Chapter 9 – Michonne

“I’m flying out Tuesday evening. That way I can pickup Lily, get her groomed. Check on my house, and then drive down to San Diego on Thursday night.”

“I should fly out when you do then.”

“You can. Or you can fly on the studio’s dime with Anthony and everyone else on Thursday afternoon.”

“I might do that instead.” Sasha mumbles, on a final slurp of her iced coffee, sucking on the straw in that annoying way she has of trying to get the last drop of a beverage that is long gone.

Putting some finishing touches on some notes for the director of the episode we start shooting today, an episode that I actually wrote, I scribble a few comments in the margins, then give my attention fully to Sasha. The airy quality of her voice makes me wonder if she’s paying attention, or if her thoughts are somewhere else. Lifting my head to wander over to where she’s seated beside me, I confirm that her shaded focus is elsewhere, partially, if not fully captivated by something else. Someone else. Anthony.

Glancing at Anthony, then back to Sasha, I narrow my gaze on her, wondering at what’s going on. “What does Bob think? He coming to San Diego with you?”

Twisting her lips as though the thought of my question makes her angry, she huffs out in a terse clip, dragging the o sound out, “No.”

“Oh.” Caught a little off guard by the tenor of her response, I fully close up my script, and shut my laptop. I need to figure out what is going on with my friend. Watching Sasha nibble at her bottom lip, deep in thought, her gaze is shielded by her sunglasses, from my prying eyes, but still seemingly fixed on where Anthony stands, his skin turning a rosy hue as he’s apparently oblivious to the scorch of the morning sun. Under the punishing heat and haze of the Georgia day, Sasha and I are not as interested in the sweltering mugginess and are taking a break from shooting under the protection of one of the base camp tents setup near where we are on location at the prison fence. The set is actually an old prison that is no longer in use, and its somewhat worn down condition is perfect for capturing its function as an eerie but safe refuge for our characters, away from the scourge of the zombies roaming outside of its walls and fence.

The scene that we are shooting this morning is one that Anthony, Sasha, and I have gone over a few times. When I wrote it in the comic, I only saw Randy and Misha as adversaries turned begrudgingly, respected colleagues, friends. Misha is the warrior yen, to Randy’s yang. In my mind he doesn’t trust her, and she doesn’t trust him, but it’s because they are so similar that they eventually gain a familial ally in each other. But in discussing it from the varying perspectives of both of my lead actors, I can see now that there is some subtle undercurrent to what is actually written, both in the comic and in the episode. The ease of their banter. The way they instinctually found reliance on each other. Misha’s casual function as the matriarch of Randy’s little family, his kids clinging to her in a maternal way without her trying, nor without Randy asking. The way that even in the midst of Randy’s manic madness and infatuation with another woman, his frantic over reach and distrust of a newfound community that offered sanctuary, Misha still declared with what Sasha knowingly deemed, a developed reserve of trust and love, that she was still with him.

Through ups and downs, as well as side tracked romantic missteps for both of them, Misha was still with him, and Randy still looks to her for guidance. Was this a symbolic representation of Rick and I? Despite our own missteps, I am still with him. Perhaps I didn’t realize it then, but god…I know that now. I see that now.

I suppose my writing made plain, what my heart wanted to conceal, which is that the friendship between Randy and Misha is a friendship that grows past deep respect, goes further than admiration of a fellow warrior, and roots itself in the passionate romantic love of a man and a woman under the direst of circumstances.

As Anthony so eloquently pointed out in his posh British accent, everything must live in their eyes in that first moment at the fence in order for the viewer to get it. To foreshadow the destiny of these two. Sasha agreed, noting with a prescient glimmer in her eyes, bolstered by a long history of witnessing the back and forth of Rick and I, that for anyone paying attention, they will see that Randy and Misha’s first meeting is the cornerstone of a ship that is intended to sail.

Using a term that I have only just become aware of in my time over the last five years, frequenting the comic conventions in San Diego, and New York, I completely understand what she means. Many times while signing autographed copies of my graphic novel, I have had fans ask me what’s really going on with Randy and Misha. And if my true endgame isn’t to have Misha with Ezra, or as some dubbed them, Mezra, but instead for her and Randy to be together? Because how is it possible that they wouldn’t? I clearly recall one young black woman, the only female in a sea of white male, fan boy faces, approaching the mic at a recent, small scale convention in Chicago, question me as to why it seems that I’m ignoring my own character development and foreshadowing, by not killing off Ezra, and having Misha realize that she is in love with Randy? Why wouldn’t I support the Risha ship that I unwittingly helmed all on my own?

At the time I was totally caught off guard by the question, and fully confused by the charge that I had somehow been complicit in sowing the seeds of a relationship that I was explicitly not intending to create. But life is stranger than fiction, and as I consider my activities spent with Rick recently, I’m ready and willing to kick myself for not taking a moment to be transparent and honest with myself. I had written my own life into my story, and if the fans, Anthony who is the unofficial captain of the SS Risha, and Sasha are to be believed, laid bare the romantic future for not only Randy and Misha, but internally I recognized I had possibly done so for Rick and Michonne as well.

“I’m trying to talk Rick into coming. Maybe it would be nice if we could get the old gang together for some bowling? Rick and me, you and Bob?”

Dismissing my suggestion by not even bothering to address it, Sasha responds, “I’ll just fly down with Anthony and everyone else. Rick should go with you. Have a little mommy-daddy vacay.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll hang with the crew. You know Anthony is very funny, smart. He’s good company.”

“How do you know that?”

“We’ve spent a lot of time together on set. Having lunch. He’s a nice guy.”

“He is nice. I like him. He’s a very good actor isn’t he? Very dedicated. Methodical. Completely embodies the role of Rick. I mean Randy. Randy.”

“Mmhm.” Sasha gives me a quick look, peeking at me from the corner of her sunglasses with just a tiny turn of her head. “Very passionate.”

Quirking my eyebrow at her use of the word passionate, I give her a brief glance back from the side of my own eyes, then cut my gaze back out towards where Anthony is now speaking to one of the other actors, a scruffy ex-model named Nathan who plays his sidekick of sorts, Daniel.

“Well, if Rick doesn’t come-”

“He’ll come. And it will be good for both of you. Enjoy every moment you can with your husband, Chonne.”

“Thanks.” I sigh, an inch of whimsy injected in my voice from hearing Sasha refer to Rick as my husband. He is, I concur to myself, feeling a giddy chill tickle through my body at the thought of him. Rick. My husband. It has been too long since I have thought of him in that way. I relish it.  “It feels weird, being together like this again, but also like everything has just…fallen into place. Pretty much been spending every night together.”

Pointing her index finger knowingly my way, she wags it, “I knew something major was up when you weren’t coming out for karaoke, or bar hopping with everyone else after work. Had to be about some dick, cause the Michonne I know loves karaoke and drinking.”

Scrunching my face at being called out, I admit on a squeal, “It was. Some dick. My husband’s to be precise.”

Swatting at me playfully, Sasha laughs. “I knew it!”

Grinning to myself, I squeeze my thighs, smarting at the tingle in my womanhood at the very thought of Rick, and what he’s been doing to me over the last eight weeks. Sasha is right when she says it’s major. It is. Spending the day at the farm with Rick and the kids, and his family, our family, ended up meaning so much more than I could have ever thought.

