Chapter 7 – Michonne

"I'm just going to run Judith's wooby to the door. This will be quick." I promise, toying with the small gold 'M' I wear around my neck, as the car cruises over the gravel covered pathway that takes us to the front of the house.

"You sure you don't need me to go with you? I don't mind." Ezekiel offers, removing his right hand from my thigh, and using his index finger to brush soothingly over my cheek as he brings the car to a halt.

Shaking my head slowly, a subtle attempt to push back the flood of memories I have of this place. Of him. I'm trying to let Ezekiel know I got this, regardless of how I shuffle nervously in my seat. My eyes scan the front of the house from where I'm perched in the front passenger seat of the luxury rental car. "No, Ezekiel, it's not a big deal. Seriously."

"If you say so. I just know you don't really interact with Rick, and I can save you from having such an encounter if you do not wish to, beloved." Ezekiel pushes his offer again, over enunciating his words, pronouncing them in that theatrical way he has about himself. The one that he rarely steps out of anymore now that he's pretty famous for it. Since getting cast as 'King Ezekiel', the host of a kids' wildlife program on television, where he interacts with different kinds of animals with his co-host, an animated tiger named Shiva, he's been living out his own theatrical dream. It's really the perfect role for him, and the kids love that their Zeke is famous and on TV, but it does get a little tiresome for every conversation to feel like he's performing for a camera.

Which is kind of unfair of me, and I have to school my face away from a potential grimace that might be shadowing my features. Ezekiel has been good to me, and good for me. Not just me, but for the kids as well. They needed a daily male presence. And me? I have needs too. It feels…strange to have those needs met by someone that isn't Rick, and doesn't do it like Rick, but at some point, I had to realize that I wasn't going to be allowed to have Rick. Not like I need him.

Once I made up my mind not to continue with the drama with Rick any longer, I decided that I was going to focus solely on my children and my career. In that order. But then, one night, only a few days after Glenn returned the kids from their most recent visit with Rick, I was in Whole Foods with both boys and Judith, not really looking for anything in particular. Not needing a specific item. Just needing to get out of the house with the kids who seemed antsy, and to be feeding off of the anxiousness that had been riding me since cutting ties with their father. It was a decision that I felt like I had to make to save myself, to keep from getting my hopes up that he might ever choose me and the kids, and to try and heal. To find a place in my own life where I could be happy with myself.

My mother and Rick's had both counseled that with age and time will bring wisdom. Perspective. That I had to find my own happiness. It was good advice. Prudent advice that kept them both somewhat neutral as longtime friends, protective mothers, and caring grandparents. Rick's mother wasn't well. She hadn't really been well, even after the remission, suffering from what my mother told me is often referred to as 'chemo brain'. The toll that chemo, and the multiple surgeries had taken on a sixty something year old woman were nearly insurmountable. Physically and emotionally. Sometimes she was confused, her memory of events a bit foggy. While she has asked for me to be patient with Rick, with his attempts to try and do right by everyone, her condition has caused her to be somewhat cloudy on the details of how this is all actually working out, and I'm not going to be the one to get into it with her. I love and respect her and her physical struggles, the momentous fight she's been putting up, even against the odds, enough to not let it be a thing between us. I know that she loves me and the kids, but I also know, which I assume she doesn't fully understand, that Rick's sacrifice puts me in an untenable position. And just like she had to eventually acknowledge how things had soured between her and Rick Sr., I'm learning from her history just the same.

My mother on the other hand gets it. She's biased as well, I know that. But her ability to understand is not clouded by the effects of chemotherapy poisoning her body. She knows how much I have cried. How hurt and confused I have been. And even though she's sensitive to balancing her relationship with Rick's mother, and her fondness for Rick, her respect for what she has called an undoubtedly difficult decision, the kids and I come first. Rick's father never said a word about it, and my own father has focused more on whether or not Rick is keeping up his end as a father. When I told my parents that Rick and I were separating, my mother's response was a little more direct than her normal 'age and wisdom' spiel, veering more towards, you have to know when to fold 'em. Which was sadly echoed by my father who mentioned that he really thought we were gonna make it. That maybe I should try to see it from his perspective, cause it's not easy being a good man burdened with leadership. Whatever.

Instead of focusing on my father's advice, I took my mother's because she was right. Life had beaten us in this hand of poker, and that day, ambling around Whole Foods, that was me folding when I knew I was beat. It was a first step to cleansing my life of the negative energy that had permeated my being and my thoughts. It was time to step away.

I suppose that as my father has often reminded me, that when you put positive energy out, you get it in return, I was putting something positive in the air that day. Ezekiel Jones, my old LA buddy was at Whole Foods, alone doing his own shopping, and I'm not going to lie, he looked good. His bright white smile was full of surprise at finding me there. Genuine. Interested. When his gaze fell upon my children, and the newly removed wedding ring that now floated alongside my 'M' charm on my gold necklace, he wasn't put off. He didn't even mention the potential messiness of what my life had become. No. Ezekiel just smiled. Hugged me close. Chatted with the kids, played with them. Lightened our load just enough to give each of us an injection of joy we sorely needed.

Bumping into my old friend felt like fate. Our paths crisscrossing the country and throughout time. That night we spent hours in Whole Foods together. Talking, ambling lazily throughout the grocery store side by side, eating samples while catching up, he even kept an eye on the boys while I ran to the restroom to change Judith's diaper. For the first time in a long time I laughed. Really laughed. The kind that rumbles through your chest, doubles you over as tears color your eyes. Wanting to hold on to that, and recognizing that the kids, especially the boys, had grown tired of our grocery store adventure, I invited Ezekiel back home with me. And that was all it took.

Over snacks and tea, we picked up where we left off. Friends. Confidants. And even as he placed a soft kiss to my cheek, accompanied by another hug that folded me into his strong arms, my broken heart fluttered at the possibility of something. A return to the playful, good time Michonne that I had once known when Ezekiel and I traipsed around LA only a few short years ago. I wanted that again. I needed that. A balance. Some jovial levity to the weighty roles of comic ingénue, rising star, mother, and disillusioned yet love sick woman. And in my mind, right or wrong, I wanted to rid myself of Rick's imprint on my life. Remove what felt like the permanent memory of him on my skin. And my heart. It's why I finally removed his ring from my finger. I needed to show myself and the world that I was open for new possibilities again. I couldn't escape the three little reminders of him that we had created together, and I never would, but could Ezekiel help me escape the wreckage of what loving Rick had done to my heart? I didn't even need it to be romantic. Just…something different.

Rick and I had become a tragedy. Collateral damage from a series of unfortunate events. And that wasn't what I wanted for myself, not anymore. I had given him everything I had to give. Time and time again, when given the option, I chose him. I continued to pick him. Love and marriage and all of that. And each of those times, Rick gave a little. Revealed a glimmer of his love for me. But in the end, every time…every single time, he let me go. Put me on a plane, scared, pregnant, broken. Sent me away from him with twin boys, and yet another life we had created. Told me that his dedication to his parents outweighed the destiny I was so certain of for us.

