A/N: Enjoy! Thanks as always for your feedback! :)
9. Moving Day
A deep frown seemed to have cemented itself on Mike's face. He'd been standing in front of the mantle with his eyes locked on one particular photo for the past few minutes. I suspected that he was staring at the photo Glenn had taken of me, Carl, and Rick the day after Carl was born. If that was the case, Mike was the first person to have such a cold response to the photo.
I resisted a very strong urge to rub the bridge of my nose and continued securing my multi-colored cat statue in bubble wrap. The statue was one of the many items I'd brought from my condo months ago to make Rick's house seem more like home. It was now the last item I needed to pack before I could consider myself moved out.
It was hard to believe that just one week ago I'd told Rick that I was moving. I certainly hadn't planned to move out so suddenly, but his I can't had expedited my departure. Fortunately, my ankle healed rather quickly. In addition to following the doctor's orders, I opted to work from home for the week. By week's end, I was as good as new.
Confident that my ankle wouldn't be an issue, I contacted Rick to discuss move-out plans. After exchanging a few brief and impersonal texts, we agreed on a Sunday move-out day.
We hadn't communicated since then.
Surprisingly, despite Mike's inability to meaningfully contribute to the moving process, he and I were on track to leave Rick's house before our noon deadline. I figured that a three-hour window was more than enough time for us to organize and remove my belongings, but after about half an hour of packing, I realized that Mike was the last person I should have asked to help me move.
He honestly believed that helping me move meant that I would hire movers who we would then supervise. When I explained to him that he and I were the movers, he gave me a "you expect me to what?!" look that I didn't give much thought to at the time.
But Mike was clueless.
He didn't know how to assemble moving boxes. He didn't know how to properly wrap breakables. He didn't know how to group similar items together. I ended up tasking him with the least problematic jobs possible: bringing me whatever I asked for and carrying boxes to my car.
I carefully placed my cat statue in a packing box, somewhat amazed by how well it had held up over the past 15 years. I couldn't find a scratch, chip or nick on its beautiful body. I smiled when I remembered how poorly received the cat was when Rick and Daryl first saw it.
"I missed you both so much!" I said excitedly to Rick and Daryl for what was probably the twentieth time.
I'd just returned from a semester-long graduate studies program in Rome, Italy, so I hadn't seen them in person for six months. As much as I enjoyed everything about my overseas experience, there was nothing like being home.
Rick and Daryl were my home.
I hadn't been able to stop smiling since they picked me up from the airport.
Instead of taking me to my apartment, they surprised me with a "Welcome Home, Don't Ever Leave Again!" party at Rick's parents' house. When the party started to die down, the three of us made our way to the backyard for privacy.
Daryl sat on the bottom step of the deck chain-smoking, while Rick and I sat close-by in foldout chairs cradling beers. The guys looked like different versions of who they were when I left. I stared openly at them, trying to soak in all of their changes.
Daryl's hair had grown longer. It was now touching his shoulders in the back and practically covering his eyes in the front. Although he still wore saggy, ripped jeans, his sleeveless plaid shirt had been replaced by a plain white tshirt and a motorcycle vest.
Daryl didn't get animated about very many things, so when he told me joined a motorcycle club it was obvious how much it meant to him by the way he spoke about it.
He had also become a tattoo enthusiast while I was away. His entire back was covered by a tattoo of a phoenix rising from the ashes. The tattoo was impressive, but I loved the simple one on his upper arm even more. It was an infinity sign that had three birds and the word "family" incorporated into it.
Whereas Daryl's look had become more rebellious, Rick's look had moved to the more conservative end of the spectrum. During our undergraduate years, he decided to grow a mustache that everyone called a pornstache. He kept that thing for years, but ended up shaving it off about a month after I left for Rome. The Sheriff's Academy he enrolled in required recruits to have a close-cropped haircut, so, sadly, his curls were gone too.
"Stop starin'," Daryl said before taking a drag on his cigarette.