Afraid to really express how excited I am about this positive trajectory my marriage is on, not wanting to count my eggs before they hatch, I hold my hands out in a stopping motion, palms flat, “But, we’re taking it slow, though. Right now it’s just a lot of spending time with each other, and the kids, getting to know each other again. It’s been a long time since we’ve been allowed to be together like this. There is so much about the nearness of him that I missed. His smell. His touch. Those eyes. Those lips. Hell even his snoring. And seeing him everyday with the kids is a huge deal. They just thrive so much, and seem to be soaking up every little moment with the both of us with them. I don’t know, Sash, it’s like someone turned on a light and now we can see each other, and our family more clearly, and it shows me what we’ve missed by me punishing him, and him making choices on his own. We did a lot of damage to each other.” I pause for a moment, shaking my head as though coming out of a fog, freeing myself of my own disillusionment at my self-created circumstances. Allowing the heft of my admission to weigh on my shoulders, to properly communicate to my body the gravity of what we’ve selfishly and unwittingly done, and who we’ve done it to. “To our kids. Put his family, and mine in the middle. Our friends. It was unfair to everyone.”

“It’s funny how we hurt the ones we love most of all. It’s so easy because of the closeness, but it’s so hurtful for the same reason.” Sasha adds, pain, something dark and sad suddenly riding the tone of her softly spoken words.

“Sasha, hey girl, you ok?”

Thickly swallowing, only a weak cloud of sound emits as she forms a single word on her lips. “Bob.”

“Bob what?”

Fingers trembling, Sasha sniffs and raises them to catch the wetness that streams from behind her darkened sunglasses to stain her cheeks. “He’s uh…he’s drinking again. Won’t get treatment this time though. Thinks he doesn’t need it to manage. So…I just…I think I’m done this time. I am. I’m done.” The finality in those last two words appears to break her, and her body that was once at attention, focused on the interplay of crewmembers and actors on the set, is now weakly slumped against the back of her chair.

Eyes wide, I can barely believe what I’m hearing. Bob, one of the kindest, sweetest guys I know, has fallen again. Sucked back into the abyss of an addiction that he has valiantly been fighting for years. Dragging his wife, my sister and best friend, with him. Instantly I feel a wretched sickness in my stomach at how I’ve been espousing the wonders of my own rediscovered marriage, while Sasha suffers under the burden of her own crumbling one. “Oh Sasha, honey, I’m so sorry. You’re letting me just go on and on about Rick and me. I’m so sorry!”

Gripping the hand I’ve offered to her in solidarity, Sasha delivers a small twisted smile to her lips. One that lifts her cheeks, and travels to the corners of her eyes. A genuine response to my apology. “Don’t be sorry. You guys deserve this win. It’s a hard fought one. None of this has come easy for you guys, or your kids. This time with Bob is just worse though you know. We’ve been fighting about me not wanting to have kids yet, and me being here for so long. When I told him I was going to come home for a little bit, since I had already shot my stuff for the last episode and I was off for a few days, he was all jittery about it. Talking about he was on call so he might not have a lot of time to spend with me. So you know what I did? I called myself surprising him and made a phone call to the hospital administration office to check his schedule and see if I could get some things moved around. They told me he isn’t on the schedule, hasn’t been for a month since he’d been placed on administrative leave while they reviewed the charges against him, and they thought I was aware. Can you believe that shit, Michonne?”

“Charges, what charges?” I ask, incredulous at how this was unfolding, but also nervous for what it seemed to be foreshadowing for my old friend Bob, his career, and his marriage.

“Girl, when I finally got him on the phone, his drunk ass told me a patient complained that he appeared inebriated when he saw him. Stuttering, clumsy. Had the nerve to scoff and tell me one beer at lunch doesn’t make him drunk anymore.” Waving her hand in disgusted dismissal, Sasha rolls her neck, and cocks her head back in that way that any woman who’s had enough of the BS automatically does. “They aren’t gonna give this fool his job back, Michonne. Not this time. And he’s so caught up in his addiction, I don’t think he even cares anymore.”

Sadly, all I can do is shake my head. I can’t seem to believe what I’m hearing. How did they get here? “Wow. I am at a loss for words, Sasha, I really am.”

“Ain’t enough words for this bullshit. I’m done this time, Michonne. I am. I’ve made every effort to support him through his problems because when he went to rehab the last time, they said this is a family effort. We have to both dedicate ourselves to a life of sobriety and wellness. And you know I was there with him. Faithfully living the steps with him. I love my husband.” Sasha’s voice breaks over the last few words, and I can tell that even speaking the words is wrenching every inch of fight out of her. “But he’s not even trying anymore, and he wonders why I don’t want a kid with him right now. How could I bring a baby into this? He blames me and my career, but hell I blame him and his drinking!”

Speechless, everything said that can be said, Sasha and I allow ourselves to fall into the muggy heat of the day, sweltering with our silence. The bluntness of reality impeding on this moment.

Lifting her sunglasses to the top of her head, resting them over the neat cornrows that tame her voluminous hair which will don the famous dreadlock wig during shooting, Sasha drops her face into her upturned hands, her weak voice barely kisses the air from where it’s muffled against her palms. “I’m tired, and angry, and sad, and hurt, Michonne. It’s not fair to compare, but, Rick would never have done something like this to you. You’re so fortunate to have him. Really you are.” Turning in her chair to face me, I can see the gathering of tears pooling in her eyes, blinking a watery pathway of canals across her face. Sniffing back her tears, she continues, “Did you know that Rick used to call me all the time to check on you? Especially after Judith was born, when you stopped speaking to him. He was literally texting and calling, and asking me about you and the kids nearly every other day. On top of him coming to LA once a month. That man was determined to be close to you and his family in any way that he could. His way of fighting for you. He didn’t want you to know, so you wouldn’t be angry with me for telling him how you were, but he didn’t care about time, or geography, or even your stubborn ass getting in the way. He only cared about you and his children.”

“What?” I ask the question, but every fiber of my being knows that what she’s saying is true. I’ve heard the same from Rick’s mother, who commented something similar while I helped her fix dinner that first night I was back at the farm.

Two months ago…

“Thank you for braiding my hair back for me, and for helping me out in here, honey. I know cooking isn’t really your thing.”

“I’m happy to do it, Ms. Dana.”

“You can still call me mom, Michonne. I’m still your mother in law aren’t I?”

Nodding, more to myself than to her, I slight grimace ticks at my lips at being called out, “Yes. You are. Things are so different now though.”

“Are they?” she asks over her shoulder as she turns to peer over at where I stand at the island peeling potatoes.

At her question I have to pause, the knife in my hand, now hanging in the air. During moments like these, I have to wonder at what Dana understands about the state of things. Everyone, from my parents, to Rick and his father, have explained to me that Dana’s ability to clearly recall certain events in the past, and her understanding of things occurring in the present is somewhat foggy at times. Impeded by the trauma of flooding her body with toxic chemicals to rid it of the cancer. These changes in her are not imagined, and they may not be reversible. As my father noted, it is often the bargain of remission. You barter away a cancer diagnosis, exchanging it for remission, and cognitive issues that you may never recover from.  

My eyes drop from hers, and immediately Dana’s attention is back focused in a tight squint behind her glasses as she’s reading the recipe that Rick’s grandmother had written down for her famous peach crumble. It’s even better than her pies and cobblers, and I hope it’s done before it gets too late so I can have some.

Haltingly, unsure of how to approach this conversation, I offer a brief response. “They are.”

“Not really. You’re still a part of this family. My daughter. My son’s wife. My grandchildren’s mother.”

