Chapter 4
***All the TWD stuff belongs to Kirkman, Gimple and other people. Not I.***
Me: Okay, short chapter this time, but...it's Carchonne.
"What about this one? I think It'd look nice." Michonne held the light pink shirt up to Carl's chest.
They were in one of the mall's higher-end clothing shops that specialized in men's dress wear and suits. A suit would be WAY too formal, but a nice button-down shirt that wasn't plaid or made of flannel and a pair of pants that weren't jeans seemed like a pretty safe bet, and definitely in keeping with the occasion. She wouldn't even THINK about what a pain in the ass shoes would be. They'd cross that bridge when they came to it.
"Mich, are you serious? I'm not wearing PINK!" Carl's face wore a disgusted expression as he backed away from the shirt.
'I think you could pull it off, but okay," she declared, placing the shirt back on the rack. "Hmmmmmm, black would be too severe. No yellow. Green, maybe? Or brown! Your dad has this brown shirt I love. I never can keep my eyes off him in that shirt."
Carl made retching noises. "Yuck."
"I know, I know. Old people in love," Michonne sing songed, "How gross."
Carl smirked at her. "Or, 'It's my parents, how gross.'"
She felt her throat tighten a little and she turned to stare at him. Michonne knew Carl had been fine with her relationship with Rick, and had been fine with his father's decision to seek her hand in marriage. Rick had talked to him about it before proposing. She also knew that Carl cared for her quite a bit and she loved the rapport they shared and their closeness. It may have been a little presumptuous to say, but she was pretty sure Carl had an easier time telling her the private details of his life than he did Rick. It made her happy to think he trusted her and felt so at ease with her.
In the ten and a half months that they'd been married, Carl had introduced her a few times as his stepmother. He always called her Mich, which she found endearing. She wouldn't have wanted him to call her Mom. (After all, his own mother was still very much alive, if mostly absent) But he'd never referred to her in all that time as simply just his parent, and she was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. It was unexpectedly sweet to hear those words issue from his mouth.
He shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of her gaze, misreading the cause of it. "Oh, I'm sorry...should I not call you my parent?"
She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed tightly. "Of COURSE you can call me your parent," she murmured, voice suspiciously husky.
His own arms wrapped around her quickly and held her close for a few moments before he pulled away, self-conscious.
She laughed, wiping away a tear that had escaped one eye. "I MUST be your parent. Here I am, humiliating you in public. I'm sorry...it's just...you never called me that before. And it was really good to hear."
He surprised her by giving her another quick hug before pulling back again. He gave her a shy, lopsided smile. "It felt really good to say," he admitted. "And, well...you are."
She sniffed a little bit. "Ugh. Okay, end of embarrassing, parental display." She rubbed at her eyes fiercely and cleared her throat with a loud ahem. "We came here on a mission, and we are going to complete that mission. I do think that you should reconsider the pink shirt, but if you're dead-set against it then I think we should have another look at the brown. I'm telling you, I know women. Enid won't be able to resist you in the brown."
His one visible eye sparkled as he watched her shift back into business mode, the rein of her emotions firmly back in her grasp.
"Okay, Mich. Let me see the brown one again."
To Be Continued