It was too much. It was not enough. And I was done.

I was also lonely. Even with the constant presence of Sasha always waiting to step in and help out, simply be around, outside of working, which I did tirelessly, I didn't do much else. Work was my refuge. Writing new comics, editing and rewriting. Drafting new storylines for future issues. Sketching out new illustrations. And painting. A favorite medium of mine that hadn't gotten much time before, but seemed to itch my palms with a need to feel the firm wood of a paintbrush in my hand, my fingers guiding the strokes to slash and swipe across the white canvas.

Being a mother was the only other thing in my life that rivaled my work and my art. I loved my babies. The smell of them, the sticky sweetness of milk and…graham crackers maybe? The soft silk of their curls. The smooth cream of their unblemished skin and chubby likeness. They were the best thing in my world, and while I cried some nights, angry and pained at Rick's absence. That my best friend, my lover, the man I trusted the most in this world wasn't here to see the delight cross Andre's little round face when he finally succeeded in getting his foot in his mouth. Carl figuring out how to hoist his brother up to snatch cookies from the counter. Or to watch Judith army crawl across the carpet, trying her best to get to her wooby. Their presence in my world was the source of the most ultimate joy I had ever known. And for awhile it was enough.

Judith's wooby. That's why I'm here now. Sitting in the car, in the driveway. Having this discussion with Ezekiel about taking Judith her blanket at Rick's house. There is a certain uneasiness in the energy between Ezekiel and I right now, and I don't want that. Ezekiel has been there for me, to pick up the pieces of my heart, when I was ready to drop them into the incinerator. I'd given up on the very idea, and when I did, he came back into my life, and loved me so good and so hard, how could I ever want him to feel any kind of way about us? I don't want him to think that after all of this time, the back and forth between Rick and I, that I can't handle a 30 second exchange in the doorway. Of course I can. Ezekiel and I are stronger than whatever chemical reaction Rick and I had. A friendship that life and circumstance forced us to outgrow. We're grown ups now. We've moved beyond whatever we had before. Right now we're just two parents. Not best friends. Not lovers. Only husband and wife on paper.

I've repeated that mantra to myself so many times after promising Judith I would bring her wooby, that I'm beginning to wonder if I even believe it? If that was true, why have I frozen him out of my life since Judith was born? Self-preservation is what I remind myself, but deep down, tattooed permanently on my soul where a lifetime of memories of him and the ghost of his touch resides, I know the truth…

That doesn't matter I suppose, and before I reach for the door handle, ready to just get this over with, I drop a kiss to Ezekiel's bearded cheek. A tiny reminder of my affection for him.

How I've missed this place, I think as I walk up the pathway to the steps and porch, my eyes scanning over the large white farmhouse, and the sprawling land covered in crops, peach trees, the stables and barn, the pole barn that houses the family businesses. A deep inhale carries the smell of the peach trees in the air. Without even journeying around the property, I can almost see the large pond that I know sits behind the house, where Rick, Glenn, Jeff and I used to swim, and swing off a hanging tire into the warm water. A pang stabs at my heart from the memories of my youth, nearly each and every one involving Rick.

Breathe, Michonne. Breathe, I whisper to myself, just as I'm about to knock on the door. As I'm raising my hand, the door whips open and there he is. Oh god this was a bad idea.

"Thank god you made it. She's devolved into whimpering at this point, she's so sleepy, but…you know she won't sleep without that thang." Rick blurts, his tanned face a little red as he's lightly bouncing our baby girl on his hip, rubbing his large palm over her head. The stress of Judith's situation is clearly working on his own resolve.

Despite that, the sight of him makes my breath catch in my throat. The outline of his frame, with the inside of the house darkened, and the porch light shining on him, gives me a full on picture of him. And he looks good. Damned good. Better than a man who has broken my heart consistently for the last five years has a right to. Time has been too good to him and I almost hate him for it. Almost.

Rick's skin is glowing with that farmer's tan he gets from working outside, a healthy warm glow that dusts his patrician features. Muscled arms, protectively holding our baby girl, flexing against the cotton of his t-shirt, draw my attention. He's always been such a good father, that I have to admit. Even when I've struggled with the disappointment of our failed relationship, enough to mark his email address as spam to prevent communication, and put away any reminders of our life long friendship, I could never say that Rick hasn't given his family one hundred percent of himself. I suppose it's too bad that I didn't qualify as family, I think, the thought causing hardened bitterness for him to well in my heart, reminding me of the anguish our relationship has caused me. Outside of me, he does alright. Rick calls every night the kids are not with him. He flies to LA at least once a month and visits with them at Glenn's place. Every other major holiday is his. Yes, he has missed some milestones, but given everything else, fatherhood is something that he's tried hard at, even when he doesn't always get it right.

God I want to hate him though. I want to use only harsh words. Dismissively deny him eye contact. My heart tells me it's what he deserves. Then he calls my name…

"Michonne? Chonnie? You ok?" He asks, then drags his hand over his head, brushing his hair back from his forehead. Doing so tugs his t-shirt up, the hem creating separation from the waistband of his jeans, showcasing his tight abs and the hair leading a happy trail down. Shamefully my eyes follow that path for a second, as I wordlessly recall the feel of that same hair brushing soft against my own belly… "Chonne, you alright?" he asks, stepping towards me onto the porch, and I involuntarily back up from his advance. I don't know why I did that. It's just that…I felt like we need space between us. Separation. I don't want to burn up in his atmosphere. Been there, got Judith last time that happened.

Leaning from Rick's arms and out towards me, Judith raises her head, "Mama, my wooby?"

Softening at the feel of my baby in my arms, I finally find the words to speak, "Uh yeah, sweetie, here you go. Mama brought your wooby. Just like I said I would." Handing her the blanket, Judith instantly accepts it from me and rubs it across her face, the same she always does when she's soothing herself and preparing for bed.

In the same moment, as we both give our attention to Judith, ensuring that she's calming down now that she has her coveted blanket, Rick does it again. He leans up to drag both hands now over his head, then down across his handsome face. "Thank you for that." He says, gesturing his chin towards Judith. His concern for her distress is melting and relaxing his features as a few chocolate and greying curls fall out of place and back onto his forehead.

On some men the disarray that his curls are now in would look messy. Unkempt. On Rick it just adds to his appeal. To the rugged, sexy of him. It's that country boy twang of his words, its subtle bass affecting how he's always pronounced my name in a firm but lazy way. The wide legged stance of his bowed limbs, with his muscled thighs easy to make out in the relaxed hang of his blue jeans, the legs of which drop and barely cover his long bare feet. The sexiness of it all would seem so overt and in your face on anyone else. Like he's putting on an act. And in LA it might have come off that way, with so many of the city of angels' citizens putting on their own dramatic performance of life. But here, with the hum of the cicadas in the backdrop, the soundtrack to this scene, it's just Rick and it gives me pause. Creates a stutter in my breathing that is both familiar and treacherous.

