The bell above the door jingles, alerting me that someone's come into my shop. I know exactly who it is though, because only one person, or kid more like, comes in every Monday at right about this time.
"Hey, Carl." I call from where I stand at the counter, sorting through comics. He waves at me and calls his own greeting in return. This is the usual for us; what's unusual is the fact that there's a man, a police officer, trailing after Carl.
I can't help smiling at how uncomfortable he looks; a comic book shop is definitely not this guy's forte. Calling him attractive wouldn't necessarily be a stretch. He definitely has that "Southern" look about him: the full, almost overgrown beard, light blue eyes, blondish hair, tall. I feel like I should know him from somewhere, like I've seen him around town, but I can't quite put my finger on who he is. Until I can, his name will just have to be Officer Uncomfortable.
"Only one comic today, Carl." Officer Uncomfortable calls, crossing his arms over his chest. There's a rustling that comes from the racks as Carl immediately comes back out of them, a complaint already at his lips. Officer Uncomfortable puts on a stern face though, and says, "No buts Carl. You know money's tight right now and comics are expensive."
Carl pouts slightly and says, "Dad come on! The new issues of Spiderman came out and I need them!" Officer Uncomfortable looks at him and purses his lips for a second; I can tell he's contemplating the pros and cons of letting Carl get more than 1 comic.
After a second, he sighs and shrugs his shoulders, indicating his decision. I can feel a smile tug at the corner of my mouth; Carl always gets three comics, and it appears like today won't be any different.
Carl grins and calls a, "Thank you!" over his shoulder, then scurries back into the rows of comics, leaving me alone again with Officer Uncomfortable.
"You've got a real firm grip on him." I say, leaning again on the counter. He looks over at me, about to say something, but stops. He stares at me instead, leaving an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air.
I raise my eyebrows at him and tap a finger slightly on the countertop, hoping that will incite him into some kind of action. It does, thankfully, and he shakes his head and stutters out, "Sorry, sorry. Yeah, I try to be a- a good dad to him, ya know? Things have been a little rough for us both lately."
I nod and say "Oh yeah, I totally get it."
Officer Uncomfortable shuffles his feet a bit, then after a short pause says, "I'm Rick, by the way. I've seen you around town but I don't think we've ever actually met?"
I rest my chin in my hand and nod. "No, I don't think we have. I'm Michonne. It's nice to finally met the man who's in charge of the boy that wrecks havoc on my store every Monday." Carl yells, "Hey!" somewhere in the rows of comics and I grin.
"You know it's true!" I call back at him. When I don't get a response, I assume that he's agreeing with me.
Turning back to Rick, I say, "And, yeah, I totally get the whole letting him get the comics. Besides, who could resist his puppy dog pout?" I grin at him, and he chuckles quietly.
"He definitely gets that from his mother." I can't help the small pang of disappointment that fills my gut when he says this; I push the feeling down though, for obvious reasons.
Carl comes back out of the rows carrying a large pile of comics in his arms. "Carl! What did I just tell you?" Rick looks at him with raised eyebrows.
"It's fine, dad. I'm not getting all of these. I need Michonne's help to decide which ones I should get." Rick frowns for a second.
"Why would you need help with that?"
"Um. Because Michonne has good judgment skills and an okay," He glances at me with a mildly snarky face, to which I stick my tongue out right back at him, "Taste is comics. Usually." I scoff and roll my eyes at the last part of his sentence.
"I've always had better taste than you." I shoot right back at him, causing him to grin and dump his load of comics onto my counter; we go back and forth like this the whole time we sort all of the comics, too.
When we get to the last comic Carl should get, we run into a problem. It's Superman vs. Batman, of course. Remembering Rick is there too, I decide that I may as well get him in on all this nerdy fun as well. "So, Rick, which comic do you think Carl should get?"
Rick is obviously taken aback by the fact that I even bothered asking him the question. He comes over and stands and the counter next to Carl and says, "Um. Well, I mean. Which ever one Carl likes he should get. I guess." Rick scratches the back of his head and looks mildly apologetic as his son smirks and chants "I've got better taste than you!" over and over with a smug smile.
"Oh be quiet." I swat at him, then turn to Rick and false whisper, "You only chose Carl's comic cause he's your son, right?" My face is only a few inches away from his now. He stares at me for what feels like an hour but is really only seconds, then says, "Obviously." with a growing mischievous grin on his face that matches his son's perfectly. I can't help breaking into a fit of laughter at this, and Rick can't help it either.
Carl coughs just loud enough that we hear him over our laughing, and I realize that he saw all of that. But instead of looking scandalized or even traumatized, he only seems mildly amused, with a half smile awkwardly curling on his lips.
I smile in a semi-awkward way at him and grab his comics off the counter to ring up for him. When I come back, they both say thanks and Rick wishes me a good afternoon. The look he leaves me with is one that lingers in the space between us long after he's gone.