"I have six months worth of staring to catch up on, so no," I told him.
I laughed when Daryl stuck his tongue out at me.
"I wish you could've visited while I was over there," I said to them.
"5,000 miles is a long way to travel, 'Chonne," Daryl said, leaning back against the steps and stretching out his legs.
"5,142 miles to be exact," Rick specified.
"And expensive as hell," Daryl grumbled. "But you know we woulda if we coulda."
"I know," I said with a smile.
I thought about all the fun we would have had roaming the streets of Rome.
I thought about all the fun we were going to have now that we were together again.
And then the only sound that could make the smile fall from my face assaulted my ears.
"Rick!" a shrill voice shouted from inside the house.
"We're outside, Lori!" Rick shouted back.
We watched as Lori exited the house and made her way to Rick.
"Hi, guys," Lori said as she passed Daryl on the stairs and headed straight for Rick's lap.
Daryl and I both remained silent, not that Lori noticed. She had already turned her attention to Rick and was giggling as he nuzzled her neck.
"Sorry, I'm late," she said to him. "I had to beg Mr. Horvath to let me leave early."
Rick rubbed her thigh and tried to discreetly nod his head in my direction.
"Oh, hey, Michonne," she said as if she just realized I was sitting there. "Welcome back."
"Thanks, Lori," I replied as politely as possible.
She gave me an empty smile that I didn't care to return. Instead, I finished off my beer.
"Mrs. Grimes showed me that cat statue of yours on my way in," Lori said after I set my empty bottle down. "You got that from Venice?"
"From Rome actually," I said, looking at Rick.
"You know Michonne was in Rome, Lori. Remember?" he asked her.
"That's what I meant," she pouted before kissing him on the tip of his nose.
Daryl snorted. "That thing is ugly as balls."
"I'll have you know that a very talented street artist named Fabrizio made that cat for me. Piece by piece," I said proudly.
"Fabrizio?" Daryl repeated as if the name tasted rancid. "Sounds like a jackass."
Rick laughed out loud.
"And why exactly is that?" I asked.
"Because he makes ugly ass cats so that he can get laid," Daryl said, lighting up a new cigarette.
"Fabrizio got laid well before he gave me the cat, thank you very much," I said with a wink.
Daryl rolled his eyes and Rick choked on his beer.
"Jesus, Michonne," Lori said as she patted Rick's back. "You were there for educational purposes, not..."
"Not what, Lori?" I asked, silently daring her to finish her statement.
"Not indiscretions with strangers you met on the street," she said judgmentally.
"It's a good thing I only indiscressed with one stranger then," I replied sarcastically.
"That's not funny. You were there to learn. A lot of people wanted that opportunity, but you got it," she whined. "You were there representin' all of us as Georgians, as Americans. So maybe a little decorum was called for, don't you think?"
"Lori," Rick groaned. "That's enough."
I stood up and stared at Lori.
Rick, who knew how this conversation was about to end, tried to derail me.
"Michonne, can I talk to you for a second?" he asked.
I ignored him.
"Lori, fu-" I started to say.
"Michonne!" Rick interjected. "I need to talk to you. Alone. Now. Please?"
"But, Rick," Lori whined as he jumped up, forcing her out of his lap.
"I'll just be a minute," he said to her, kissing her quickly on the lips.
I watched as Lori whispered something in his ear and then ran her hand through his curl-free hair.
And that's when I saw it. Left hand. Third finger.
I looked at Daryl to confirm that I wasn't seeing things. When his eye roll confirmed that I wasn't, I turned and walked away in a stupefied state.
"You don't wanna leave, do you?" Rick asked after he found me leaning against his car with my arms crossed.
I looked at him but didn't answer his question.
"Are you at least gonna say goodbye to my folks?"
I didn't answer that question either. His parents had invited me over for Sunday night dinner, so I would see them then.