“That’s…true I guess.”

Turning away from the counter and the ingredients she has lined up before her, she removes her reading glasses, allowing them to rest on their pearl chain against her newly reconstructed breasts. Tilting her head a bit in that way that is so reminiscent of Rick, she offers me a kind smile, her lips curving with the raise of her cheeks, reaching the lines angling from her eyes. “I always wanted a daughter. Richard too. After Jeff, we tried briefly for a girl, it just never happened, and we gave up on that. Some things aren’t meant for you.” Looking away towards the bay window in the eating area, as though she might catch a glimpse of her husband through it’s panes, her smile weakens, the smallest amount though, so little you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t really looking. Approaching where I stand at the island, she reaches out for my hand, placing her own over mine. “Then we moved next door to the spunkiest, sweetest, cutest little girl the world had to offer, and I think the whole Grimes family kind of fell in love with her. My sons included.”

“Sons?” I ask on a little chuckle. Sons?

“Don’t play coy. You know that Jeff adores you. Has been crushing on you forever. Rick almost gave him a black eye once when he saw him ogling you in those little bikinis you used to live in every summer.”

“Jeff was just…being Jeff. Harmless.”

“Yes, he was harmless. But Rick had really put his claim on you from the moment you punched him in his nose. You’ve been my daughter since the days when your mother and I used to go on our girls only shopping trips, have afternoon tea, and all those times I let you play dress up in my things. Comb my hair, polish my nails. Michonne, there is so much that I don’t fully remember. That my mind won’t clearly allow me to grasp anymore. That cuts me deep. Hurts in a way that I can’t describe. But I have nearly perfect recall of you. Of your place in my life. Our lives. The happiness that little five-year-old girl brought to this family.”

Blinking, I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to impede the formidable strength of what Dana is saying. We have always been close. She’s right. When her and my mother became friends, by default that meant me too. There simply weren’t a lot of girls to play with in our neighborhood, and outside of the boys, I spent a great deal of time with my mother. Combing her hair. Playing dress up in her clothes and makeup. And I suppose because my mother had folded Dana into our lives, making her a sister of her own, she was like an extension of my mother. I shared my accomplishments and disappointments with her, as easily as I did with my own mother. My menstruation was met with a full on girls’ weekend celebration in Savannah with not only my mother, but my other mother, Dana, as well. They welcomed me into the sisterhood of womanhood then, did the same when Rick and I married, and when each of the kids came along. I can’t discount the importance of her being there for every one of my life’s milestones. How could I?

But I suppose I had. Bracing myself against the countertop for support, I thread my arms across my chest, comforting myself against the growing transparency of her words as I begin to realize exactly where this conversation is heading. I squirm under the light of the truth.

“That little girl, became a woman. The woman who matched my son’s soul. Who completed him in a way that none of us could have expected. And still brings happiness, and joy to this family. Who we all love and adore. Who we all missed terribly, and regret any role we may have played in the separation of her family. Michonne, you’re still my daughter, and I love you. And more important than any of that…I am truly sorry.”

“Mom-”

“Wait, please let me say this.” Dana approaches me, stopping only once she stands directly in front of me, her kind face tilted up slightly towards mine. Up close, it’s easier to bear witness to the toll that her illness took on her diminutive form. How her skin has aged, seemingly thin, papery, her cheeks still somehow gaunt, less full than how I remember. Hair that was once full and dark, glossy, and unimaginably thick, had now grown out in a nearly shocking flare of white. The edges that framed her round face bore the signs of traction alopecia from years of donning wigs, a mask to cover what chemo had stolen from her.

Regardless of the ravages of her illness, her green eyes still showcased the honest kindness that has always lived there. Reaching out to unwind my stiff arms, opening me to receive what she’s delivering, Dana leans her tiny form into mine and hugs me with every ounce of love in her.

“I’m sorry, Chonnie. For what my illness took from you too. The choices it forced on you, and Rick. I’m sorry.”

Dana has always been a hugger. A woman who was never afraid to tell you like it is, but just as quickly as she would scold you with her words, she would soothe you with the warmth of her hugs just the same. It’s this that finally unhinges me, demolishes my dam of restraint, and pushes forward the tears that I attempted to withhold from her. Hasn’t she already suffered enough? Yes, she has. Life has wrung from her almost everything, and in my heart there were zero apologies needed.

“Mom, you don’t have to be sorry. You were the one who got sick, you’re the victim here, not me. Don’t apologize to me. Please. If anything I’m sorry for not spending more time here with you while you were sick and then recovering. I just…couldn’t.”

Leaning back to stare me in the face, a surprise shocks her eyes, stiffens her lips in a grin that I almost don’t recognize as joyful.

“I’m no victim, Chonnie, and neither are you. Not in the least. You’re a thriver. Like me! Look at what you have done for yourself.” Framing my face with her hands, she pulls me down towards her, and kisses my forehead. “Your talent has taken you very far, little girl, to the top. Regardless of the stumbles in your marriage, you kept going. And you thrived. Like me!”

“Like you?”

“Like me! Look at me! I’m here. I’m alive. It’s hard for me to remember every day, but I still have the cards, and letters with pictures and doodles from my Chonnie. I know there were flowers that appeared weekly with a loving note, encouraging me to fight, signed M.G. with the little flower flourish you sign your name with. We made it through a very difficult time, both of us did. Did we suffer? Yes. But we are here on the other side of that suffering. I think that’s why you’re here today with your husband and kids, and the rest of your family.”

“I’m here to help pick peaches.”

“If only it were that simple. Love is more complicated than that, Chonnie. You know that.”

“I’m not sure what you mean. I love my family, it’s why I’m here. I made choices that hurt you all too. I realize that. I want to mend that fence. But…that’s it.” I stubbornly assert, unwillingly to allow her words to fully touch me. To sink in. Though god knows I have been complicit in my own pain over the years, forcing a wedge between Rick and I more than once over the years. How could I even presume to surmount that with one afternoon of peach picking?

“Perhaps. Maybe you’re here with your family for the same reason that has Rick racking up frequent flyer miles to get to LA once a month? Oh how I wished he wouldn’t return from those trips. Every time I wanted to get a call from him that he was staying with you and the kids. After Judith was born, I told him not to stay here. But debt, medical bills past your eyeballs, higher than you can even count, kept that boy here. Me. What I went through kept him here. The defeated sadness that covered him whenever he looked at me. That kept him here. His grandfather being old. His father being a coward. His brother being too young. All kept him here. I cried every time he walked back through that front door without you or the kids. But you better believe that he was constantly calling your parents and your brother to see how you were, where you were, to find a way to be close to you. He’s got pictures of you and the kids all over his bedroom. In his phone. Proudly tells anyone who will listen about his famous wife. Don’t be fooled by distance, pride, and difficult choices, Chonnie. Rick loves you. And you love him.”

Shrugging, I’m almost stunned into silence, but muster the fewest amount of words I can find to explain away what Dana declared, and I know to be true. “He’s the father of my children.”

“Rick is as in love with you, as you are with him. It’s that love that brought you here today. To be near him? Close to him? You guys have always been like magnets with each other. Just inexplicably drawn together.”

“I don’t know about that.” Scoffing at her words that hit me squarely in my feelings, I attempt to put my guard back up and re-cross my arms around myself. Dana doesn’t allow it, and holds them stiffly at my side instead.