Without a clean shave, the telltale tumble of his dark beard reminds me of its wiry softness on my lips, my face, my thighs. A cool damp, sweat breaks out on my forehead. I can feel my fingers dancing nervously in a twitch against each other. None of this is because of him. It's because I have to acclimate to the stifling southern heat, so different from the breezy warmth of California nights. It's late in the evening and I'm still on LA time, three hours behind the late time here. Existing in a warped jetlag that's creating a false reaction to him. Yeah…that's it.

Rick and that piercing blue gaze of his are pinning me where I stand though, taking note of me in the same way I'm trying to inconspicuously do to him. But he's so overt with it. Hands resting lightly on his trim waist, his eyes never stop traveling over my face, my body, moving further down to consume the full picture of me. Then back up, and finally landing back on my face. My lips, and I recognize the look in those eyes. The preamble to the Rick Grimes seduction. The blazing heat of which used to literally devour me underneath the grip of his greedy hands. The softness of his patient, wet kisses…

I'm self-conscious under his stare. It's been so long; I can't help but wonder what he sees when looks at me like this. The skinny girl who shared her childhood with him? The young woman who gifted him with nearly every first experience of her life? The adult whose adoration used to burn so bright, white hot for him? Strong enough to disregard everything else life offered her, simply to have him?

Without the opportunity to change out of the clothes I wore on the plane, or that I met with studio executives in, I feel dingey and worn out as I pull Judith over from where she rests on one hip to place her on the other. A futile attempt to protect myself from the warmth of his knowing stare. In a flash of incoherent thinking, I wish I'd had a chance to freshen up before I bolted over here. Perhaps some lip gloss? Maybe change out of this bland, grey sheath dress that does nothing to hide the motherly wideness of my hips. Or the jut of my large breasts. Breasts that relentlessly draw his gaze away from my eyes.

"It's good to see you, Michonne. You look good. Real good."

Nodding, I can't fully find my voice, my cool, and I simply settle on giving this man as little of myself as possible. Nothing more than what my presence in his space provides. Haven't I already given him enough?

Reaching his hand out to me, he pushes one curled loc away from my face and tucks it behind my ear, then briefly skips over my gold wedding band dangling on my necklace that rests at my throat causing a shiver to inch down my body, enlivening my core. "You feeling alright?"

Dipping away from him, an attempt to escape his touch, the unexpected reaction to him, I frown at the seductive familiarity in how he reaches for me. Brushes against my heated skin. As though he has the right to. "Yep. Why?" I ask, my tone flat, words clipped. Brief.

"Boys said you slept the whole flight here. Ya know I didn't even know you were coming. You and your… friend." I'm not giving him any further eye contact, but from where my eyes are focused on the drowsy droop of my daughter's eyelids, leading her down the path to a satisfied sleep, my peripheral vision allows me to witness how Rick's head is now raised high, chin jutted stubbornly as his gaze is focused on the walkway behind me.

"Michonne, is everything ok, my love?" Ezekiel asks, the steady rhythm of his footsteps carrying him to my side. I knew he wasn't going to be able to stay in the car and wait. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he drops a kiss to my temple, then gives Judith's back a few comforting rubs and a nod of greeting to Rick. "Hello, Rick."

A gruff, rumbling grunt, almost a growl emits from Rick. No acknowledgement other than that of Ezekiel's presence. Not a hello, a handshake. Nothing. But I can feel his eyes on me again, hard, focused. Unrelenting.

Clearing my throat, I can't handle the tension of this moment, and just as I'm about to end this scene before it gets more interesting than I'm up for, Rick's grandfather darkens the doorway behind him.

"Rick, what's goin' on? You letting out all the air conditionin', boy! Tryin' to cool off all of Georgia?" Poking his head from around Rick, his suspicious stare surveys the scene on the porch, sweeping over the night until his gaze lands on me. "Well I'll be damned! You finally decided to pay an old man dust huh?"

Laughing, I can feel a wide grin break out on my face. "Granddad! You knew I would come see you eventually. I just got in today."

"Eventually when I'm dead and gone?"

"Are you trying to guilt me?"

"Is it working?"

"Yes!"

"Well come here and give me a hug then." Reaching out to him, easing from under Ezekiel's arm, I wrap my free arm around Granddad. He hugs me tightly, keeping Judith between us, his familiar scent soothing my agitation at the Rick, Michonne, Ezekiel reunion I've found myself in the middle of. "I've missed you, favorite girl."

"I've missed you too, but you know I've been so busy with everything. Sorry it's taken me so long to see you."

"Uh huh. What's this I hear about you spending the rest of the year here?"

"Well, my comic is being turned into a television show. I'm consulting as an executive producer, and it'll be shooting here in town from now until about Thanksgiving. Mostly over at the Gin property by the post office in town. So, yeah, I'll be around for awhile. Gonna setup shop in one of the apartments across from Nic and Norman's."

"And I'll be joining her as much as I can." Sidling up closer to me, announcing his presence to Granddad, Ezekiel offers his hand out in greeting. "I'm Ezekiel Jones."

Studying him, the same suspicious way that Rick does to someone he doesn't know, with a furrow of his thick eyebrows, he only responds with a single word. "So?"

"Granddad, this is my- "

Not put off one bit by the icy reception, Ezekiel just keeps going. "Boyfriend. I'm Michonne's boyfriend. Pleased to meet you."

Granddad slowly accepts Ezekiel's hand, but not until after he's allowed his eyes to swing in an obvious manner to Rick, then back to Ezekiel. "You're dating my favorite girl?"

"I'm pleased to say that I am."

"Uh huh."

"I'm quite fond of her and her lovely children. They certainly keep me on my toes!" Ezekiel exclaims, his smile wide and genuine. He's so proud of himself, announcing our relationship to an audience that would rather not receive it, that he completely misses the heavy scrutiny in Granddad's stare, or the displeased glare of Rick's.

"That right? You see my grandson's babies often? Spend a lot of time with his wife do ya?" Granddad asks, his thumbs hooked into his suspenders as he looks over his glasses at Ezekiel, taking stock of him. He certainly doesn't seem as impressed as my parents were when they met him, if I had to guess by the derisive snort that punctuates his assessment. And calling me Rick's wife, which almost kills me to hear. It's been so long. Rick even dashes his eyes to me, the word wife seemingly creating a similar shock in him that softens the blaze of blue once they settle on me, ensuring that I can recognize more than just the attraction we've always had brimming there. My heart lurches at recognizing that there's still love behind the hard façade. Why?

