A/N: Enjoy!

9. Moving Day

A deep frown seemed to have cemented itself on Mike's face. He'd been standing in front of the mantle in the living room for the past few minutes with his eyes locked on a photo. It was the one Glenn had taken of me, Carl and Rick the day after Carl was born.

Mike was the first person to have such a cold response to it.

I resisted a very strong urge to rub the bridge of my nose and continued wrapping 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 homey. It was the last item I needed to pack before I could consider myself moved out.

It was hard to believe this day had come. A week ago, when I told Rick I'd be moving out, I hadn't planned on moving out just a week later. But his I can't expedited my departure. Fortunately, my sprained ankle healed rather quickly. Because I'd followed the doctor's orders and also decided to work from home for the week, my ankle was as good as new by week's end.

As soon as I was confident my ankle wouldn't be an issue, I contacted Rick to discuss my move-out plans. We exchanged a few brief and impersonal texts and agreed on today as my move-out day.

We hadn't communicated since then.

Mike and I were on track to leave Rick's house before noon, less than three hours after arriving. We probably would've been done at least an hour ago if Mike was able to meaningfully contribute to the moving process. In his mind, helping me move meant he and I would supervise movers that I hired. 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 had to task him with the least problematic jobs to get the job done: 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 fifteen years. There wasn't a scratch, chip or nick on its beautiful body.

Too damn gorgeous!

I smiled, remembering how poorly received the cat was when Rick and Daryl first saw it.

"I missed you both so much!" I squealed.

That had to my twentieth time telling Rick and Daryl I missed them, but I couldn't help myself. I'd just returned from a semester-long graduate studies program in Italy and was seeing them for the first time in six months. As much as I enjoyed everything about my overseas experience, there was nothing like being back home with my two favorite people in the world.

I'd been 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 went to the backyard for privacy. Daryl sat on the bottom step of the deck, happily chain-smoking. Rick and I sat on either side of the deck stairs in foldout chairs, cradling beers.

The guys looked like different versions of who they were when I left. I openly stared at them and soaked in all of their changes. Daryl's hair had grown longer. It now touched his shoulders and his bangs practically covered his eyes. He still wore saggy, ripped jeans, but instead of a sleeveless plaid shirt, he had on a plain white tshirt and a motorcycle vest.

A few months ago, Daryl called me and told me all about the motorcycle club he joined. He didn't get animated about many things, so it was obvious how much being a part of the motorcycle club meant to him.

Daryl had also become a tattoo enthusiast while I was away. His entire back was covered with 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 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 finally shaved it off about a month after I left for Italy. The Sheriff's Academy he enrolled in required recruits to have a close-cropped haircut, which sadly meant his curls were gone too.

"Stop starin'," Daryl grumbled 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 he stuck his tongue out at me.

"I wish you could've visited while I was over there," I said to him and Rick.

Daryl leaned back against the steps. "Five thousand miles is a long ass way to travel, 'Chonne."

"Five thousand one hundred and forty-two miles to be exact," Rick said.

"And expensive as hell," Daryl grumbled. "But you know we woulda if we coulda."

"I know," I said, grinning.

I thought about all the fun we would've had roaming the streets of Rome.

I thought about all the fun we were going to have now that we were together again.

"Rick!" a shrill voice shouted from inside the house.

My smile fell, and I rolled my eyes.

"We're in the backyard, Lori!" Rick shouted.

The three of us watched Lori exit the house and make her way to Rick.

"Hi, guys," Lori said, passing Daryl on the stairs and heading straight for Rick's lap.

Daryl and I both remained silent, not that Lori noticed. She'd 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 subtly nodded his head in my direction. She looked at me as if she just realized I was here and gave me an empty smile that I didn't care to return.

"Oh, hey, Michonne," she said flatly. "Welcome back."

"Thanks," I replied as politely as possible.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and finished off my beer.

"Mrs. Grimes showed me that cat statue of yours on my way in. You got that from Venice?" Lori asked.

I set my empty bottle down and looked at Rick. "From Rome."

"You know Michonne was in Rome, Lori. Remember?" he asked her.

"That's what I meant, Rick." She pouted before kissing him on the tip of his nose.

I rolled my eyes.

Daryl snorted. "That cat is ugly as balls."

"That cat is a one-of-a-kind masterpiece! 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. "Fabrizio sounds like a jackass."

I cut my eyes at Rick when he laughed out loud. "How so?" I asked Daryl.

He lit up a new cigarette and shrugged. "Cuz he makes ugly ass cats to get laid."

"Fabrizio got laid well before he made me the cat, thank you very much," I retorted with a wink.

Daryl rolled his eyes and Rick choked on his beer.

"Jesus, Michonne," Lori complained, patting Rick's back. "You were there for educational purposes, not..."

"Not what?" I asked.

"Not indiscretions with strangers you met on the street."

"It's a good thing I only indiscressed with one stranger then," I replied sarcastically.

"That's not funny, Michonne! You were there to learn. A lot of people wanted that opportunity, but you got it. You were there representin' all of us as Georgians, as Americans. So maybe, for once, a little decorum was called for, don't you think?"