“Yes you do. I don’t give a damn about this messiness you and Rick have gotten yourselves into. This isn’t the first time is it? Happened before out there in LA?”

“Ah…”

“I know all about it. Your mother and I try to remain neutral but, you’re a mother now, Chonnie, you know how it is. We always know. Even if we don’t say anything. The back and forth of you and Rick’s is a living breathing thing almost.” She chuckles, though it’s a hollow laugh, bereft of happiness. Laced with just a trace of regret for how we have ebbed and flowed in and out of each other’s lives.

Sniffling, I rub at my nose with my knuckles, an admittance of my own guilt alive on my lips. “LA was hard for me at first. Finding my way forward with Rick at my back. I didn’t mean to hurt him. But I did.”

“Both of you are guilty of hurting each other over. Him and this thing with Lori, or whatever skank he’s kept time with. So much like his father I suppose. Maybe not?”

“Maybe.”

“You and this guy running around calling himself your boyfriend.” She smirks at me, and shakes her head as though she is disappointed in Rick’s dalliances, and in me for Ezekiel’s very existence. The glare of her green eyes makes me drop my own. The censure in that head shake levels me in shame like I’m a little kid all over again, busted nabbing a handful of cookies from the kitchen. “You and my son are meant to be. That’s it.” Giving me a gentle pat on my cheek, Dana’s smile grows from ear to ear, sprouting from the confidence in her claim. Turning on her heel, she heads back over to the counter where she was preparing to cook. I fall onto the stool in front of the island, settling over a glass of milk and a piece of pie that I had abandoned to begin peeling potatoes.

“Mom, maybe it’s too late though? For me and Rick? Maybe things are what they are supposed to be this time?”

“It’s never too late to be with the one you love. Rick is never going to let you go anyway. You’re a part of each other. You can’t stay away from each other.” Throwing up her hands as though the very thought of it has worn her out, Dana gives me one last glance over her shoulder, “It’s crazy. That’s why the babies keep coming!”

Present day…

“Rick did that, huh?”

“Yes, Michonne, he did that! At first I was a little annoyed with both of you, and especially him for putting me in the middle of you two. Cause I knew him staying in Georgia was his choice not yours, and well, I thought he deserved the separation you forced on him. The first time, I understood him. But after Judith, nah… I was pissed with him too. But then I could see it, his dedication to you despite it all, ya know. That relentlessness was so much more than love. It was like some sort of obsession almost. And I’m not gonna lie, I started to be a little jealous of it all. Not in a bad way, but in a way that made me want to fight for my own marriage even harder. I wanted Bob to be like Rick and dig deeper for me.”

“Sasha, don’t do that. Don’t compare me and Rick to you and Bob. Our relationship has been plenty painful and messy with all of our bad decisions, and getting in our own way. That’s the part of our story that no one wants to admit exists. Regardless of how deeply we love, we always hurt each other. Me especially…it’s hard to admit that I have hurt Rick, pushed him away, that just like you he has had every right to be upset with me.” Gulping down the boulder of regret that would almost clog and choke my confession, I can feel my fingers nervously twisting in the hem of the tank top I’m wearing, even as my eyes catch the glimmer of the sunlight dancing against my gold wedding band hanging around my neck, and quickly my fingers redirect themselves to move over the smooth metal. “There is a weakness in me that I recognize now. One that blinds me to what I’ve got sometimes. Maybe it’s because…I’m-I’m so used to Rick being the strong one. Being the supportive one, and me not having to. I can mess up and leave and shut him out, and-and he’s always there, and I have taken that for granted. And it’s a shitty thing to do. I don’t want to be that person anymore, Sasha. And I’m not choosing Bob’s side or anything, I’m just saying, sometimes you simply don’t understand when you’re being destructive and hurting the people you love.”

Her hand reaching out to cover over mine at my throat, the grasp of my palm around my ring as urgent as though I’m hanging on to my last lifeline, my final chance with Rick. “Michonne, real talk, Rick may have done something you didn’t agree with, but he did it out of love and respect for you. And you may have reacted differently than I might have. But I don’t blame you, because what you and Rick have taught me is that if you want to be with someone, if it’s mean to be… then it will be. And right now? I can’t even get my fucking husband to stop drinking long enough to make a real go at this marriage. I thought me being here might give us some time to reflect, and appreciate each other more. I missed him so much, Michonne. I still do. I miss the Bob that I fell in love with, but that man isn’t there anymore. Do you remember how much fun he was?”

“Sasha, Bob has more than bad decision making fighting against him, he’s got a disease. And even though you may acknowledge that, and the strength it takes to battle it, Bob may not. And he might not ever. But I know he loves you. You know he loves you.”

“I know he does, and I love him. That’s why it’s so ridiculous. He’s showing me that love just isn’t enough right now.”

Raising from my chair, I move to stand beside my friend, my sister, and hug her. She needs it. Sagging under the burden of what’s happening in her marriage, Sasha’s distress is apparent. And I recognize it. God it’s so reminiscent of a state of being that I lived in for so long. Embodied the bitterness that saturated my emotions.

Wiping away the tears from her face with my fingers, an idea springs to mind. “Ya know what we’re gonna do? Me and you are gonna do Comic Con on our own. No husbands, no kids, just me and you. And we’re gonna do this panel for the show, and eat, and party, and be our fabulous famous selves. Me and you.”

Shaking her head no, Sasha scoffs at my suggestion. “No! You should do this with your husband.”

“Rick and I have forever. I think we do. You need me right now, and I want to be there for you. Let me do that, Sasha.”

“Chonne…”

“Sash…”

Laughing, her voice a muffled cloister against my shoulder where I hold her hugged tightly, Sasha squeaks out, “Well, me and you, and the other EPs and cast.”

“Yeah, they’re going too, but you know what I mean, smart ass.”

“Ok. Maybe you can do all the eating, they have me on a diet for filming.

“Well, I’ll do enough eating for both of us.”

“Looks like you have been.” Sasha teases, giving the little puff of my tummy a tiny poke. It makes me giggle, but it also makes me wonder if she hasn’t figured me out yet. I don’t address the eating thing, nor the fact that yes, my stomach does seem to be bigger than it was a few months ago. I suppose she decides to allow my silence to slide, and she follows up with an affirmative, “Yeah. Let’s do it. Let’s do Comic Con together. A good ol’ girls trip!”

“Yes! We’re gonna have so much fun!”

“Yep but…hey,” she stops, rolling one of my locs in between her fingers, “what is this in your hair? Is this sawdust?” Inching backwards, out of my embrace Sasha cuts her eyes at me. “Tell me you and that man haven’t been screwing in his workshop, Michonne. His place of business?”

“Huh?” I mumble, rubbing my fingers over the length of my locs that drape across my shoulders. Bits of sawdust tumble across my t-shirt.

“For real, Michonne? Y’all nasty!”

“Listen, last night he was working late, so I stopped by to take him dinner.” Is all I say to her, the details remaining between my husband and I.

Knowingly Sasha doesn’t miss a beat though, and in that dry, droll way of hers rhetorically asks, “Were you dinner, Michonne? Was your freaky ass his dinner?”

Grinning, I don’t answer her, instead I close my eyes for a moment, recalling the way that Rick spread me out on his workshop desk and feasted on me instead of the roasted chicken dinner I brought him. Then turned me around, face down, and fucked me from behind, my ass still bearing the stinging mark of his palm’s slaps.

“Just nasty! I can only imagine how scarred those poor children have to be watching the two of you all over each other all the damn time.” Sasha scoffs, slumping back into her chair, and out of my hug.