Abruptly I turn away. I can't manage his emotions right now. Not wanting to allow this interrogation to go too far, I attempt to answer for Ezekiel in the silence that follows Granddad's questions, and get us on our way back to the hotel. "Well, Granddad…"

"It's ok, dear heart." Ezekiel rubs his palm across my back as though to calm my clearly fraying nerves. "Michonne is my favorite girl as well. And of course her children are the light of my life. I love each of them as much as I love her. They are my life actually." He chuckles, finding humor in his admission, but appearing to make a conscious choice to avoid the reference to me as Rick's wife. "I spend a lot of time working for my television show, but every moment I can get free is reserved for them. They are my family." Beaming at his declaration of love, and care for us, Ezekiel is still all smiles. And even though he can't read a room to save his life, I feel myself feeling proud at how easy it is for him to say how he feels about my kids and I. How honest his dedication to us is. It humbles me to hear him declare himself in this way, even as I know as sure as I know my own name, that Rick is seething underneath his skin. That gives me a little petty jolt of satisfaction.

Holding back a grin, especially as I witness the lethal grimace on Rick's reddening face, I do finally cut things short. "Rick, uh, here why don't you take Judith, she's fallen asleep. Zeke and I are going to get back to the hotel. It's late."

Rick does as asked, and without barely a second glance spared for me, he accepts Judith from my arms and heads into the house.

At Rick's sudden departure, Ezekiel offers in parting, "Yes, the witching hour is upon us, and we could use our rest. I'm flying back to LA in the morning, and my queen must embark on her first full day of shooting on the set. I'm very proud of her!" Ezekiel grins again, the positive vibes oozing from him, regardless of the less than impressed reception he has received from the Grimes men.

"I see." Snorting, then spitting over the railing into the dirt by the walkway, Granddad fixes his eyes on me, dismissing Ezekiel. "Well, Chonnie, you gonna have to swing back by here so we can talk some while you're here. Let me get reacquainted with your new life and all. I'm sure Rick and his parents would like that. Peach picking season is upon us. Come on back and help out like you used to? See if you got any King County left in you."

"I will do that. I promise. Soon as I get situated, I will make time for you. And peaches."

"You do that, Chonnie. You do that. Your family sure would like it."

XXXXXX

"Oh god, Sasha it was so freakin' awkward! Zeke standing there with his arm around me, grinning like he just won best hog at the King County Fair, Granddad asking too many questions, calling me Rick's wife, and Rick just…staring."

"But why was it awkward though? I mean, you're over Rick. And technically you are still his wife. Right?"

"Of course. But not really!" I scoff, fiddling with the 'M' charm, and ring around my neck. It's become a nervous habit. I'm sure my mother would tell me the psychological, Freudian reason for it. Sagging under the weight of the memory of last night's encounter, I slouch down into my seat. "He did look good though. Still so handsome." I mumble, remembering how handsome he looked on the porch. "He's always been sexy though, ya know. Women love Rick. And there's something about him. Especially when he's playing daddy." At the arch of Sasha's eyebrow, I stutter to clean up my words. "Wait…not that kind of daddy. Just, he's good with the kids. He's their daddy. That's what I meant. Their father."

"Right. A daddy." Maneuvering a licorice stick around in her mouth, she reaches out and offers the jar of them to me. "Why do they always look so damn good when you don't want 'em anymore? Like do they start working out and manscaping and shit just cause they know you're trying to move on?"

Accepting a few of the cherry licorice for myself, I yank off a piece with my teeth, and chew, thinking over her question. "Yes. I'm convinced that's exactly what they do. Has to be what Rick is up to. He's always been good looking, lean. But you know, working on that farm everyday, working with his hands? Yeah, it's doing his body right. Sunkissed, thick, but in a well built way, ya know?"

"Mmhm… Grimes always used to have them hoes itchin' for a scratch!"

Staring off, past Sasha's head, focusing somewhere outside of the window of my trailer, my musings just keep coming, "Wearing his hair a little shorter. Got some grey on his head and in his beard. Looks good on him though."

"Oh I bet."

"Yeah… Rick looks real good. I guess being where he's supposed to be has done that for him."

"I'm sorry, Michonne. I really am."

"Sorry for what?" Snapping out of my inner thoughts, ruminations, my attention turns back to Sasha. Lounging on the couch in my trailer in her full on zombie apocalypse costume, minus the dreadlock wig and katana, she gives me the gift of her sad, dark eyes. It's because she knows. More than anyone, other than Rick and myself. Sasha knows what went down, and how I broke apart as a result. She was there to witness how badly the ups and downs of Rick and Michonne left me a mess.

More than a friend. More like a sister, a newly married Sasha spent many of her days and nights watching rom coms and chick flicks with me. Pigging out on food, and grape juice since it seems like for a large portion of the last five years I've either been pregnant or breast feeding, and alcohol has been off the menu. Listening to me whine and cry, complain and get angry, then circle back to crying again. Over Rick. Over my status as a lonely single mother. Over the detritus of my failed romantic entanglements. My ruined marriage.

She never had to do any of that, and I'm certain that while she had been pounding the pavement by day auditioning for acting jobs, and maintaining a home and marriage, she deserved better from me during those days. Sasha could probably have used a sounding board as well, as she navigated the life of a newlywed. Divulged the long suffering struggles with Bob's alcohol addiction. Shared her own outrage over being looked over for so many acting roles because of the color of her skin. Too light for some roles. Too dark for most. Never just right. Her goldilocks conundrum took a back seat to the diapers, crying babies, and crying friends while she supported me, and I have never forgotten that. Never.

When Mr. Kleinman informed me that a mid-sized cable network wanted to turn my comic, Zombie Slayer, into a television show, and they wanted to begin casting immediately, I knew exactly who would be the perfect person to play the lead. Sweet but tough, resilient, loving, and a true leader, Sasha already embodied every characteristic that my main heroine, Misha, was known for. Considering her sickeningly beautiful body, courtesy of the crossfit training that she religiously participated in every other day, upon meeting her over a casual sushi lunch at Nobu, Mr. Kleinman had to agree that Sasha was perfect for the apocalyptic role.

Ecstatic for the opportunity, but wary about leaving her husband Bob behind in LA for months on end, Sasha took to preparations for the role with more professionalism and focus than most of the people I have worked with in my short career in the entertainment industry. And I told her that, but she could only respond that not only was she grateful for the opportunity I had given her, but that she felt a responsibility to do right by the characters that I had breathed life into from the corners of my imagination. Especially since the world would love nothing but to see us fail. But nah, that's not us. Sasha and I have been preparing for this day for all of our lives.

Even now, as my focus is momentarily stolen by the reminder of the physical beauty of my ex, my friend, my sister pulls me back in with her kind words.

"What are you sorry for, Sasha?"

"That you're not over him."

"What? I am."

"No, Chonne, you're not. I know it, and so do you. Shit, Zeke probably knows it too. That's what all that damn peacocking last night was about. But he doesn't know you and Rick like I do. He can show you all of his fancy plumage, and say all of the right words, screw your brains out, but he'll never be the love of your life."

"Sash-"

"No, sis, hear me out. What you and Rick have is not normal. It's crazy stupid, and sexy, and unique. And messy! But, damnit it's real. The love you two have-"

"Had."

"Have, Michonne, have. It's not an ordinary love. It's some kinetic shit. You've known that man since you were like ten."

"Five."

