life threaded into the very fabric of who I am. These memories bring me back to what I need to discuss with my father and grandfather. Why I'm actually here.

Making eye contact with first my granddad, and then my father, giving them both the respect and maturity they expect from me, I clear my throat and answer my grandfather's perceptive comment. "Well, yes, sir it does. Uh, I know you both expect me to move on down here and begin working now that I'm done with school, but, um I have a different plan."

"Is that right?" my father asks, skepticism in his clear blue narrowed gaze, sharp and focused behind the haze of his recently lit cigar's smoke.

"Yes, sir. See, Michonne leaves in a month to move to LA. You know she's going to school there for creative writing and illustration at USC and I'm going with her."

Reclining in his desk chair and crossing his hands behind his head, my father appears neither surprised nor upset. Curious maybe. Concerned even. But not taken aback at all. "You are?"

"Richard, you heard what the boy said."

"Yes, Dad, I heard him, but I just wanted to be sure I heard what I thought I heard. See, I thought I heard my oldest son say he's going to forget about our deal, and his responsibility to this family, to chase a girl."

"My favorite girl, Richard, so watch your mouth." Chuckling, my grandfather eases over towards me, and reaching out to move the collar of my shirt aside he taps the column of my neck with his index finger. "His too if that love bite on his neck is any indication."

Embarrassed, I try not to allow my grandfather's discovery, or my father's tersely spoken words to throw me off.

"Dad, I can't let her leave without me. I won't. I'm sorry to disappoint you both, but I feel like my real destiny is with Michonne. Wherever she is."

"Now them is some bold words, Rick."

"Foolish words. Foolish decision. You're being a romantic, son. Throwing away your life for a girl. A pretty girl. A smart girl. A girl I myself am very fond of. But ya know, son, I should have known this was coming. I've sat in that same chair, and had the same conversation with my father. Isn't that right, Pop?"

"Sure is." My grandfather pauses to spit again, the sound reminding me immediately of the smell of the Skoal packet he has faithfully kept in his pocket for as long as I've known him, and the one time Michonne and I decided to try it. Worst. Taste. Ever. "If I remember correctly, Richard Sr. here came in one fine day, stars in his eyes too, to tell me he was taking his family and heading to the city. Wanted to give his wife and his boys a different life up there in Atlanta."

"That's right. I did that for your mother, for you and Jeff. And for me too, not gonna lie. I thought I could be a different man up there. Have my own store, big house. Be my own man, not just a Grimes. You see what happened up there don't you, Rick?"

"Ray Charles saw what happened up there, boy. Too much chasing skirts, not enough selling furniture. Had to dip your pen in another woman's ink too if I remember correctly."

Scoffing at my grandfather's rehashing of his transgressions, my father sits up straight, seemingly prepared to answer for his crimes. "I'm not proud of that, Pop. It happened, but that was after Dana forgot about me. Got herself that job at the bank, new friends, hobbies. I was at that damned store night and day trying to make it work, and she was out drinking cosmos with the girls and shit. I messed around, yep, I did. One bad choice, Rick, that's all it took. One decision, Rick. One path taken for her. It set all of that in motion. I came back here alone. No family, no wife, no store. Back to the little shop on main street, and to my daddy's farm. Not a married man. Not a successful business man. Just a man. Still making furniture. That gonna be you? LA chew you up and spit you out, send you back home with your expensive education, a broken heart, and your tail tucked between your legs?"

"No, sir. Michonne is my home now. Wherever she is, that's where I belong. We're gonna make this work. Everybody keeps saying they know we we're meant to be, so this is me acknowledging that." I shrug, probably coming off a little petulant at my father's brusque description of how he assumes this story will end. Not if I have my way it won't.

Without even looking my way, my grandfather points his long finger my way and interjects. "Calm down, Rick. You're getting your knickers all twisted cause of what your father said, but lets all stop going around our ass to get to our elbow and spill the truth here. This is you making sure another man doesn't hitch his wagon to hers. I get it. You're fixin' to get your life in order, but hers is just getting started, and you're trying to lock my favorite girl down. I think your father just doesn't wanna see this all backfire on you. That's all."

"It won't."

"Hmph. I hope so, son. I do. Might sound like I'm angry, bitter. Nah, that ain't it. Disappointed maybe, cause I know what you can do. You never give up. You ain't like me, Rick. You're your mother's son. A fighter. You go give LA a shot and see what happens. Maybe you'll have better luck than I did." With a rap of his knuckles on the desktop, my father announces the conversation is officially over, leaving behind only the smoke from his cigar.

Head bowed I'm somewhat conflicted by my father's odd well wishes.

"You go chase your girl, Rick. Either way, your father's story is his. It ain't yours. Don't let fear of failure keep you from your freedom. Or your girl. This will all be here if you fail, but something tells me, you won't."