"Were you married to Carl's dad or something?"
Michonne is in the middle of cleaning her katana at the kitchen table when Enid speaks. She looks up, finds the younger girl has plopped in front of her with her knees pulled to her chest, a Zinger in her hand.
"No," she answers with a forced smile. "We were together, but we were never married."
"You were together for a long time though, right? That's what Carl makes it sound like."
Michonne scoffs and sets aside the katana, planting her forearms on the table and looking closely at Enid. "You've suddenly become very curious about me, huh."
"Well you've suddenly become way more interesting," Enid shrugs, taking another bite of her cake.
"Not much for me to say- Carl's probably summed it up pretty well," Michonne dismisses shortly, returning to her blade once again.
A tense silence falls over the room and Michonne quickly realizes her mistake. Enid's been troubled and aloof from the moment they met, understandably so. Michonne understands her wound, and she wears it similarly. So true, unfettered conversation between the pair has been incredibly rare. Rarer still is it that Enid initiates the conversation. For Michonne to discourage that, for any reason, is a sensitive thing. Michonne sighs and lets her shoulders drop, sets the katana down once again, and looks up at Enid.
"Seven years," Michonne speaks quietly. "We met when Carl was almost one and split when he was eight."
Enid nods but doesn't look up from the table. "So you were like, his stepmom."
"I wasn't his step-anything. Rick and I weren't married."
Rick wanted to get married, and they talked about it. She suspects he bought a ring at some point, saving it for someday. For a while, Michonne wanted it too. But it had always been a matter of waiting- for Carl to get settled in, for the custody agreement with Lori to play out, for Michonne's career to gain momentum. And then it was over and they had waited too long.
Michonne struggled through their entire relationship to feel like she had any sort of parental claim over Carl, and often hoped that marriage would quell those doubts, solidify her role in their family.
Lori once told Michonne that Rick proposed after she found out she was pregnant. He'd felt like it was the right thing to do, because he's Rick and that's how he's wired. But Lori had turned him down. It never would've worked, we weren't good for each other back then, she'd said. And the back then part had haunted Michonne, because it left room for someday. And maybe that's what held Michonne back, or part of it at least. In the end, those doubts all came to fruition.
Enid rolls her eyes. "Fine I'll just ask Carl about it when he comes over, since you're in a mood."
"I'm not in a mood, you're just nosy," Michonne complains. "And what do you mean Carl's coming over?"
Just then, the front door opens and closes, quick footsteps approaching, and then Carl peeks in through the kitchen doorway. "Good morning," he greets with an impish smile.
"I left you a note about it," Enid addresses Michonne, seemingly ignoring Carl's arrival.
"Well we should really rethink the note system, it's not working," she says with a loud sigh before turning her attention brightly to the young boy in the doorway. "Come in, little bud. Good morning."
The term of endearment slips out so easily that Michonne's mind has to reel to catch up. She'd been calling him some version of it since he was in diapers- bud, little bud, buddy, buddy boy, buckaroo. It had started soon after she and Rick started dating, at which point Carl was already severely attached. In Michonne's presence, the baby was glued to her hip, insisting to be held and played with constantly- cries of Mish! Mish! following her everywhere. My little buddy, she started calling him, and it only became more apt with time.
But he isn't little anymore and, no matter how much she wants it, he isn't hers.
Michonne watches Carl, sees the moment he registers the nickname as well. He falters and then grins, the sight opening a chasm of emotion in Michonne's chest. "I just wanted to stop by and visit before you guys head out on that patrol today," he explains as he walks further into the kitchen, and Michonne watches his eyes widen in amazement when he takes in her katana. "Woah, it's just as cool as Dad said."
Michonne's heart leaps into her throat. "He told you about my katana?"
"Yeah, about how badass it is." He leans against the back of the chair beside her, watching her finish her polishing. "Are you bringing it with you?"