"See! And that's why it hurts so bad. It's because you know him. I might be your sister, but that man is your best friend. Michonne, don't take this wrong, but I've said this before. You were both in an impossible situation. Rick didn't choose his family over you. He gave you the space to choose yourself."

"That's not how it went down, Sasha."

"Isn't it? You guys got married because he wanted to hold on to you, but let you fly. But what was a man to do with a little brother in college, a mother going through chemo, and a feckless idiot for a father, and his old grandfather? Was the Rick you know, the captain save 'em all day, gonna not try to save somebody?"

Sucking my teeth at her usual defense for Rick, I am quick with my rebuttal. "He could have let me deal with all of that with him. Girl, I honestly think he was just looking for an out. A way to go back to being who he was before me."

"Really? Don't play me, Michonne."

"I'm not."

"Rick isn't built like that. He's not his father. Not anymore."

"Well, he's certainly acting like it. Glenn said that Jeff said that he's messing around with that Lori again."

"What? The skinny chick he used to mess with?"

"Yep! That's her. She's a teacher in Atlanta now."

"Damn… well, I mean… You are sleeping with Ezekiel." She shrugs, raising her eyebrows at making her point, while maintaining eye contact with me.

Not able to hold her stare, I glance away again, my fingers animating to stroke over my necklace again. "I am. Because Rick and Michonne is no longer a thing. I gave that up."

Growing serious, a sadness seems to pull at her pretty features as her voice grows softer with the recall of a memory of her own complicated marriage. "Don't you remember how Bob falling off the wagon destroyed me? When I left him after all of the lies, the secrets…what did you tell me? Hm?"

"I don't remember." I lie. Am I fooling anyone here?

Rolling her eyes, Sasha is letting me know that I am certainly not fooling her. "You told me that what Bob and I have is stronger than his imperfections. That real love is stronger than our own frailties. I believed you then when I took my husband back, and I believe you now. Why can't you forgive yourself for how you feel about Rick? Reflect on it. Liberate yourself from it, and give yourself permission to confront your anger and hurt over what happened. Then let it go. It's the only way Bob and I have been able to even consider reconciling."

Feeling the sting of her words, her accusation, maybe even recognizing the rampant truthfulness in them, all of them, I can sense my resolve growing shaky. My words stifling in my throat, almost throttling themselves behind the emotion welling at the remembrance of painful memories. Hers and mine. "Reconciliation? It's not a consideration for us. Not anymore. Everything I am was so wrapped up in Rick. I would have stopped the world, given up everything I am for him to choose me. To choose his children. But, Sasha, at some point what's real and what's important are not always the same thing. Our love may have been real, but so was the hurt, the disappointment. Which matters more?"

"All of it matters. Every feeling matters. They're all valid, because that's the cost of being in love like that. It just is."

"I don't think so." I sadly shake my head, steeling my resolve against the flurry of sentiment this conversation that Sasha and I have had many times before dredges up. "I don't think that being in love like that matters anymore."

"Doesn't it?"

Shifting uncomfortably in my chair in front of the vanity and lighted mirror, I don't answer her immediately. Instead I swing my chair around to face the mirror and escape her knowing gaze. Confronted with my own visage, the emotion living and breathing in my eyes, I breathe deeply. In. Out. Gliding my fingers across the coolness of my amethyst mala beads wrapped a few times around my right wrist, I touch the first few of the 108, quietly repeating to myself the mantra that has gotten me through the last five years…

'Om mani padme hum'

Staring at myself in the mirror for a second, I allow myself a moment to gather my thoughts as I continue to internally chant. Pulling an elastic hair tie from my other wrist, I gather my locs into my palm, twist them up on top of my head, and knot them there. Snapping the hair tie into place, I tilt my head a little to the right, giving Sasha's observations some thought, before I turn back to her.

Regarding me with a pleasant smile, Sasha raises her eyebrows high on her forehead. "You still mirror some of his mannerisms too. Tilting your head in that Rick Grimes way."

3 years ago…

Tilting my head in that way that is all completely Rick, a habit of his that I have picked up, I squint my eyes and look over at him. Attempting to focus in the dim lighting of my bedroom. It's been a long couple of weeks with the birth of our baby girl Judith, and both Rick and I are simply bone weary. It seems like it's been forever since either of us has had a full night's rest. The boys are just turning three and while the predicted Terrible Twos never existed with those two, they are fully immersed in the early stages of the Terrorizing Threes, which carry the characteristics of bouts of wild rowdiness and mischievous behavior, unwillingness to follow direction, and most recently a disregard and jealousy of their new little sister. 

"Hey, beautiful. Want me to fix you something to eat?"

"I'm not hungry. How about you?"

"You gonna feed me?" He teases, jutting his chin towards where Judith is swaddled and snug against my chest as she breastfeeds. 

"Ew!"

"Don't knock it till you try it."

"You're such a pervert!"

"Eh. Maybe."

We grow quiet again. Enjoying this simple moment. Our family together. Rick drops his head back on to the headboard and continues to rub Andre's back in slow, easy circles, as he rests against Rick's chest. Quietly snoring against his father's neck. With Carl asleep between us, curled up in a fetal position facing my side, Rick's focus bounces from one child to the next, then finally lifts back to me. Blue eyes, soft, clouded with what I can only assume is exhaustion and emotion, he mutters only a few words. Spoken so quietly, probably so as not to rouse the children, but also because of the magnitude of their meaning, Rick admits, "I want us like this all the time, Chonne." Swallowing thickly, the Adam's apple in his throat bobs as he seems to be thinking of the right words to say. Holding his gaze in the scant light that remains of an orange dusk coloring the windows, I turn my head to receive his message. "I want to feel my wife underneath me every night, taking every inch of me. I want your lips, and kisses. I want to hear you say my name as I make you cum. Scream until your voice is hoarse. Nip at that little spot on your inner thigh. Suck on the stickiness of it." Biting at his bottom lip, he drops his eyes to my lips as though he can see the picture his words paint. "I want to watch you feed our daughter and play with our sons. I want you to see me, and know that everything I do is to get us there, sweetheart. I promise you this. I promise you."

Rick's words are poetic, laced with earnest desire, but eerie in their premonition. It makes me want to break something, because I understand where he's coming from. What he's struggling with. The imposition of life's circumstances that force us to make difficult choices. Weigh the variables, and make the best decision you can. It's what I also want, but I know him, and it pains me as much as it gives me hope because I know him. Because I know him the questions that we continue to tussle with rise, clear and prescient in my brain. Why can't Rick think about himself for once? Is it greedy to expect that of him?

Reaching out to me, wiping the frustrated tears from my face, his fingers delicately skim across my skin, the callouses telling the story of how hard he's been working. Sniffling back his emotions, snuffing them out on a rough cough, Rick tries to make me understand. "I would do anything to make you happy, sweetheart. I want you more than my next breath. But, I can't leave them to manage this on their own. That wasn't the deal. I am…torn."

