The Good Life - Chapter 8

“I can’t believe I ever hated peas,” Carl said. “I can’t believe I hated any vegetable. Especially ones that didn’t come out of a can.”

“Fried chicken,” Maggie said, picking up a drumstick. She wished her father and sister were there to see the place they called home. She wished all their fallen friends could be there.

“Save me a thigh, Rosy!” Abraham called from the kitchen.

“Where are Dad and Daryl?”

“They’re bringing something in from the shed.”

“Something to do with the surprise?”

Michonne nodded. “I know you’ve been waiting all day. You don’t have to wait much longer.”

“Is it a present?”

“Something fun for us to do. All of us together.”

He was trying to guess what it was but couldn’t. Abraham came in from the kitchen with a huge bowl of buttered potatoes and a tureen of gravy, Rick and Daryl coming in behind him.

Daryl pointedly looked at Glenn. “It’s snowin’ like crazy out there.”

The others laughed. Maggie nudged Glenn. Sasha raised her brow at him. Finally he relented and nodded.

“Okay, Daryl. You were right that it was gonna snow but we still don’t know if it’ll be a full three feet.”

“Oh it will be.”

Tara put a wing on her plate and said, “My sister used to make a ton of these for the Superbowl. She didn’t really like the game. She just loved the new commercials.”

“Beth and I used to be scared for Daddy when he’d watch football,” Maggie said with fondness. “He’d get so into the game his face would flush and veins would stand out on his temples. We were always so worried he’d work himself into a heart attack or a stroke.”

“Mom would never let Dad host a Superbowl party. She said the one time she let it happen it took two days to set the house right because he invited half the neighborhood over and they turned out to be the biggest slobs in town,” said Rick.

“My family was never into football,” said Abraham. “We were baseball fans. World Series was the big event for us.”

They kept trading stories but Tara noticed Daryl was the only one who didn’t contribute to the conversation.

“How about you Daryl? Football, baseball, or hockey for your old man?” she asked. Rick cringed inside. Tara, Rosita, and Abraham didn’t know Daryl like he and the others did. They didn’t know not to bring up his past, especially his father.

“None. I don’t have a bunch of happy sappy memories to share.”

Tara looked horrified. “I’m sorry. Boy, ain’t I an asshole?”

Daryl shrugged. There was a time he would have stormed out in anger and humiliation but at some point during his time with Beth he’d learned to let go of his past. That made Rick feel both affection and sadness for her loss.

“It’s alright. Not your fault my dad was a drunken douche.”

“We’ll make memories of our own,” Sasha said. “All of us, here.”

Abraham was the first to raise his glass in a toast. “To new, good memories. To the good life.”

The others lifted their glasses. “To the good life!”

...

“Okay. It’s time we have a little fun. A nice project to work on,” Michonne said, once the apple pie had been eaten.

Carl looked expectant as Michonne led him to the living room. Rick and Daryl had set up a tree, a big, robust pine that had filled the room with its pleasing scent.

Just as Michonne had hoped Carl’s face lit up. “Oh my God, it’s Christmas?”

“Christmas Eve, specifically,” she told him.

There was a moment he became emotional. He blinked and swallowed, composing himself. He didn't cry but he looked wet in his eyes and his nose reddened.

“This is my favorite time of the year,” he said.

“Mine too,” said Michonne. “What do you say we trim the tree?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ve got enough stuff to decorate the library and the TV room, too,” said Tara.

“I call the library,” Sasha said.

“I’ve got the basement,” Tara announced. "I want it to look good for the Christmas party tomorrow night.”

“Maggie sat down with Michonne, Rick, and Carl to help trim the tree while Daryl went off with Sasha to the library.

“Where are you two going?” asked Michonne, looking at Abraham and Rosita.

“We’ve got to clean up the kitchen and get ready to make everyone’s presents for tomorrow,” she said, and walked off with Abraham.

“How much you wanna bet Daryl and Sasha don’t get much done in the library?” Carl asked, smirking knowingly. “They’re like a couple of bunny rabbits.”

Maggie and Michonne laughed while Rick lightly kicked him. “Son,” he said warningly.

They had fun with the tree. Carl wanted a red and blue theme with gold accents so they left a lot of the colorful bulbs in their boxes and began to hang only the red, blue, and gold ones. He hated icicles and gaudy lights, wanting only to string the clear ones.