“Not all the time. But, we did have to explain to them that we kiss and hug because we love each other very much. And of course smarty pants Carl has to add that he never saw me kiss Zeke before, and he says he loves me all the time.”

“Ouch! What did Rick say to that?”

“Nothing, but he is adamant that when Ezekiel gets back into the country that I talk to him. Rick and I haven’t settled on anything yet, but, I need to tell Ezekiel that we’re going to try and save our marriage and give him back that ring he sent me.”

“Wait, what? You didn’t tell me he sent you a ring.”

“Damn, I thought I told you.” Relaxing back in my own chair, I take a sip of my green smoothie with the chia seed and goji berries in it for an energy booster, and ginger for nausea. I’ve been so exhausted the last couple of weeks, with shooting for the show picking up steam, me spending most nights at the farm with Rick and the kids, and Rick and I screwing like rabbits all night. I’m worn out in a way that I haven’t been in years. Three to four years to be exact. But for the first time in a very long time, I’m loving everything about my life. Almost everything. “Well, after that first night with Rick, I called Ezekiel to kind of have it out with him, but come to find out he had to leave early to scout locations with his head EP, Carol. I leave him a message anyway, send him a text and an email. No response. Then about a week later, I get a call from his assistant Jerry who tells me that Ezekiel has a special surprise for me, and he needs me to confirm its receipt. Girl, this man had a two carat diamond engagement ring sent to my apartment, with this poem he wrote me. So I tried to call him again, and the only thing I got back was a text about how the diamond is a conflict free diamond, and he hopes that it’s a symbol of our way forward…conflict free.”

“No. No way. That man is corny as hell, Michonne.”

Grimacing, I inch out an agreement between gritted teeth, “He is. But he means well, and I really hate that again he’s gonna lose out to Rick. Like this poor guy-”

“Nope, Ezekiel knows exactly what he’s doing, and what he got himself into. He knew you were married. You and Rick have three kids, girl. Count ‘em!” she holds up three fingers, and points to each for emphasis. “And you still wear your ring around your neck. You weren’t fooling anyone but yourself. Ezekiel definitely knows what’s up. That’s what that ring is about. Proximity is a hell of a thing girl. He knows you and Rick being in the same place at the same is a recipe for disaster for him.”

“Maybe. Doesn’t matter, I have the ring hidden in my apartment. I’m gonna give it back to him as soon as possible. Rick and I agreed that this time we are going to really make a go at this. Do everything right.” And I mean that. I’m committed to giving us everything I’ve got. This might be our last shot, and before I give up on us again I want to be sure I put as much into us as Rick did.

That night at the farm did more than just reconnect us sexually, which was even more amazing than I remembered, but it illuminated so many truths that I had turned a blind eye to. While trying to sleep during the storm that night, I allowed my nosiness to send me poking around Rick’s bedroom. Afraid to find some other woman’s things, signs of her presence in my husband’s space, I was hesitant at first. Cautious that looking for trouble might indeed turn up some trouble. None was found. Only indicators of a life that revolved around his family. Our family.

Inspecting each of the pictures on his dresser, and on the nightstand next to his bed, I noticed that my image was somewhere in most of them. My favorite one was a simple black and white photo of Rick’s hands flat to my overly swollen pregnant belly. A picture taken the morning the boys were born. No, maybe my favorite was the one where Rick’s seated on my hospital bed next to me, holding a newly born Judith, swaddled so snugly that only her tiny round face was exposed to the camera. And Rick, grinning so brightly, like he’d just won a million dollars, with tears in his eyes. And there I am, exhausted, locs a mess on my pillow, face rounded like a chipmunk, that pregnancy nose of mine wide across my face. Grinning. Joyful. Loved.

Looking around this space, this sanctuary that was all Rick with its almost bare walls, and tower of books stacked next to the bed, I could almost see him sitting up in the bed reading, his glasses riding low on his pointed nose. Dragging one hand rhythmically over my leg, my back, my thigh, whatever piece of me he could get his hands on while I read my own book, or sketched away on paper. Many nights were spent like this. Memories of us like this, content, flourished, played in front of my eyes like a familiar scene from a favorite movie.

Once I dared to get in his bed, I could smell him all around me, the scent of his cologne and aftershave, his sweat and musk, heavy on his pillow, the sheets. Remembrance of my husband, how he has always made me feel, even the bad feelings, the sad ones, they all fluttered over me, raised my consciousness of his existence only steps away. Caused a slow burn for him, his touch, his kiss. Desire to live in those scenes again. Relive those moments with the man I love. A nostalgia for everything we have meant to each other, a recognition that the history of me, is the history of Rick.

Breathing steady, steeling my nerves against the powerful wind and rain that beat against the house, made itself known in the sheet of water sprayed against the windows, I could almost hear my heart beating. Could definitely feel it against my chest. Restlessness pushing me to recall the press of his lips to mine earlier. Soft. Sweet. It made me skim my legs over the coolness of the sheets, tossing the blankets off me, their weight and warmth no match for the the smell of my husband lingering, kissing the air, pulling the ghost of him from the depth of my conjured memories. Driving my hands to drag over my body, my belly, my breasts, in remembrance of him. Of Rick.

As the storm picked up, and added thunder and lightning to its majesty, the anxiety it produced in me grew, but it was no match for something else welling deep in my belly. Lust. God I wanted Rick. I needed him. It wasn’t just a physical urge. It was more. Rick’s mother’s words got to me. The presence of Lori on this land, close to my family…got to me. The strain of his leanly muscled body against his shirt...That wicked walk of Rick’s, nothing less than a graceful cowboy’s gait...got to me. His smile, that shadow of a beard ghosting across his handsome face. Those blue eyes. That tumble of chocolate curls that refused to be tamed away from his face. The sweeping memories floored me…they got to me. And just like I had so many times before, functioning on an innate auto pilot, I went to him. I had to be in his space. And god help me, it was one of the best choices I have made in a very long time.

Shaking me out of my memories, Sasha swats at my arm, calling my attention back to the present.

“Speaking of doing everything right, here comes Anthony.”

“Michonne, Sasha! Ladies, are you ready to get this show on the road?”

“Hey, Anthony-” Sasha and I both wave, taking in the good looks of the man approaching.

“Chonne!” I turn at the sound of my brother’s voice calling out to me from near where the trailers are setup. “Chonne!”

“Glenn, what’s up?”

“Rick and the kids just got clearance to enter the set. Should be up this way in a moment.”

Turning to swing my gaze in different directions to spot them, I wonder aloud, “Oh? Is everything ok?”

“I don’t know. Just wanted to let you know you have visitors before I take off for the day. You know I have that thing with Maggie tonight. Need to prepare.” Glenn offers, a nervous grin on his face. He’s been trying to get Maggie to free up some time for him for weeks, and I guess she finally agreed. Good for them.

“Ok, well if you see them send them over.”

Pointing his index finger somewhere over my shoulder, he adds, “No need, here comes your brood now.”

As soon as Glenn says it, I can hear my kids chattering away. None of that running ahead and being wild when they are with their father, like they do to poor Glenn. No, Rick’s presence demands a certain obedience to his leadership. As such, the boys are closely flanking their father on each side, attentive and following his lead, and as usual, Judith rests contentedly in her father’s arms. And then there’s Rick, the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Sunglasses shield those baby blues from the sun’s rays, and with his hair growing a little long, and swept back from his face in loose curls, he looks every bit the dashing actor that Anthony does. Sasha is right I suddenly realize; they could be twins. Donning a black t-shirt, and dark blue washed jeans, the strides of his bowed legs are long and purposeful. A smile, centered by the dark brush of the very same beard that was covered in my juices this morning, graces his lips as his gaze lands on me.