He's torturing me. My heart is once again destroyed, left in slivers of broken pieces that will harden me to him. Create a chasm between us that I'm not sure we will ever be able to bridge. I don't want to, I think. The unexpected ups and downs of this relationship are too reminiscent of when I took gymnastics lessons. The tumbling and jumping, the swinging in the air. It made me feel ungrounded, literally and metaphorically. I don't like the intensity of that out of control feeling it left me with. It's an unfulfilled emptiness that I can't tolerate. I won't. Not anymore. 

Words are no longer needed, so I offer none. The physical destruction left behind by Rick Grimes is real, and at this point, continuing to love him. Want him? It's a fruitless endeavor. An expedition that I will no longer suffer the journey for. I've made my last choice, and…I'm done.

"You might be right, Sasha, but no, none of that matters now. It can't." Inching my shoulders up then back down, it's the signal that I've given up on the conversation. "It still hurts too bad, and honestly? I'm ready to be happy. Zeke makes me happy. I know you don't like him, but-"

Holding up her index finger she attempts to halt my words. "Ah, I never said-"

"You didn't have to. I know Zeke is a bit much, I agree he is. But, it's also because he's a bit much that he's exactly what the kids and I need. That man puts us first every time, Sasha. Every single time. How many men do you know would take two days just to fly his girlfriend and her children across the country, then fly right back?"

"How many men feel insecure enough about their girlfriend being in the same vicinity of their hot, estranged husband that they feel the need to?"

She might have me there, but before I get the opportunity to provide a retort, or at least put together a plucky comeback in Zeke's defense, there is a knock at the door of my trailer.

"Ms. Anderson? It's Anthony Lawrence. May I come in?"

"Yes! Come on in!" I answer, putting on my professional face, shoulders back, sitting tall, lifting my chin.

"Hello, Ms. Anderson. Or is it Grimes? I've seen it both ways."

"Either is fine." I immediately answer, not wanting to give Sasha an opportunity to interject some witty remark into the conversation.

"Wonderful! Well, it's such a pleasure to finally meet you in person." Anthony greets me with a firm handshake and a smile, his voice carrying the telltale lilt of a British accent.

"Yes, it's wonderful to meet you as well."

"You know, I was a little nervous during my audition with the other EPs, but when you Face Timed me I felt very relaxed. Natural. As though we knew each other."

"Oh, well that's good. You definitely had the best audition for Randy that we had seen. I couldn't imagine another actor getting that part. I think you are exactly what I envisioned when I wrote the character for my comic." I respond, attempting to keep my focus on Anthony's face. Which is easy enough, the man is gorgeous. With dark, wavy hair, and clear blue eyes, the tall, British actor is everything that the role of Randy Garrison requires. Despite the fact that he is not from Georgia, or even from this country, his audition convinced me that he was indeed a small town sheriff's deputy who had lost his cheating wife and best friend in the zombie apocalypse, and was trying to protect his kids and family in the desolate, yet brutal world left behind. Seeing him in the flesh confirms it.

Sasha must be thinking the same, because she's distracting me by making faces and mouthing lewd comments about him behind his back. She isn't lying though. The man is gorgeous in a very Richard Armitage way.

"Fantastic!" He exclaims, clapping his hands together one time, then as though he just realized that we are not alone, he startles a bit and turns towards where Sasha is still relaxed on the couch behind him. "My apologies, how could I have missed that you have company?" Offering Sasha his hand, Anthony greets her in the same affable way he presented himself to me. "I'm Anthony Lawrence."

"I'm Sasha Williams. I'll be playing the part of Misha."

"How lovely… I mean, forgive me. Uh, you are lovely, and it's uh…lovely that you will be playing the lead role here of Misha."

"Thank you." Grinning up at Anthony, Sasha's giving him a full smile, I can't help but notice what seems to be a bit of a reddish blush coloring her cheeks. "How kind of you."

"You know, I've been reading through the pilot script, where you and I meet at the fence of the prison, and the remarks from the director there… Oh I don't know, it seems as though they are setting us up for something, yes?"

"Have you read the comic series, Anthony?" I ask, furrowing my brow as I'm quite curious about his observation.

"Ah yes, I read through the whole published compendium over the last month. It's quite exciting reading."

"So you know that in the comics, Misha and King Ezra end up together as a couple. Not Randy and Misha."

"Yes, yes I did see that. But, there does seem to be something that maybe the scripting is alluding to between Randy and Misha, am I right? They are two sides of the same coin. Both warriors. Protectors. Leaders. It's a dynamic that I noticed in the comics, in their kinetic friendship. But, friends do quite often become lovers. It's that connection, that recognition of one's other half I think. And I do look forward to exploring it with you, Sasha." Winking at her, Anthony is clearly flirting with her. And Sasha, married or not, is simply eating it up.

"I look forward to our exploration of each other as well, Anthony." Seemingly catching my surprised face, as I know my eyes are positively bulging with surprise at their flirtatious banter, Sasha tacks on a final word to her response. "Professionally."

Bowing at the waist, Anthony takes a delicate hold of Sasha's hand, and places a kiss on her knuckles. "Of course." Then takes his leave.

Upon his departure, Sasha and I wait a long while before either of us speaks. Rushing over to the door, then locking it behind him, Sasha is the one to speak first. "Damn girl, you even had to find a Rick Grimes clone to play the role of Randy? If this isn't some subliminal shit I'll pay for lying!"

"What are you talking about?"

Pointing an accusatory index finger my way, Sasha confronts me, "Where you find a man that looks so much like Rick to play his part in this show, Michonne? That's some wild shit!"

"I didn't! Not all white men look alike, Sasha. How rude!"

"Girl, cut the shit. That man is the British version of Rick and you know it. And everyone but you will admit that Randy and Misha are just the comic, alternate universe of Rick and Michonne."

"You're tripping!"

"No I'm not. I read that comic, Michonne, and Anthony is right. You may have written it like some fanfiction alternate universe for you and Rick, adding in that busted King Ezekiel, I mean Ezra, but Anthony is on to you, sis. And I for one look forward to exploring it…with him!"

XXXXXX

"Mama, then Dre and Carl called me a baby. I not a baby!"

"Nuh uh! Dre called her a baby." Carl gestures with his thumb towards where Andre is seated next to him, his eyes only rising from underneath the shadow of what I recognize as one of Rick's old cowboy hats, but only briefly from his iPad to make contact with mine through the computer screen. "I called her a cwybaby cause she cwied about it."

"Carl!"

"Huh?"

"Snitches get stitches, Judith!" Andre angrily charges at his little sister, upset that she was spilling the beans about everything they had been up to over the last few days. We'd missed our nightly Face Time session before bed for three nights in a row due to the night time shooting schedule the show was on. When I tried to call after 9 pm, unsurprisingly no one had answered. Which stung a little bit, as I've never gone this long without seeing my babies' faces. Even when they were little babies and Rick would have them, his mother or father would always make sure to call me each night on Face Time so I could sing to them, say a few words, at least lay my eyes on them.