"Lori," Rick groaned. "That's enough."

Decorum?

DECORUM?

I stood up, glaring at Lori. My blood was boiling.

"Michonne!" Rick interjected. "I need to talk to you. Alone. Now. Please?"

"But, Rick," Lori whined as he jumped up and forced her out of his lap.

"I'll just be a minute," he said, kissing her quickly on the lips.

I watched as Lori whispered something in his ear and 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 I wasn't seeing things. When his eye roll confirmed that I wasn't, I turned and walked away in a stupefied state. Rick found me a few minutes later leaning against his car with my arms crossed.

"Hey," he whispered, standing in front of me and lightly pulling on my arms to uncross them. "You don't wanna leave, do you?"

I narrowed my eyes and glared at him.

"Are you at least gonna say goodbye to my folks?"

I said goodbye to his folks on my way out the house to get to Rick's car. They invited me over for Sunday dinner, so I'd see them again soon.

Rick sighed. "Michonne, you know Lori didn't really mean anythang by what she said. She's jealous. You're doin' the thangs she wishes she could."

"When were you planning on telling me?" I asked.

He dropped his hands from my arms, took a step back and shifted his eyes.

"When, Rick?"

"I tried," he said with a guilty look on his face, "but you were always busy. With school. With your boyfriend..."

There was some truth to that. School and Fabrizio took up a significant amount of my time, but I wasn't unreachable.

"Don't do that. Don't put this on me," I snapped. "You made the biggest decision of your life, and you didn't tell me. Why?"

Rick sighed and moved to my side to lean against the car too. When he didn't answer my question, I started to walk away.

"Wait, wait, wait," he pleaded, grabbing my wrist and moving back in front of me.

He didn't speak until I looked up at him.

"The truth is… 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 anythang. 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 in frustration. Rick was a 'til death do us part kind of guy. Lori was going to be a permanent fixture in my life.

Fuck.

"You know there's no blueprint, right?" I asked, looking into his blue eyes. "You don't have to have the career, the wife, the 2.5 kids by 25."

"I know, Michonne."

"If she's pressuring you into this—"

"She's not."

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 this is how you found out. Today was supposed to be about you."

Although I was juggling hurt feelings, and disappointment and frustration, I was mostly just worried that Rick was making a terrible life-altering decision. But ultimately, it was his life.

I slowly rolled my eyes, which Rick took as his cue to pull me in for a hug.

"Not so fast," I said, pushing him away. "This grievous offense is going to cost you."

He groaned and put his hands on his hips. "Cost me what?"

"Three Big Kats a week for the rest of the year."

"One," he countered.

"Three."

"Two," he countered.

"Three, Rick."

"Fine," he huffed. "Three. What else do you want?"

"I want you to introduce me to Shane," I said with a smile.

He looked at me blankly. "Shane who?"

"Shane Walsh. Your training partner at the Academy. That Shane."

"What about Focaccia?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Fa-bri-zi-o was fun for Rome, but I'm home now."

His blank stare returned.

"Those are my terms for forgiveness, Richard. Non-negotiable."

"Fine," he said with a shake of his head as he pulled me in for a hug. "You and your lack of decorum."

"Ha ha," I deadpanned. "And if she ever mentions my decorum again..."

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'm gettin' married, Michonne!"

"You're getting married, Rick," I said softly, hugging him tight.

I looked over my shoulder at Mike, who was still staring at the photo of me, Carl and Rick. I empathized with him to an extent. I knew it had to be difficult seeing how deeply embedded I was in Rick and Carl's lives.

I also knew how elated he was that I was finally moving out.

When I told him my plans, he only cared about when I was moving, not why. I should have been more forthcoming about certain things, like how Rick and I weren't on speaking terms or how Rick had 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.

"That was taken the day after Carl was born," I said, walking over to him.

It truly was a beautiful photo. Rick and I were lying on our sides in my hospital bed with Nugget between us. Rick's curls shot out wildly all over his head, and his eyes were swollen from all the tears he'd 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, swaddled body.

Glenn had very kindly printed the photo in black and white and framed it for 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 looking at the other photos on the mantle.

"This is Lori?" he asked, pointing at a photo of Rick and Lori.

"That's Lori," I said dryly.

Mike picked the photo up to study it, and I decided to take a seat in Rick's recliner.

"This picture looks fairly recent. Maybe a few years old? Is this how she looked before she disappeared?"

"She didn't disappear, Mike. She hung up on me when I was giving birth. 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 build? Fair skin? Long brown hair? Bangs?"

"Yep. Same old, same old since high school."

He turned to face me. "And that's when you met her? High school?"

"We met our sophomore year."

"She's a King County native?"

"She's not."

"She moved here your sophomore year? Or she moved here prior to that and you only met her sophomore year?"

"She moved here with her family our sophomore year."

"From where?"

"Florida."

"Which city?"

I tilted my head and narrowed my eyes. "What's with all the questions about Lori?"

"Curiosity."

He turned back towards the mantle to look at more photos. "You almost forget he's a cop," he murmured, looking at a photo of Rick in his uniform.