“You’ve got good taste,” Michonne said, helping him to walk the lights around the tree. “This is a very tasteful tree.”

“You thought it would be gaudy and tacky?”

“I thought you’d go for supreme gaudy,” she laughed.

“Mom liked to decorate trees this way. I learned from her.”

“Well, sounds to me like Lori knew her stuff.”

Carl nodded. “So do you. What’s the word for everything being balanced?”

“Symmetrical?”

“Yeah. This tree is good and symmetrical.”

He got some of the lights caught in his hair and once Michonne helped him wiggle free she brushed his bangs out of his eyes.

“That’s it, Carl. I’m cutting your hair tomorrow after dinner. This is out of hand.”

“Fine by me. Mom was the…” he trailed off. “Sorry. I keep doing that.”

“It’s okay to talk about her,” Michonne reassured him. “I’d love to know about the woman who raised such a fine young man as you.”

She knew he had hang-ups and thought he was a monster but Michonne was determined to prove him wrong on that. She smiled and listened to stories about Christmases past with his mother. Sadly, he didn’t have as many memories to share with Michonne as she could have told him. Like Sasha had said, however, they’d make memories in this new place, and they’d be good ones.

Rick watched his woman and son talking, stringing lights, getting every touch on the tree just perfect, his heart feeling lighter and warmer than it had in years, even before the turn. He felt Maggie’s hand on his shoulder and he looked at her.

“We really are going to have a good life here,” she said.

Rick nodded. “Yes, we are.”

…

The stockings were hanging over the hearth, which had a cozy fire burning within. The tree was finished, but not yet lit, and Rick tended to Judith while Michonne and Carl cut out letters to initial the stockings. He walked to the library and found that it was festively decorated but didn’t go in since Sasha and Daryl were kissing on the love seat. He left them to it. Tara refused to let him into the basement to see her, as she called it, work in progress, but she took a break to come up to see the living room.

By the time he and Judith got back Daryl and Sasha were also in the living room, along with Abraham and Rosita, who had flour on their aprons and hands. The kitchen was producing the smell of something good, chocolate chip cookies Rick thought. He looked at his family, his whole family, and thanked God he had them. Judith was awake, looking at her first ever Christmas tree in wonder.

“Wait till it lights up,” Rick told her. She looked up at him with wide eyes full of curiosity and his heart swelled with love for her.

“She looks just like Grandma Bea,” Carl said, looking at Judith.

“Who’s Bea?” asked Tara.

“My mother,” Rick said, and studied Judith. She turned her profile to him and sure enough, he could see his own mother’s face. It was remarkable how he’d ever missed it. Rick was certain that Carl knew nothing about the question of Judith’s parentage. Without even realizing it he’d given Rick a gift he’d refused to allow himself to want--the definitive answer to the question of whether or not Judith was his or Shane’s daughter by blood. It wouldn’t have mattered. She was his daughter no matter what. Still, seeing his own mother in his daughter’s face was something that eased an ache of pain and regret deep in his heart that he’d forced himself to ignore.

“I miss her,” Carl said, thinking of the grandmother who’d died the year before the turn of a heart attack.

“Me too,” said Rick. “She’s here with us now, in spirit, in Judith.”

“Okay, Carl. You do the honors,” Michonne said, stepping back to stand beside Rick. He put an arm around her shoulder and kissed her on the cheek, close to her mouth, while Carl went over to the tree and plugged it in.

The whole room erupted in cheers.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Rosita said. “You guys did a lovely job on it.”

“Merry Christmas everybody,” Carl said. “Hey, let’s sing Christmas songs!”

“Sasha, go on,” Daryl said, nodding.

“Go on what?” asked Abraham.

“He means the piano. I’m a little rusty. I haven’t played in years.”

“You’ll warm up to it.”

Sasha headed for the Baldwin across the room and sat down, running her fingers over the keys, filling the room with beautiful sound.

“Rusty my ass,” Abraham said, chuckling.

“It’s like riding a bike, I guess,” she said, and looked to Carl. “Got a request?”

“O Holy Night. It was Mom’s favorite.”

Sasha began to play, her fingers expertly bringing the song to life while the others began to sing.

…

It was late when they decided to turn off the tree for the night. It was bedtime for Carl and Judith. Michonne sent Carl away with a kiss and he insisted he keep his sister.