"Hey," he whispered, lightly pulling on my arms to uncross them. "Don't go. You know Lori didn't really mean anythang by that. She's jealous. You're doin' the thangs she-"
"When were you planning on telling me?" I interrupted.
He stopped pulling on my arms and looked guilty.
"When, Rick?"
"I tried," he said, dropping his hands from my arms and taking a step back. "But you were always busy. With school. With your boyfriend."
There was some truth to that. School and Fabrizio occupied a significant amount of my time, but I wasn't unreachable.
"Don't do that. Don't put this on me. You made the biggest decision of your life, and you didn't tell me. Why?" I demanded to know.
He sighed and leaned against the car too. When he didn't give me an answer I started to walk away.
"Wait, wait, wait," he said, pushing himself off the car and grabbing my wrist.
He stood in front of me and waited until I looked up at him.
"The truth is..." he began. "The truth is, I didn't want you to talk me out of it, Michonne. You could've. But I didn't want to analyze and then over-analyze it. I just wanted to go with a feelin'," he said earnestly.
Rick knew me well. I absolutely, positively would have talked him out of proposing to Lori. I probably still could.
"But, Rick," I said. "Don't you think-"
"I'm goin' with the feelin'," he said with finality.
I looked up at the sky to stop myself from crying or screaming. Rick was a 'til death do us part kind of guy. Lori was going to be a permanent fixture in my life.
"You know that there's no set blueprint, right?" I asked, looking at him again. "You don't have to have the career, the wife, the 2.5 kids by 25."
"I know, Michonne," he said.
"If she's pressuring you into this—"
"She's not," he stated firmly.
I studied him closely, looking for signs of a lie.
"She's not," he repeated.
He wrapped his hand around mine and tugged on it.
"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm sorry that this is how you found out. Today was supposed to be about you."
Although I was juggling hurt feelings, disappointment, and frustration, I was mostly just worried that he was making a terrible life-changing decision. But, ultimately, it was his life.
I slowly rolled my eyes, which Rick took as his his cue to pull me in for a hug.
"Not so fast," I said, pushing him away. "This offense is going to cost you."
He groaned and put his hands on his hips.
"Cost me what?" he asked.
"Three Big Kats a week for the rest of the year," I said.
"One," he countered.
"Three."
"Two," he bargained.
"Three, Rick."
"Fine," he huffed. "What else do you want?"
"I want you to introduce me to Shane," I said with a smile.
He looked at me blankly before asking, "Shane who?"
"Shane Walsh. Your training partner at the Academy. That Shane."
"What about Focaccia?" he questioned.
"Fa-bri-zi-o was fun for Rome, but I'm home now," I said with a shrug.
His blank stare returned.
"Those are my terms for forgiveness, Rick. Non-negotiable."
"Fine," he said as he shook his head and pulled me in for a hug. "You and your lack of decorum."
I smiled against his chest.
"If she ever mentions my decorum again," I warned him.
It was one thing for Rick or Daryl to joke about or discuss my decorum, but Lori and I would never be on that level.
"I'll handle it," he promised.
"You better," I said.
"I'm gettin' married, Michonne!" he said excitedly.
"You're getting married, Rick," I said softly.
I looked back at Mike who was still staring at the same photo. I empathized with him to an extent. I knew it had to be difficult for him to see firsthand how deeply embedded I was in Rick and Carl's lives, but I also knew how elated he was that I was finally moving out.
When I told him my plans to move, he only cared about when, not the why. I should have been more forthcoming about certain things, like the fact that Rick and I weren't on speaking terms or the fact that Rick stayed the night at my condo after I was discharged from the hospital, but Mike didn't ask for details, so I didn't provide any.
I walked over to him and smiled when I saw which photo had captured his attention.
"That was taken the day after Carl was born," I told him.