"A sheriff's deputy," I corrected. "For almost twenty years."

"Who now protects and serves from behind a desk," he flippantly remarked.

"But still a sheriff's deputy," I shot back. "And he gave up being out there… being out on the streets… for Carl."

"Michonne, it wasn't my intention to offend," Mike quickly said. "Regardless, he has the resources and he has the connections, yet he hasn't been able to locate his wife?"

"Lori doesn't want to be found."

"Or perhaps he doesn't want to find her."

I was starting to feel very irritated by all of this talk about Lori. I only had so much patience when it came to discussing her.

"Of course Rick wants to find Lori. He believes she's his one true love," I said.

A frown was slowly making its way back to Mike's face. "And that vexes you?"

"Yes, Mike, it does." I didn't offer further explanation, but Rick's feelings for Lori would forever vex me.

"I see." After clearing his throat, he added, "I would be remiss not to mention that we have resources in our profession as well. You've never tried to locate Lori yourself to reunite Rick with the so-called love of his life?"

I stared at Mike and blinked slowly. "No."

"No?"

"No."

"Did she-"

"Enough!" I said sharply, getting up from the recliner. "Enough about Lori Grimes!"

"My apologies, Michonne," Mike said, rushing to me with a remorseful look on his face. "It was not my intent to upset you."

I rubbed the bridge of my nose and let out a short breath of exasperation. "I'm not upset, Mike. I'm just ready to go. Will you take these boxes to my car please? There's one last thing I need to do."

Mike looked at the two boxes and frowned again. "Of course," he muttered. He picked up the smaller box and dragged his feet on his way out 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 heavy-lifting type. I was used to the men in my life being heavy lifters.

Mike's temperament would be an adjustment, but I could adjust. He was here and putting forth effort. That mattered.

I shook off the Lori-induced irritation that lingered and headed to my old bedroom to take care of that last thing. A wave of sadness crashed into me as I stepped inside. Except for the faint scent of my vanilla-scented candles, there was nothing to indicate that this had been my room for over a year. It was just the guest room again.

I sighed and collected the three pairs of pajama bottoms in the closet that I hadn't packed. They were Rick's. It was only right that I return them.

Hugging the pajamas to my chest, I walked to Rick's bedroom and went straight to his dresser. When I pulled the top drawer open, my eyes were immediately drawn to the white envelope resting on top of Rick's socks. It was blank, so there was no telling what was inside the envelope.

With my curiosity more than piqued, I put the pajama bottoms in the drawer and closed it.

Walking away would be the respectful and responsible thing to do.

Just walk away, Michonne.

I didn't.

How could I when there was a chance that this was it... the letter that Lori had written the day she left town!

Realistically, it didn't matter what words she'd strung together, but I just couldn't stop myself from invading Rick's privacy. I opened the drawer, picked up the envelope and pulled out what was inside.

"Atlanta Film Fest," I said, reading the header of the letter.

I skimmed the rest of it.

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. 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 to me.

I slammed the drawer shut and left his room.

If not for passing by Nugget's nursery, I would have walked right out the house.

Throughout the day, I'd glossed over how deeply upsetting it was to be moving out. It was impossible for me to continue doing that while standing in the doorway of Nugget's room. I'd spent almost every day of his life with him, and now 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 Nugget's 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, and then Nugget would join in on the celebration, pumping his little arms and legs and gurgling in excitement.

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 went out.

I'd miss watching his face light up when he ate applesauce or chocolate pudding.

I'd miss watching his face scrunch when we tried to feed him bananas.

I'd miss his slobbery kisses.

I'd miss his baby powder smell.

I'd miss tickling his feet and his tummy.

I'd miss soothing him when he was upset and wailing.

I'd miss sneaking him 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 after composing myself.

"Maybe not to that extreme, but based on the way he presented himself, yes, I thought he was rather poor."

"Come again?" I asked, both shocked and offended.

"Michonne, he wore jeans, scuffed boots and a button-down cotton shirt to a five-star restaurant. I won't apologize for thinking he was poor."

"Mike Anthony, you are such a snob."

"I am, and you'll learn to love that about me," he said unapologetically, wrapping his arms around my waist. "It's why you'll never catch me in jeans and a cotton shirt at a steakhouse."

I sighed and shook my head.

"We should get a couples' massage tonight," Mike suggested. "All this manual labor has me tense."

I sighed again. 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 as he looked around.

"One of my own?"

"Your own child, Michonne."

Mike's words bounced around my mind. Your own child. Everyone seemed determined to remind me that Carl wasn't mine.

And he wasn't.

I knew that.

"Is that something you'd want?" Mike asked, walking back over to me.

"I—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? Eventually?" he asked hopefully.

I took his hand and led him out of the nursery.

"Eventually."

When I locked the front door to the house, I held onto the doorknob and took a deep breath. I always knew this day would come, but I'd always pictured Rick by my side on moving day.

Mike wrapped his arm around me. "Are you ready?"

"I'm ready," I whispered as we walked to my car.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Please take the time to leave a review. It's appreciated!