The patrol is scheduled to head out within the next hour. A few days back, Aiden and his run-crew spotted a decent-sized herd a few towns over, heading in their direction. They've organized a team to go scope it out- consisting of Rick, Michonne, Aiden, and two of Rick's people, Glenn and Rosita. Rick had argued vehemently against Aiden's inclusion, but Michonne reminded him that Aiden knows the area better than any of them. Not to mention that keeping Deanna happy is an unspoken part of this job- a part that Rick has yet to pick up on. Michonne only got him to compromise on Aiden by allowing him to bring his own people as well. Rosita is new, but Michonne recognizes Glenn as the guy who rocked Aiden's shit that first day. So this is shaping up to be an interesting trip. And by interesting, she means hellish.
"Oh absolutely," she answers with a smirk, sheathing the blade. "So don't get any ideas about taking it out for a test drive- you'd probably chop your own foot off."
Carl scoffs and blushes, casting an embarrassed look at Enid who is looking down to hide her chuckle. "I would not."
"I'm remembering a certain tee-ball incident…"
Carl straightens, narrows his eyes in a way that is so reminiscent of his father. "Okay you know they set the tee way too high. Plus my coordination is a lot better now, Michonne. You should see me with a gun."
It strikes Michonne with a sharp pang, the casual way he says it. She doesn't know what Carl's life has looked like for the past two years, but she can guess. Survival, starvation, death, murder. He's unlucky enough to know what his childhood could have been, and to experience its premature end. When she thinks of Andre, she sometimes tries to comfort herself with the knowledge that he won't have to grow up in this world. But it's a cruel and pointless thought. Michonne would've put the world right just so he could exist in it. And if that failed, if she couldn't make this world safe for him, she would've made him impenetrable to it. She would have taught him everything.
"Then maybe I'll give you lessons," she tells Carl softly, smiling tightly and hoping the push of tears behind her eyes isn't noticeable. "I'm sure you'd pick it up quick."
"Really? That'd be awesome," Carl beamed back.
"I want lessons," Enid chimed in, voice somehow still bored while voicing interest. Michonne looks over at the girl and smirks, amused by how easily Carl's been able to crack her hard shell. Michonne might be jealous if she wasn't so endeared by it.
"I will teach both of you," Michonne assures the children as she stands and swings the katana over her shoulder. "As soon as I get back." She pulls Carl into a one-armed hug, lifts his hat so she can plant a kiss on the side of his head.
"Hey!" he exclaims indignantly as he takes the hat back and carefully readjusts it so that his hair sits just right. Michonne grins at the sight and looks over at Enid knowingly.
"Watch out for her while I'm gone Carl," she calls out as she retrieves her pack and slugs it over her shoulder. "Make sure she saves me a few Zingers!"
"Ha ha," she hears Enid sarcastically reply. She walks back over to the kitchen table, pulling a slip of paper out of her back pocket and sliding it in front of Enid. "I thought you were done with the note system."
"It's just a few reminders," Michonne shrugs. "We should be two days, tops- just scoping things out. Aaron and Eric are bringing over some food- they offered to let you stay-"
"I'll be fine."
"You could come stay with us," Carl offers quickly, then turns red as both heads turn to face him. "If you want." He locks eyes with Michonne. "If that's okay."
Her heart thumps with the implication that she has any say in it. Maybe in the old world, she would have had reservations about letting the tweens have a sleepover. But with the way things are now, the concern feels silly and frivolous. She finds Enid is looking to her as well and she grims warmly at the young girl, nodding softly.
"Whatever Enid wants."
The kids smile at each other, and Michonne has the stifle a laugh at their antics.
"Don't get into any trouble though," she warns as she hikes her bag over her shoulder and makes her way towards the front door. "I am the constable, after all!"
—
Michonne's gun is missing from the armory. Well, not her gun, technically. But it might as well be. It's the one she always checks out when she goes on runs, the Beretta with a nick on the barrel. It's become a bit of a superstitious thing, and when Olivia offered to start holding the gun just for her, Michonne was much obliged.
But it hadn't been there today, a fact that baffled Olivia who insisted that someone from the run-crew must have forgotten to turn it in. Michonne didn't quite buy it, but didn't have time to investigate before the patrol team headed out.
That leaves Michonne sitting in the passenger seat with an unfamiliar handgun, shifting it between her hands, testing the weight of it.
"Should I be nervous?"