Butterflies flap their beautiful wings in my belly, causing a stirring, a flutter that feels uncontainable and causes me to rise from my chair in anticipation of his arrival.

“Hi!” I call to my family. A smile for my children. Hugs from tiny arms, kisses from lips that are sticky, accompanied by the welcoming scent of graham crackers that always seems to follow them. Instantly, I’m drawn in by his firm grasp around my waist, as Rick pulls me into his form, and kisses me soundly. Slowly. His lips gently commanding mine to open just enough to accept a quick flutter of his tongue into my mouth. Just enough to cause the flutter to increase in intensity into a wild thumping that sends my hand grazing the planes of his chest, gripping at his t-shirt to prevent me from falling.

I suppose this is old hat for the kids now. Judith doesn’t even bat an eyelash at the display of affection, and the boys are already going through the base camp tent as their uncle Glenn tries to stop them from touching everything.

On a whispery note, one so flush with lust it’s almost a moan, I utter my husband’s name as though I wasn’t just with him this morning. “Rick.”

Grinning in recognition of the affect he has over me, Rick nods in greeting and removes his sunglasses, handing them to Judith who promptly dons them over her own eyes. “Chonne.”

“Hi, Rick! Nice to see you again.” Sasha offers, seemingly hesitating a moment to allow our kiss and greeting to commence. Reaching out, she gives him a quick hug, and it warms my heart to see my husband and my friend greet each other like old times.

“It’s always good to see you, Sasha. How have you been?”

“I’ve been better, but, I’m going to be fine.”

Looking to me for some direction on what Sasha’s cryptic response could be alluding to, Rick doesn’t seem to know what to say.

In the brief silence that ensues, Anthony, who was standing behind Sasha, steps forward, offering his hand to Rick, and introduces himself in the fake southern accent that supplanted his English one since we began shooting. “Hello there, I’m Anthony.”

Accepting his hand, Rick gives him a firm shake. “Rick.”

“Anthony, this is my husband.” I clarify the introduction, again awash with a glow at that fact. This is my husband.

“Pleasure to meet you, man. You have one beautiful and talented wife. She’s amazing. You’re a lucky man.” Anthony nods my way, complimenting me.

“Thank you. I agree.” Rick responds, though I catch a slight tick in his jaw, and a tightening of his palm as it reclaims its spot at my waist, at Anthony calling me beautiful.

“Daddy, he looks like you.” Andre comments, running back over to where we are. Swinging his eyes between Rick in his jeans, t-shirt and boots, and then back to Anthony in his jeans, t-shirt, and boots. “Like brothers like me and Carl!”

“What I tell you, Michonne?” Sasha leans over and whispers in my ear, and for the first time I have to agree. Seeing them both standing next to each other it’s much easier to recognize the resemblance. More than just the clothes, it’s also the stance, with Anthony holding a posture similar to the way that Rick kind of hangs his weight back on his left leg. The assessing squint in their blue eyes as they try to find the likeness in the other that now everyone seems to be noticing. Even Glenn stands off to the side and gives them both a once over, then glances my way, mouthing the words ‘you didn’t’. To which I can only shrug. I suppose I did.

“Dre’s right, Dad. Is this your brother? Like Uncle Jeff?” Carl wonders aloud, looking up from his iPad momentarily to confirm Andre’s assessment.

Momentarily sizing Anthony up, probably looking for the truth in everyone’s assertion, Rick narrows his eyes at Anthony. Coming to a decision, he shakes his head. “Nah, we don’t look alike. We’re not brothers.” Rick dismisses the odd moment, sucking his teeth in finality. “Anyway, Chonne, can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Sure. Wanna go to my trailer?”

“Ok. Glenn, do you mind keeping an eye on the kids for a second. Won’t be long. Just need to discuss something with Chonne real quick.”

“Ah, sure. I have to leave though in about thirty minutes for sure. I’ve got a date with Maggie tonight. I can’t be late.”

“You won’t. I need only about fifteen minutes of my wife’s time. Shouldn’t take too long.” Handing Judith over to Glenn, Rick turns to me and threads his fingers with mine, then turns us away from the tent. “Which way?”

Before we take off, I can faintly hear Anthony’s voice from behind me. “I don’t think we look alike at all.”

I lead us over to where the trailers are lined up on the outskirts of base camp, mine one of the largest and most luxurious, at the very end of the row. Once inside, I take note that Rick makes quick work of closing and locking the door behind us.

Quirking my eyebrow at this, I turn away and set my papers and laptop on the makeup vanity, then turn back to face him, as I settle in a lean with my hip against the counter. “What’s up?”

Resting his hands at his hips, Rick answers, “Ya know our parents Saturday morning for Florida, to take the kids to Disney.”

“Yeah, I didn’t forget. I got some extra sunscreen and beach things for the kids.”

“Well Judith has a little cough, wanna get it checked out before they leave. Just to make sure she’s ok. You know her allergies get worse in the summer.”

“I know. Should have gotten her checked out with her doctor before we left LA. But, yeah should probably do that now. Make sure she’s ok before they leave for two weeks.”

“I’m going to take her to that new pediatrician at your parents’ practice. Dr. Siddiq. Your dad said he’s a good doctor.”

Somewhat surprised by Rick’s comment, I tilt my head in question. “You spoke to my dad?”

“Yeah, I talk to him all the time. He’s the one who suggested we take the day and bring Judith in.”

“Take the day? The whole day?”

“You know we are going to have to promise her a family fun day to get her in the doctor’s office. She hates the doctor. Always thinks she’s gonna get a shot when we go. You know this.” Rick answers, confidently advancing closer. Cockiness apparent in his swagger, he doesn’t stop until he has me caged, with his arms on either side of the counter behind me. For a moment the dazzling blue of his eyes skims my face, as a slow mischievous grin grows on his lips.

This man in my space is everything, and it’s short circuiting my brain. Mint, jasmine, jasmine and musk perfume his skin, enticing me with their aroma, enveloping my senses with everything Rick. I recognize that look in his eyes. The brief kiss of his tongue to his bottom lip, drawing my attention to the plush pinkness found there and introduction to the rosy flush creeping up his neck from his chest, to his face. My core comes alive, remembering with clarity what the closeness of our bodies can mean. It’s the same fire and heat that has stolen every single moment of my free time for the last two months. Kept me breathless and weak for him. Hungry for my husband’s touch.

As though I might try to save myself from being devoured by the lascivious smirk of my husband’s perfect lips, a preamble to certain seduction, I reach for the pencil that is tucked over my ear, using it to signal that I need to get back to work. I nudge Rick softly in the chest with the eraser, gently pushing him away. “You want me to just stop working on my show today and run off with you and the kids? For me to stop building my little post-apocalyptic civilization?”

Rick stands firm. Tall. His broad chest unmoved by my little maneuver. Gently nabbing the pencil from where I have it pressed to the center of his chest, Rick flicks it across the room. “Yeah. That’s exactly what I want you to do, Chonne.” Immediately he’s on me, lowering his lips to my neck, gracing the sensitive skin with a series of kisses, then proceeding to suck the skin between his lips and teeth. Rolling my head backwards, I bare my throat to him, needy for more of what he’s giving, retreating from the mere thought that I might resist.