"Andre, don't call your sister a snitch! And where did you hear that?"

"Stiches? Whas a snitch, Mama?" Judith asks, scrunching up her tiny face that is swaddled by the cloak of her wooby wrapped around her whole body. Seated on the bed in Rick's bedroom, Carl and Andre flanking Judith, who is plopped down between them in the middle, they each look like the living, breathing embodiment of what Rick and I once had, each of their faces and frames carrying the evidence of our coupling. I can't help but smile at the memories that are swept up in their conceptions and births, my life so much richer with them in it.

As my brain is racing to try and figure out a way to explain what a snitch is to a three-year-old, Rick's long legs suddenly enter the screen of my laptop as he stands next to the bed. "Sorry to interrupt you, Chonne, time for bed kiddos. It's 8:30."

A round of groans, mostly from the boys erupt at his announcement. Andre dramatically falls backwards on the bed, groaning, his skinny little legs peeking out from his pajama shorts, kicking up into the air. Carl immediately jumps up in his police officer themed PJs, but still heavily focused on his iPad, doesn't actually take another step to follow his father's command. And Judith, well she's Rick's princess, so all she does is raise her arms to her father in a quiet command for him to pick her up. He does. Of course he does. He always does what Judith asks of him. She's got him wrapped solidly around her chubby toddler fingers.

"No problem." I sigh, a little sad that our nightly ritual is over. "Good night, babies. Mama loves you to the moon and back." I declare, blowing a series of kisses at each of them.

"Wuv you, Mama." Judith is the first to respond, wrapping her pajama clad arms around her father's neck, and yawning out a tired "Night."

"Boys, tell your mama good night, and go to your room." Rick declares with more bass to his voice this time, brooking no argument from the twins.

"Night, Mama!" They both utter in unison. Carl sulks a little as Rick takes his iPad from his hands and ushers him towards the door. Andre, always the liveliest of the bunch, kisses his hands and pops kisses back to me through the screen, then dances out of the bedroom and presumably down the hall to the bedroom he shares with his brother and sister.

I'm about to disconnect the call, when Rick leans down into the frame and brings his face into focus. "Uh, can you hang on a sec? I'll be right back."

Caught off guard by his request, I can't think of an excuse quick enough not to, so I just nod my head, agreeing to wait for him.

Rick is only gone for a moment, just long enough to ensure the boys have actually tucked themselves away in their bunk beds instead of dodging away to evade bedtime in their grandparents' room. And to snuggle Judith down under the comforter covering her pink princess bed, making certain that her wooby is safely wrapped in her arms.

Taking the seat now vacated by the kids, Rick settles on the bed, folding his hands together between his wide spread legs, then raises his eyes to the screen. Capturing me in his tired gaze. "Thanks for waiting a second, I'm sure you've been real busy lately with the show and all."

On a heavy sigh, I have to admit that he's right. Taking a swig of the glass of wine I was sipping on before I called the kids, I savor the rich flavor of the dark Cabernet Sauvignon. "Yes, I have been busy. It takes a lot more than I imagined to pull off an episode of a television show. Much bigger production than just me and my paper jotting down a story and illustrations."

A smile tugs at his lips as he scratches at the scruff on his cheeks that is quickly turning into a fuller beard than the one he sported only a few short days ago. I forgot how hairy that man is.

"You've always been a hard worker, I'm sure you will get the hang of it."

"Yeah."

"So, uh, a few things. I got a certified envelope in the mail from your lawyer this morning. You could have told me, Michonne."

"I'm sorry about that, Rick. I forgot to make some time to discuss that with you. I think it's time to settle things. Don't you?"

"Is that what this is? Settling thangs?"

"I don't know what else to call it. We haven't been together for years, Rick. And...I know that you're not a monk."

"Hold up! What does that mean?"

"It means that I remember how you are. There's no way you're celibate. It's been years. Someone, or a couple of someones are keeping you company." I roll my eyes, thinly veiling my disgust and discomfort at the thought of him sharing with someone else what used to belong to me. And remembering the bit of gossip Glenn shared about that someone being Lori, I can feel myself growing angry at him going back to her.

"Well the kids told me you slept all the way on the flight from California, so maybe we both know something about each other? About how someone is keeping you company?" He asks, spitting the words with that Rick Grimes grit that rumbles in his deep voice.

"Those kids of yours tell everything!"

"Is there something to what they're telling?"

Jerking my head back a little shocked by his question, I roll my eyes at the insinuation and the audacity of him asking it. "I know what you're thinking, and no, I'm jetlagged. I've been in multiple time zones over just a few days. My body is just out of whack. I'm definitely taking precautions so I don't end up pregnant again any time soon, Rick. You on the other hand, I remember you."

Quirking a brow, Rick grins despite the precarious nature of our conversation, the remembrance of our sexual dalliances over the years living in the lascivious twist of his pink lips. "What do you remember about me, Michonne? I'm curious."

"Believe it or not, Rick, I remember everything about you."

Pausing, he licks at those lips, bringing to mind the softness of them, the commanding way they take control of a kiss. "Is that right?"

"Yeah. That's right." I won't get sucked into that smile. I won't, I promise myself, leaning back onto the couch of this furnished apartment the studio has setup for me. It's not as cozy as the sectional couch at my home in LA, but its seating is deep enough for me to sink backwards and attempt to hide from what Rick's trying to do.

"Let's go down memory lane, shall we? Remember how much I love you, Michonne? How good of friends we once were? Do you remember that?"

"Among other things. I remember how stubborn and spoiled you are, but regardless, all of that's in the past, it's time to look to the future. Don't you want to get married again? Maybe have more children?"

Rick slowly shakes his head at my question, and I can see the playfulness on his face has expired and is now replaced by the hurt in the narrowed squint of his angry blue eyes. "I get the sense that what I want doesn't matter with you."

"That's not fair. I tried. To understand what you were doing. What you wanted."

"But I didn't, right? That's what you mean? You blame me cause you think I didn't try. That I didn't die every night that you weren't in my arms? That my babies weren't with me? My family with me?"

"It has been difficult for both of us. I think…I think we have to just know that we did the best we could."

"That's bullshit. We didn't have a real chance to do the best that we could. We do now. We can get back to who we once were."

"What?"

"You're here. I'm here. The kids are here. Let's try to at least be friends again, Michonne."

"Rick?"

"You are my best friend. Still. I can't just sign you out of my life. I can't just ignore the fact that you're here, living right up the road. Working in town."

"Maybe you don't have a choice. You never gave me one."

"You're right, Chonne. I don't want to fight with you. I just want us to show our kids that we are friends, and that no matter what happens we are a family that loves each other. Is that too much to ask?"

"Rick…"

"Chonne… You think I gave up on us, or that I chose something over you. I chose your destiny over us. I chose you. I'm a little hurt that you came back to my hometown and didn't think enough of me, your husband, the father of your children, to even tell me you were gonna be here. That hurts. I think it's time we healed the hurt. Maybe then we can move forward?"

