Chapter Text
He’d told her that he thought he was falling in love with her. Yeah, he’s been in love with her for a while now. He doesn’t think so, he knows so.
The root of it may have been planted all those years ago, when he nearly fell on his face tripping over a cord backstage at the Hawkins Junior High talent show. A tiny cheerleader, with too much blush on her cheeks and her hair in tight braids, ran to help him back up. She smiled so shyly, with just a hint of sweetness.
“Thanks. I-I’m Eddie, by the way,” he said, holding out his palm, remembering the way Wayne taught him that gentlemen do.
She returned the gesture with the daintiest fingers wrapping around his shaking hand. “I’m Chrissy!” She offered back with her megawatt smile.
“Chrissy! You’re on next!” A tight-lipped woman called out, and she ran over to join the other girls in the junior cheer squad as they got in formation.
He remembers her looking back at him just before going on stage with a shyer smile.
“She’s kind. I’d like to find a girl like that someday,” his 13-year-old mind considered at the time.
He’d like to find a way to let his younger self know that, even somewhat briefly, he’d earned her trust well enough to be welcomed into her home. Her bedroom, even. Part of him still can’t believe he’s here — he’s been here for days, actually. He’s gobsmacked that all looks exactly as refined as he’d imagined, and that she apparently lounges around in the kinds of clothes he thought folks like the Cunninghams saved for the country club.
It’s affirming, and also a little terrifying.
Her family’s home is, by every all-American standard, a beautiful place to live. Every item of furniture is exactly where it’s supposed to be. Every vase holds an arrangement of fresh flowers. Everyone, in every picture inside every perfectly-leveled frame, is smiling.
But there’s a difference between a beautiful place to live and a home — he sees no markings on a door frame chronicling Chrissy’s growth, no loose articles of mail cluttering the console in the foyer, no signs of life here. Just fancy wallpaper, food scales and a family bible with a less worn spine than Eddie would have guessed.
The kitchen itself could easily take up half his uncle’s trailer and the attached formal dining room (which, he’s learned, is not where the majority of meals take place. Imagine having two dining tables!) is about the same size as his bedroom. And the laundry — She thought nothing of it when she showed him the laundry room, pointing up to the chute that sends the dirty laundry from the upstairs hallway into a hamper below, which still kind of blows his mind and kind of pisses him off — the idea of being too wealthy to take your own dirty clothes downstairs sounds like a joke.
Chrissy always seemed so fascinated by the way he and Wayne decorated their home. She once stood in his living room on the balls of her feet for far too long just looking at Wayne’s mug collection, marveling at the names of tourist traps and truck stops lining the interstate. After seeing things from the other side…he thinks he understands why.
Now she’s asking him to come live with her. Like, all the time. Semi-permanently. Until she gets sick of his shit, probably. But it’s not like he has much else going on, and something tells him that any upcoming big, meaningful moments that will be happening in his life will definitely not take place in Hawkins.
Fuck it! Turns out, they’re in love. You hear that?! Love! It’s real. And it’s happening to him.
And everyone knows love makes you stupid. Makes you do stupid shit like agree to move to a brand new city, brand new state on a whim.
And now that he’s actually said it out loud, they both say it all the time.
Actually, immediately after when they were both sitting on the couch, he looked up at her face (at first with an abundance of trepidation) and almost apologized. But then Chrissy said, “Oh. I love you!” in the most casual tone he can imagine someone could make a declaration of love. It was cute! Extremely on-brand for Chrissy to do something big and bold with an air of informality. She said it again before she burrowed into the nook of his body and fell asleep that night, and once more while she watched television and ate frosted mini-wheats with little bits of cut-up strawberries the next morning.
She’d reached over the space between their seats in his van and squeezed his hand, saying it again before hopping out to make her way into Family Video that afternoon – they had a few videotapes to return, and Chrissy suggested it could be their first ever outing as boyfriend and girlfriend, a delineation that was shocking and heartening all at once.
So much of Eddie’s existence had hinged on maybes – the concept of knowing where he stood in her heart was a welcome change.
Swinging the door open to let Chrissy stroll in before him, Eddie’s ears were were immediately inundated with the sound of Dustin Henderson’s voice – that tone he has when he’s arguing over the minutiae of Tolkein lore or pleading his case for his preferred plan of attack during a Hellfire session – while he sits on the counter, Steve Harrington leaning over and interjecting Harrington’s diatribes, his index finger waving around like he’s got a real point to make.