Pushing himself closer to me, his form molded tightly against my own, I can feel the weighty heft of his thick erection against stomach. I groan at the sensation as my body loosens, grows slack with the pleasure of my husband overwhelming me with his presence. Dipping his face lower, burrowing his tongue and lips into my cleavage, Rick grabs two handfuls of my ass, kneading the flesh in his palms. Unexpectedly I feel my feet leave the ground, as Rick hoists me up, and sets me on the counter. A delighted gasp leaves my lips, and for a moment he pulls back, ceasing his ministrations.

“Take your shirt off.”

Taken aback at his naughty command, I’m breathless, caught off guard, but nonetheless aroused by his suggestion. “Rick? I’m…I’m at work.”

With an absolutely feral focus in the growing darkness of his blue eyes, Rick doesn’t care for my weak argument. Dismissing it he offers a final command, his voice little more than a bass heavy utterance, “You can do it, or I will.” Roughly, he’s grazing his hand over the thin silk of the wine colored camisole, over my breasts, then down to the delicate edge of the hem. His fingers twist the fine material between his calloused fingers. “I might not be as gentle with this nice little top as you are. Either way, I want it off you. Now.” On his final word, he inches his fingers into the waistband of my jeans, then pulls me towards to him, the crotch of my jeans cosseted against his tight abs.

The gruff demand raises my temperature, heats my core to where I can positively feel the wetness saturating my panties. Rick’s commanding handling of me has always been a gift and a curse. A gift in that he is the only man who can boss me. Who can order and control my body, his dominance a certain pathway to pleasure. A curse for the same reason. Ezekiel has never been able to rule over my body, and perhaps that is why I never fully relinquished my hold on my husband. Succumbed to the idea of a lifetime with Ezekiel, and his tepid, gentle lovemaking. While I can appreciate, and do enjoy the merits of a gentler kind of lovemaking, there is absolutely no comparison to the naughty methods my husband employs to make me his own little freak.

How foolish I was to ever believe that another man could give me what Rick does. Could make me feel like he does. This man, my husband, my best friend and lover has taught me everything about sex, about love, about exploring parts of myself that some could never dig deep enough to unlock. Why did I ever believe that I could live without this man and his superb mastery of my body? My soul.

Without a second thought, I instantly lift the offending garment from my feverish skin, the thin slip of silk a minor hindrance, tossed aside carelessly. My skin, my breasts are sensitive to the immediate scratch of his beard, the commanding roll of his wet tongue as he shoves my bra cups down with his lips and teeth. Lapping at my nipples, Rick uses the flat of his tongue to lick a wet path around my darkened flesh, now slippery and damp from his saliva.

Tingling, a burst of pleasure ripples through me. My fingers hold tightly to him, the dark strands of his curly hair gripped in my hands. It’s the only thing that keeps me grounded, from absolutely combusting, turning to inflamed ash as he unbuckles my pants and shoves them to the floor. Cool air blesses the folds of my puffy sex, gifting me with a brief reprieve from the fire Rick is stoking.

Standing between my widespread thighs, one hand now massaging the back of my neck, the other grazing down over my lightly swollen belly, Rick gives my clit a few wet slaps with the palm of his hand. Against my throat, his deep voice is a rumble, a gritty tease. “All morning I’ve been thinking of you. Of how I left my cum all over your fat pussy lips last night.”

“Ugh…uh…”

“I love your pussy, Chonne. Like a chocolate kiss on the outside. Wet and pink on the inside.” Slipping the skin on my throat and collarbone between the edge of his teeth, Rick’s groaning softly into my flesh. Slapping at my pussy a few more times, he asks, moving back to my lips, he’s breathing the words, “Have you been thinking of me today, Chonne? Is that why this pussy is so wet, babe? Hm? Were you remembering how I fucked you last night, then came all over this beautiful, smooth skin? That make you wet, babe?” My breast is in his other hand, his large palm gripping the roundness in a firm massage.

Nodding, my lips slightly separated to swallow every word my husband whispers against them, I’m completely pliant in his hands. His command of my pleasure heightens my anticipation of what comes next. 

Sliding his middle finger between my folds, the silk of my essence is sticky evidence of my arousal, of how his words, his touch unhinges every bit of resistance I may have had. Any inch of decorum that would prevent me from allowing my husband to fuck me in my work trailer. The possibility of my colleagues hearing me, completely foreign to my sex obsessed brain.

Moving his grip from my breast to my chin, Rick’s long index fingers play over my lips. “What about when I fucked your mouth this morning? Hm? Let you swallow my cum. You been thinking about that, Chonne? You like when I fuck your mouth. Let you wrap your lips around my dick?”

“Yes, Rick…oh god…” I answer, his words painting a vivid picture of me on my back this morning, Rick gripping the headboard, hovering over my face, as I sucked his cock. 

“My dick has been hard as I’ve been thinking of you all morning, babe. Your thighs wet with my cum. The scent of me all over my wife.”

“Ahh…”

“You want me to fuck you right now?”

“Yes…”

“Say it then. Tell me what you want, Chonne.”

“I want you to- to… mmmmmm…”

“To what?” Rick asks, torturing me, knowing that I can hardly form the words as his hand has picked up speed. His fingers sliding quickly against my sticky clit, two of his fingers now curled inside of my canal, jamming against my spot.

“Mmmm…” is all I have. A humming buzz sounding off in my head, between my ears. Grinding downward onto his fast moving hand, I’m greedily seeking an orgasm. Ready to blast off, to saturate my husband’s hand with cum, when he suddenly stops. The peak I was slowly ascending to, now leveling off as he removes his hand. “Rick? What?”

“You have to tell me. Say it, Chonne.” Quirking an eyebrow, Rick begins making slow work of his own jeans, until he has freed his cock. Fisting himself, his hand pumping the thick meaty flesh, his focus is still on me. Relentlessly on me with each measured stroke of his long cock that ends with a swipe of his thumb across the weeping hole.

Fascinated, hypnotized by the way my husband handles himself, I’m growing antsy with each pull. Every second I’m not filled with every inch of him, the unsatisfied hum is an irritancy to my very being. Rick loves to play these games. To tease me. But he’s taken me so high already, I can’t bear another moment of the tease. And so I relent. I say the words that will unleash him, untether him from his control.

“Rick… I need- I need you to fuck me, Rick… Now.”

“Yeah. I know.”

With a gentle caress of my breasts, Rick rolls my nipples between the thumb and index finger of his left hand. A pinch. A tiny bit of pain, just enough, causes me to arch into him, lift my chest in offering as he easily guides me to lay back on the counter. Lifting my legs, bending them at the knee, he widens my thighs until they are almost flat to the counter. Skimming his fingers over the thickness of my inner thighs, he soothes me with his touch, easing my restless, anticipatory squirming.

As has become commonplace for us, he reminds me, “You have to be quiet, Chonne. You don’t want anyone to hear you getting fucked do you?”

Shaking my head, I suck my lips into my mouth as though that would prevent the sounds that we both know are sure to come.