Michonne looks up at the voice. It's Rosita, in the driver's seat, staring ahead at the car in front of them. They took two cars, with Aiden and Glenn leading in one. Rick had insisted on chaperoning in that car, unwilling to let Aiden out of his sight. Which left Michonne and Rosita following behind.
She stills her hands. "Safety's on."
The silence is stilted but Michonne doesn't bother with emotions like awkwardness anymore. She holsters the gun and folds her hands in her lap, opting to stare out the front windshield as well. Michonne would've preferred to drive, but Rosita offered before she could, and arguing felt pointless.
In the other car, they're blasting a mix of terrible electronic rock at full volume. The muffled sound of it fills their car, a grating noise. Michonne can see Rick's unpleasant frown and squinted eyes from here.
"So what's the story?"
Michonne glances over at Rosita with furrowed brows. Rosita side-eyes her in return.
"Carl and Rick- they've never mentioned you." The callous reminder doesn't sting the way Michonne thinks it would. "As far as I knew, it'd always been Rick and Lori. So who are you?"
"You knew Lori?" The mention of Carl's mother catches her off-guard, more than the probing question. She'd made her assumptions when she didn't see Lori among Rick's group, when Carl didn't mention her, none of them comforting. But she doesn't know- Michonne doesn't know anyone's story but her own. And there's not a soul alive that she shares that story with anymore.
Rosita doesn't falter. "I didn't, some of the others did. You knew her before?"
Michonne ignores her again. "What happened to her?"
Rosita lets out a long sigh, her mouth set in a line. She glances only briefly at Michonne as she says, "They told me she died giving birth to Judith."
It sinks like a stone in Michonne's stomach. Died. Birth. Judith. She faces out the front windshield again, lets the information sit with her. The revelation recolors every interaction with Rick and with Carl, leaves a gaping hole in her periphery. Death is a constant in the new world, but to know it's touched the people she loves is crushing. She swallows hard, choking back the lump in her throat.
"Rick didn't tell you about Judith," Rosita realizes.
"No."
They drift into silence once again, Michonne still reeling. Judith. The name is familiar and she's stuck on that fact- instead of the grief, instead of the shock, she's stuck on the name. Judith, Judith, Judith.
"Sorry," Rosita interrupts her spiral, her voice softer than it's been. Michonne looks over at her, really looks at her for the first time. She's young, trying to make up for it with attitude. Hard, smart, honest. A bitch, in the typical sense- a word that had been ascribed to Michonne many times throughout her life as a black female lawyer. That quality didn't bother Michonne at all. If anything, it made her respect Rosita more. "I don't know if you two were close?..."
"We weren't," Michonne says. "Not really. She was… she was Carl's mom. That's who she was to me."
Judith! Michonne remembers it with a start. Carl's third grade teacher, Judith Woodcock, or Mrs. Judith to her students. Michonne didn't usually end up at parent-teacher conferences. Rick and Lori were good at coming together for Carl for those types of things, and Rick always insisted that Michonne didn't need to bother with it- a sore point for Michonne. But this had been right after they split, and Carl's teacher called Michonne specifically and asked for her and Rick to come in. It had been a hard conversation. Carl had been moody and irritable, argumentative with the other kids and avoidant of his schoolwork. Mrs. Judith was concerned, and admitted that Carl had told her about what was going on at home. All in all, the conference ended with Rick all but storming out, and the pair had fought loudly in the hall afterwards. But Michonne felt oddly grateful for Mrs. Judith, that she saw Carl, that she knew it was important to come to Michonne. And, in the end, Rick and Michonne sat down with Carl and talked with him about their split- and it really helped him. That was probably the last good moment Rick and Michonne had together.
"So what's your story?" Michonne asks quietly after another long bout of silence, feeling bolstered by Rosita's easy stoicism, and desperate for a distraction. The terrible music in the other car had been turned off, leaving them in utter silence. Michonne imagines Rick taking the CD out and snapping it in half.
"My story," Rosita balks, glancing at Michonne with a scoff. "You never told me yours."
Michonne shrugs, removing the unfamiliar gun from her holster and resuming her twiddling. "It's not a good story."
"Who's to say mine is?"
Michonne is surprised by the small smile that cracks across her face. "It is, I can tell."