It truly was a beautiful photo. Rick and I were lying on our sides and facing each other in my hospital bed with Nugget lying between us. Rick's curls shot out wildly all over his head, and his eyes were a little swollen from the tears he had shed over Lori. My hair was in a messy bun, and the double chin I'd developed during the pregnancy was on full display. Our eyes were glued to Carl, completely enamored with his tiny little swaddled body.
Glenn printed the photo in black and white and then framed it before gifting it to us. I made a mental note to ask him for a copy of my own.
Mike stared at the photo a few seconds longer before shifting his gaze to the other photos on the mantle. I took a seat in Rick's recliner.
"This is Lori?" Mike asked.
"That would be her," I said dryly, not even bothering to look at who he was pointing out.
Mike picked up the photo to study it.
"This picture looks fairly recent," he commented. "Maybe a few years old? Is this how she looked before she disappeared?"
"She didn't disappear, Mike. She left. She hung up on me when I was giving birth to Nugget. She got in her car and drove away," I said bitterly.
"But this is how she looked?" he asked, putting the photo back in its place. "Thin? Long brown hair? Bangs?"
"That would be Lori. Same old, same old since high school," I replied.
"And that's when you met her? High school?" he asking, turning to look at me.
"Sophomore year," I answered.
"She moved here your sophomore year or she moved here prior to that and you only met her sophomore year?" he asked.
"She moved here with her family our sophomore year," I said.
"From where?" he asked.
"Florida," I told him.
"Which city?"
I cocked my head and looked at Mike. "What's with all the questions about Lori?"
"Curiosity," he said simply.
He turned back towards the mantle to look at more photos.
"You almost forget that he's a cop," he said, looking at a photo of Rick in his uniform.
"Sheriff's deputy," I said, correcting him. "For almost twenty years."
"More like a desk clerk now," he mumbled to himself.
"But still a sheriff's deputy," I said defensively.
"Regardless, he has the resources and he has the connections, yet he hasn't been able to locate his wife?" he asked.
"Lori doesn't want to be found," I told him.
"Or perhaps he doesn't want to find her," he mused.
"Of course he wants to find her," I said, started to feel irritated by all of this talk about Lori. "Rick believes Lori is his one true love."
A frown was slowly making its way back to Mike's face.
"And that vexes you?" he asked.
"Yes, Mike, it does," I said without further explanation.
"In our profession, we have resources too. You've never tried to locate her yourself? To reunite him with the love of his life?" he asked.
"No," I replied.
"No?" he questioned.
"No," I repeated.
"Did she-"
"Enough," I said sharply, getting up from the recliner. "Enough about Lori Grimes."
"My apologies," Mike said, quickly walking over to me. "It was not my intent to upset you."
I rubbed the bridge of my nose.
"I'm not upset, Mike. I'm just ready to go."
I looked around the room one last time.
"Will you take these boxes to my car please? I need to check one more room."
Mike looked at the two boxes and tried not to scowl. "Of course," he said.
After he carried the first box out of the room, I reminded myself that everyone had different strengths and weaknesses. Mike's strength was that he was more of the delegating type than the doing type.
I was used to the men in my life being do-ers, so Mike's temperament would be an adjustment. But I could adjust.
When I stepped into my old bedroom, a wave of sadness crashed into me. Except for the lingering smell of my vanilla-scented candles, there was nothing to indicate that this had been my room for over a year.
I walked into the closet and picked up the three pairs of pajama bottoms that I'd left in there and then walked to Rick's room to return them. When I pulled open his top dresser drawer, my eyes were drawn to a white envelope resting on top of his socks. The envelope was blank, so there was nothing to hint at what was inside the envelope.
I placed his pajama bottoms in the drawer and closed it.
The respectful and responsible thing to do would be to walk away. But there was a chance that this was it... the letter that Lori had written the day she left.
Realistically, it didn't matter what words she'd strung together that day, but I couldn't stop myself from invading Rick's privacy. I opened the drawer again, picked up the envelope, and pulled out the letter.
"Atlanta Film Fest," I said out loud, reading the header.