Rick grazes his thumb over my clit, a rhythm that nearly kills me, the pressure growing in intensity with each pass until the blunt head of his cock breaches me. Gasping at the pleasurable stretch, I cannot prevent the throaty moan of satisfaction that rises from my throat. Each thrust of his hips, at first shallow, then to the hilt, imbedding his cock deeper inside of me, elicits a groan, a wail even louder than the last. I know I should be quiet. Rick knows I should be quiet. And even as he punishes me relentlessly with every pound of his cock, his own sounds muffled by how he’s trapped his bottom lip by his teeth, I can’t seem to allow myself to be quiet. The pleasure is too good. The subtle hint of pain when he pushes every inch of himself into me, then gives me those quick bangs of his pelvis against mine, doesn’t help, and just as I throw my head back, Rick places his palm over my mouth. Muffling my cries.

Leaning down, angling further into me, Rick takes hold of my thigh and digs his fingers into the flesh, lifting it impossibly higher to rest on his shoulder.

“You feel so fucking good, Chonne. I love this pussy, babe!” Rick’s voice rumbles against my cheek, his words ending on a biting suck of my lips as the piston of his hips wanes to a dramatically paced rhythm. The slowest in and out, his cock stroking my canal into a crescendoing frenzy of gratification.

Threading my fingers through the silk of his hair, I’m gluttonous in my need to maintain my connection to Rick, to maintain the heady balance of intensity dancing right on the edge of climax. “Mmmmmm… mmm!” I’m panting, moans escaping under the sound deadening hold of Rick’s palm over my mouth, a firm grip of my ass in the other, and the crush of his heavy body thrusting and grinding on top of me. Desire pools in my protruding bundle of nerves compressed against the base of his cock, swollen and sensitive from the concentrated thrusts of his dick. Rick effortlessly pumps himself through the puffy lips at the apex of my womanhood, enlivening me with the most exquisite bursts of intense pleasure.

Savoring the thrill of my orgasm, riding the wave with me, Rick burrows his lips into my neck, a subtle bite to my skin. His visceral grunts and moans are urgent, a waving white flag announcing his body’s surrender to the pleasure found in the depths of me. “Ugh, Chonne, uhhh…Ah fuck! Fuck! Fuuuu…”

Jets of his cum stream into my womb, the viscous substance mixing with my own sticky orgasmic essence, making a mess of the juncture where we are connected. Rick’s body is stiff, massive, crushing me under the bright glare of the illuminated bulbs above the mirror, pinning me to the hard vanity countertop.

We remain still for so long, our bodies twisted and intertwined, thighs aching from their widened stretch, that I begin to wonder from the syncopated rhythm of his chest’s in and out against my breasts, if he isn’t in fact asleep.

Dragging my fingers across his scalp, the curls coiling silkily between them, I’m attempting to elicit a sign of life from my husband. “Rick?”

“Hm?”

“Just making sure you’re not sleep.”

“Uh huh.”

“We need to get up.”

“Uh huh.”

“I hope no one heard us.”

“Heard you.”

“Whatever.”

Unmoving, Rick remains where he is as though I didn’t just remind him that we need to make a move.

“Baby, you’re heavy.”

“Uh huh. Sorry.” He slurs, finally moving his body sluggishly, releasing the pressure of him on top of me. He doesn’t make a move for his clothes, or mine for that matter. He just stands there, looking at me. Staring. His hair in utter disarray. The curve of his pink lips magnified from the kissing and sucking and biting. I love when he does this, when I have his full attention. When he lays those blues on me, and makes me feel as though I’m the only thing, the only person that matters to him. The center of his world.

It’s what I see right now in the focused glide of his fixed stare, beginning at my face then traveling down. Down further still, until I grow antsy, self-conscious at what he must see under the unforgiving glare of the vanity mirror’s lights. It’s what they are for after all. To point out flaws that must be corrected. Assist in the application of makeup or some other implement to address an imperfection. I want to squirm, but find that I cannot. Rick’s hold on my waist is firm, steadying, keeps me affixed right where he wants me.

What must he think of what he sees? The thick lines that traverse my dark skin, ridged, and veiny, marring my skin. We’ve been together plenty since our reunion two months ago, but never under the harsh focus of such luminosity. What must Rick think of how my body has aged, spread, grown fatter, wider, thicker? I’m afraid to ask. Afraid to know too much of what’s swimming behind those beautiful eyes, almost unblinking in the intensity of their assessment. Is he comparing me to the unmarked, willowy, lithe body of his previous lover? To the porcelain cast of her early peach colored skin? Does he miss that? Does he still want that?

Just as I’m about to sit up, attempt an escape, some way to conceal the artifacts of what my life’s experiences have left behind on my body, Rick’s strong hands begin to caress, massage away the tension in my form. Grasping the flesh that rounds my wide hips. Smoothing and gripping the softness that lives on my inner thighs. And just as I’m about to question him, he prostrates himself, placing his lips to my stomach and whispers against my skin, glistening with the shared mix of our sweat. Blue eyes never leave my own. Even as long sandy colored eyelashes flutter over them, my husband maintains our connection. “I love you, Michonne.” His declaration is not foreign to me. But the earnestness in the hushed words, spoken with the reverence of a vow, a prayer of supplication and devotion into my skin, carries with it so much levity. Clarity.

“I love you, Rick.”

“Maybe take a pregnancy test while we’re at your parents’ office?”

Gulping, I almost don’t answer him. I almost didn’t hear him, these last few words were uttered so delicately, a tone so hushed that they were almost carried away by the hum of the air conditioner. I’ve wanted to bring this up to Rick for the last two weeks. I missed my period. We’ve been here before, at this crossroads where new life begins. We’ve done nothing to prevent it, and everything to encourage it. So why am I so scared to speak into existence the very thing that we both know we have done?

Because I know my husband. He will force the finality of a choice. No more of this marriage in limbo. Together but not. A conclusion that dispatches once and for all with any question of where we both want to be, and with whom. I’ve only heard the name Lori once in the last two months, and that was when he let me know that he had agreed to meet her one last time to retrieve some of his things from her home. The admission that he had left pieces of himself with her stung. Hurt more than I expected. Reminded me how tenuous my rekindled relationship with my husband truly was. The box he retrieved held a few tools, his iPad, some pants and a few shirts. All signs that he had intended to occupy her space again. He had done so more than once. Disrobed with her. Left his clothes, and his coveted tools behind with her, safely in her care.

I had no right to the anger and jealousy that clouded my vision when I saw that box, shoved into a corner in his bedroom upon his return. Discarded as though those things meant nothing. They meant everything. They along with the expensive ring and unanswered texts from Ezekiel, were the symbols of the unfinished edges of our existence apart that threatened to unravel our attempts to bind our lives back together now.

But this? This baby that Rick has placed in my womb. That grows stronger everyday? This is an inevitability that will force Rick and I to make plain whatever it is that’s going to happen from here. Insecurity of what it might mean for Rick to choose me, or me to choose him, what the consequence of those choices might mean, wasn’t going to stop us this time. I will not hurt my husband again by not sealing my fate with his. This last chance for us meant more than me choosing him to take my virginity. Him choosing to follow me to LA. Him choosing to save his family, or me choosing to save myself from his one sided sacrifice. This was our last chance to get the Rick and Michonne story right. For me, the baby we made together was proof that we had decided on a way forward together.

Nodding my head a few times, a subtle agreement to acknowledge the choices we have made, I closed my eyes briefly and accepted the piece that quieting my indecision is giving me. “Yeah. We should do that.” I confirm, smiling at my husband, who lays his bearded cheek on my belly as I continue to soothe him, rub my fingers over his head and lull him into the certainty of what my yes actually means. We are doing this. We are in this together. I choose him. Again.