“I never spend time with her anymore,” he said. While that was partly true, Rick suspected he just wanted to give him some time alone with Michonne, which he appreciated.

Once he was gone, Abraham and Rosita returned to their work in the kitchen and Tara headed for the basement with the rest of them, deciding it was okay for them to see the job she’d done. Festive was perhaps the best word Michonne could come up with. If it had color, Tara had used it. A bright red banner reading Merry Christmas hung on the wall over the pool table. Snow globes also lined the bar.

“Great job!” said Maggie.

“You mean it? It isn’t too much on the eye?”

“Not at all,” she said, kissing her on the cheek.

“We should raid the supply room,” Glenn suggested. “We can find things to give each other as gifts.”

They headed for the supply room and began rummaging through the shelves, setting things aside. Rick hit the armory looking for something for Michonne that he thought she’d like. After half an hour of shopping through things, seeing what they had, they decided to head for bed.

Rick was excited, and he could see Michonne was too. They had the room to themselves. They’d have the big bed to themselves since Judith refused to sleep in the cradle, away from Michonne. He closed the door to the room and went to brush his teeth while Michonne started running a bath. He decided he’d use the separate shower while she bathed. He enjoyed watching her run the washcloth over her skin, watching the way the water lapped over the swell of her breasts.

He gazed in the mirror at his grizzled reflection. Michonne watched as he took out some scissors and began to trim his beard down. Then he lathered up and picked up a razor and began to shave. She’d never seen him without facial hair, and as she watched him slowly clean his face of all hair she felt herself moisten with need.

God, he was gorgeous. The thing about Rick was she was pretty sure he didn’t know it.

When she stood at the sink to brush her teeth, Rick came up behind her and rested his hands over her belly and kissed her neck. She enjoyed the feel of his smooth face against her. Her eyes took him in, still amazed by how gorgeous and youthful he looked while clean-shaven.

“I’m in the mood for more dessert,” he told her.

“I think there’s some apple pie left,” she said before rinsing.

He ran his hands over her belly, circling low, just above the patch of soft curls between her legs.

“Pie isn’t want I want for dessert,” he said. “I’m in the mood to taste a sweet Georgia peach.”

His voice was low in her ear and she felt her knees turn to jelly. “Go get in bed. I have something for you.”

He made a sound of protest. He didn’t want to take his hands off her.

“Just be patient. I know you’ll like it.”

“Okay.”

He headed for the bedroom and waited, trying not to get hard at the thought of being inside her again. He wanted to last as long as possible, to make it good for her, since he felt he’d come too soon their first time. He tried not to beat himself up. It had been a long time for him and Michonne understood.

All thoughts and worries about his performance vanished when Michonne emerged from the bathroom in a white negligee. It was lacy and transparent, even the panties provided a very clear view, and he felt his pulse quicken. He swallowed.

“Jesus…”

“You like it?”

“Like doesn’t begin to describe it.”

She even had white stockings on that came up mid-thigh. He drank her in as she slowly approached the bed.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, genuinely amazed that a woman as good and strong and capable and beautiful would want anything to do with him.

“So are you, handsome,” she said, crawling up the length of his body, planting kisses over his belly, which quivered at every brush of her lips. She straddled him and he rested his hands on her thighs. She smoothed her fingertips over the planes of his face.

“Would it be too soon,” she said, “to tell you I love you? That I have for a long time?”

“Not too soon at all. I love you too.”

He urged her close to him and kissed her, slow and deep, while running his hands along her long, powerfully built legs. Her skin was baby smooth but her nipples were wonderfully stiff against his chest. He planted kisses everywhere he could, hearing her breath quicken. She didn’t object as he eased her onto her back and unclasped her bra, freeing her perky breasts and thumbing her hardened nipples.

“Oh, Michonne…” he sighed, taking in every plain of her body.

He hadn’t been lying when he said he loved her. He loved her so much his heart could hardly contain it. He bit his lip as he maneuvered himself lower on the bed. He looked up at her and watched her hands play with her breasts. She gripped her nipples and jiggled her tits, making his cock harden and a moan pour from his mouth.

He worked her panties down and threw them to the side. He could smell her arousal, see her curls moistened with it, and it was driving him mad with need.

Rick lowered his lips to her and licked, getting a good taste of his sweet Georgia peach.



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