I skimmed the rest of the letter.
Dear, Mr. Grimes:
Thank you for your recent purchase of the Atlanta Film Fest VIP package... Enjoy your VIP privileges... two all-access badges... bypass lines... reserved seating... a Cocktail Meet & Greet with select directors... Please contact the Sheraton Atlanta Hotel for your suite accommodations...
The letter was dated well over a month ago.
I carefully placed it back in the envelope and placed the envelope back in the drawer, but I was fuming.
Rick and I were in a good place over a month ago, but he never mentioned purchasing a VIP package to the film fest. He never even mentioned an interest in attending the film fest, at least not with me.
I slammed the drawer shut and left his room.
If not for passing by Nugget's nursery, I would have walked right out of the house.
Throughout the day, I glossed over how deeply upsetting it was to be moving out. It was impossible for me to gloss over my feelings now that I was standing in the doorway of Nugget's room. I'd spent almost every day of Carl's life with him, but almost every day was about to dwindle down to something less.
His cries, his screams, his smiles, his giggles, his gas, his gibberish—they were all sounds that had become a part of my daily existence. I had no idea what would replace those marvelous sounds.
I didn't want anything to replace them.
An ache grew in my chest when I thought about his firsts that I was going to miss out on. There was something so exhilarating about being there when he hit a milestone or experienced something new. Rick and I would dance around and cheer like maniacs when Nugget accomplished anything, and then Nugget would join in on our celebration, pumping his arms and legs excitedly and gurgling happily.
I was going to miss everything about my little Nugget.
I'd miss singing Cyndi Lauper songs to him when I rocked him to sleep.
I'd miss reading comic books to him.
I'd miss coordinating his outfit with mine or Rick's when we out.
I'd miss watching his face light up when he ate applesauce or chocolate pudding.
I'd miss watching his face scrunch up when we tried to feed him bananas.
I'd miss his slobbery kisses.
I'd miss his smell.
I'd miss tickling his feet or his tummy.
I'd miss soothing him when we was upset and wailing.
I'd miss sneaking kisses when he was asleep.
I'd miss looking into his blue eyes.
I'd miss telling him I loved him every single day.
I'd miss how he made me feel when he was in my arms.
I quickly wiped my eyes when I heard Mike's footsteps approaching.
"You know, this is quite a nice house, Michonne," he said, stopping behind me. "The house and the neighborhood are much nicer than I expected."
"Did you think he lived in a van down by the river, Mike?" I asked jokingly, trying to compose myself.
"Maybe not to that extreme, but based on the way he presented himself, yes- I thought he was rather poor," he stated.
"Come again?" I asked, somewhat astounded by the comment.
"Michonne, he wore jeans, scuffed boots, and a buttoned down cotton shirt to a five-star restaurant. I won't apologize for thinking he was poor."
"You're such a snob, Mike Anthony."
"I am, and you'll learn to love that about me," he said unapologetically, wrapping his arms around my waist. "We should get a couples' massage tonight. All of this manual labor has me tense."
I sighed. I knew he wasn't joking.
He let go of my waist and moved past me to walk into Carl's nursery.
"Do you want one of your own?" he asked me as he looked around.
"One of my own what?"
"Your own child, Michonne."
Mike's words bounced around my mind. One of your own.
Everyone seemed determined to remind me that Carl wasn't mine. And he wasn't. I knew that.
"Michonne?" Mike asked, walking back over to me.
"I don't know," I answered honestly. "Carl's been such a handful. I haven't had time to stop and think about it."
"But it is something you will think about? At some point?" he asked hopefully.
"At some point," I said, taking his hand and leading him out of the room.
When I locked the front door to Rick's house, I held on to the doorknob and took a breath. Although I didn't expect it to happen like this, I knew this day would come. I'd just always pictured Rick by my side on moving day.
"Are you ready?" Mike asked, wrapping his arm around me.
"I'm ready," I whispered as we walked to my car.