Dropping my head back to hide the emotion that I'm sure is clouding my face, I twist my lips in frustration. I knew he was going to do this. Put up a fight. Ready to battle when the war is nearly lost.

"You told Granddad you would come out for peach picking, he's ready to collect on that promise. Told me to tell you that the first pick is gonna be next weekend. He wants you to come. We all do. I do."

"Ah…"

"Remember the first year you came peach pickin'. When you were, lemme think… eight. You ate so many peaches you got sick? Swore off peaches forever." He laughs, the bass of his voice making his joyful remembrance that much sweeter. This man remembers everything.

"Well, until the next day when I got ahold of your grandmother's peach cobbler." I chuckle, reluctantly grinning at the memory myself.

"Of course. You could never turn down her peach cobbler."

"Do you remember that Granddad said I was like Templeton the rat from Charlotte's Web? Ate too much at the fair! You stayed up with me all night while I was throwing up, stomach hurting. I was so greedy! Why did I eat so much?"

"Don't you remember? Glenn and Jeff dared you to. You know you can't pass up a dare."

"Stubborn cow."

"Hey, don't talk that way about my wife." He laughs, the way he's looking at me through the screen of the computer, the slight lines at the corner of his eyes, and the dramatic breadth of his long eyelashes causing me to have to look away before I get sucked into the jovial back and forth of our almost domestic banter. "You're not stubborn. You're committed. Loyal."

"Maybe."

"Believe me, Chonnie, if anyone knows how loyal you are it's me."

"Ah…"

"So, can I tell Granddad his favorite girl will be here? He's making peach chutney again this year."

"Mmm," I moan, licking at my lips at just the thought of the sweetly spiced concoction that I can almost taste on my tongue. "You do know how to suck me in don't you, Rick?"

"I do love to hear you moan my name like that, Michonne. I've missed it." Sitting up taller, his posture and his resolve seemingly stiffened, Rick quietly studies me for a moment. "I've missed you, Michonne."

"Rick, let's not do this. I'll come next weekend, but you should sign the papers."

"We'll see." He nods, agrees to back off of his unreasonable stubbornness. Wiping his hand down his face, it's as though he's swiped away the idea of wanting to say something else on the matter, but thinks better of it. "That's a conversation for another time. Just say you'll come. Please?"

Reconsidering what it might mean to spend a whole day with Rick and the kids, what kind of mixed message it might send, I try to back peddle. "I don't know if this a good idea. I can visit with Granddad another time." As Rick is about to protest my cellphone begins buzzing. Glancing at the screen I see that it's Ezekiel. "I should go, this is Ezekiel."

"Hm…"

"I have to go, Rick. I have to take this."

"Then I'll see you next Saturday."

I don't get a chance to rebut his declaration, as he quickly disconnects the call. Shit.

Accepting Ezekiel's call, I can instantly hear the whooshing sound of the wind that's probably coming from his car windows being rolled down. It's about 5:40 in LA, and he's probably just now leaving the studio from working on his own hit show.

"My queen! How are you this fine day? Feeling better I hope?"

Attempting to toss off the confusing vibes from my chat with Rick, I put a fresh smile on my face as though Ezekiel can see me. "Hey Zeke, I'm good. Yeah, my body is settling in. It was just the back and forth from London, then New York, LA, now Georgia. I was just exhausted from not knowing what time zone I was in. But I'm good now. How was your day?"

"I'm glad to hear that you are feeling better, but I was hoping that your bout of exhaustion was an indicator of something else perhaps?" He asserts with hope clear in his voice.

"No. I'm pretty sure it's not that. Sorry." I breathe out, really only sorry that he seems to have his hopes up for something that I've been pretty clear about not wanting. At least not right now. Honestly, I hate to admit it, but I can't fathom the idea of having a child with someone other than Rick. He probably wouldn't care about having a baby with whatever hoe is warming his bed, but… even if I've moved on with Zeke I just can't. Rick is my kids' father. Something about any other reality doesn't sit right. I'm going to stash that thought for another day when I'm not so emotionally raw. When I can better reconcile it away with the rest of my unresolved Rick Grimes opinions.

I can hear what sounds like a small huff of air pushed into the phone. Probably Zeke putting on that patronizing smile he often gives me when he can sense me putting up resistance to one of his one sided plans. The man may be kind, and caring, but he's also hell bent on getting his way. What is my attraction to these kinds of men, I wonder, then my thoughts get pulled back in by him continuing the conversation. "Nothing to apologize for, my dearest. It will happen for us when the time is right. Talking to your lawyer is just the first step in getting to that right time. Yes?"

"Sure."

"Good. I have some great news to share with you. Today, my producer Carol announced that we are taking the show on the road. Internationally mind you. Zooing with Zeke is going on safari in Africa. On a retreat in India. Eco fishing in Costa Rica."

"Wow, Zeke, that's a big deal!"

"Yes it is! Animal Planet has decided to invest in my show in a huge way. They are hoping to make me bigger than the crocodile hunter."

"Hopefully safer though."

"Of course, of course! But, this will mean that the time commitment to such a large endeavor will require that I be away from LA for months at a time. Away from you, and the children."

"Oh."

"I may not be able to fly into Georgia every other weekend. But I have a solution that I pray you will find appealing, my love."

"And what is that?"

"Come with me. You and the children. Wouldn't it be an amazing adventure for our family to travel the world together? Allowing the kids to learn about the world and its creations first hand?"

"That's… Zeke, wow, I don't know what to say."

"Say that you will consider it. I can probably talk the EPs into something that might accommodate your own shooting schedule. I want to make this thing with us permanent, Michonne. I want us to be a real family. I think you want that too?"

"Ezekiel, this is a lot at once. You're just really jumping ahead."

"Am I? Have we not been friends and lovers for quite some time?"

"We've only been romantic for a year or so though."

Unbothered and not even addressing my point about the short lifespan of our romantic relationship, Ezekiel keeps going. "I know you will have to discuss taking the children out of the country with their father, but I think that with the divorce papers he sees that you have moved on with your life. With me. It's time to truly bind our lives together, my love. Please say you will give it some thought at least?" His voice is gentle but pleading, patient. That is a characteristic of Ezekiel's that I have become very familiar with. His patience. The first time we were intimate the man confessed that he had been waiting for that moment since he met me so many years ago. Even before I moved to LA. Said that he could feel the destiny in our connection. I can't say that I have felt that same pull towards him, but there is something in his caring nature that keeps me grounded with him. Interested in seeing just how far this can go. How far away can I actually get from the romantic feelings that I can only admit to myself at my lowest moments, when I'm alone, that I still carry for Rick?

"I will think it over, Zeke." It's the only thing I can commit to right now. My head is swimming with the possibilities embedded in Zeke's proposal. "Give me some time. Ok?"

"Take all the time you need. I know you will choose what's best for you and our family, and I am convinced that this is what's best. You will see." He promises with such joy brimming in his voice at the thought of us making things official, that I can nearly see the smile on his face all the way from LA.