Didn’t think Harrington had it in him, Eddie thinks.
Well, it all comes to a stop when they – Dustin, Steve, Robin – turn to take a look at the two only customers in the store.
“Welcome to Family Video!” Shouts Robin, her consonants long, eyes wide, smile wider while she does her best to keep a tower of VHS clamshells from falling over (she’s unsuccessful, but it’s endearing). She looks like she’s on customer service autopilot, a mode Eddie employs frequently while serving people day-drinking at the Hideout. “What can I do ya for, friends?”
Chrissy looks to Eddie like she’s asking him if he’s ready, fishing the videotapes out of her canvas tote. “Hi! I’m – sorry, we’re here to return some videotapes,” she says, gesturing to Eddie while Steve leans the counter, slack jawed. Walking to Robin, Chrissy lays the plastic cases down for her.
“Eddie! Where have you been for the past week?” Asks Dustin, a little too suspicious for Eddie’s liking. “Your uncle said you were out of town with a – OW!” Steve comes in with the clutch, pinching Dustin’s earlobe like a dad stopping his insolent son from ruining a Christmas surprise.
“We’ve been hanging out!” Chrissy shrugs, smiling at Dustin like it’s just nothing, like it makes all the sense in the world for the cheer captain to be seen cavorting with the likes of him. “I appreciate you being so generous with Eddie, I’ll return him to you sooner than you think.”
“He’s a hot commodity!” Dustin remarks, and Steve (rightfully) gives him a look like he’s begging him to just be normal around his friends’ girlfriends, for once.
Turning to look at Chrissy, who's given all their rentals back to Robin, “I’m like if cold pizza was a person,” he retorts. Chrissy just rolls her eyes, but her lingering smile is far more telling. “Ready to get outta here, angel?”
She nods, waving fluttery goodbyes to Steve, Robin and Dustin before they turn to take their leave. Eddie hears what sounds like a back-handed smack against a human chest, followed by Robin Buckley’s voice muttering “I told you, man! I told you!”
Yeah, he supposes the proverbial cat’s out of the bag.
***
“I told my parents I have a friend who’s going up to Chicago the week before classes start,” Chrissy says through the receiver. Eddie’s crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the wall the way he supposes girls like, If John Hughes is to be believed, anyway.
It’s a week or so after he’s been brought back down to Earth (that is to say: his humble home in Forest Hills) after spending 9 days and 10 nights of bliss in the Cunningham residence, and Chrissy’s got him on the phone late one night. He’d like to think she’s twirling the cord around a dainty little finger and kicking her feet in the air while she’s making goo-goo eyes at the unicorn she’d kept at the centerpiece of her collection of stuffed animals by the bed – wouldn’t that be so perfect?
“Oh yeah? Is your friend going to Northwestern, too?” He teases.
“Eddie, don’t be silly…”
“I know, I know. That’s cool. What did they say?”
She takes a deep breath. He’s not sure if he should be worried.
“They said they want to meet you,” She says, an uncertainty in her voice. “Are you busy Sunday night?”
“Of course not,” he promises. “What time do you need me there?”
The rest of the week is a blur of sifting through piles of clothes to find something, anything worth wearing to meet her parents, because even against Eddie’s better judgment, there’s part of him that still wants to impress them. With Wayne’s assistance, he ultimately settles on a pair of dark dress pants and the navy dress shirt he’d bought for his graduation ceremony — sans tie, of course. He wants to look nice, not stuffy. And he’s certainly not the kind of guy to let his hair care go by the wayside, but he does spend a little more time in the mirror making sure it looks more shiny than frizzy.
Regardless of his effort to cloak himself in normalcy, he’s greeted by Laura with a wide-eyed gasp, one that she quickly corrects, because she’s a woman who is clearly obsessed with keeping up appearances despite whatever chaos is unfolding around her. So, of course she shakes Eddie’s hand, and he knows full well that his smile has the power to calm even the most repulsed suburban WASP.
Chrissy plays it cool, settling for a cordial wave and demure smile when she introduces him to the rest of her family — a quiet, friendlier looking man still dressed in his Sunday best, and Chrissy’s younger, blonder brother, Ryan.
When dinner is served, two dry, white pork chops sit on the plate in front of Eddie. These are accompanied by a scoop of peas that are wilted and waterlogged and salty and unseasoned all at once — as well as an admittedly decent-looking pile of mashed potatoes. Chrissy, seated to his left, has been served one less pork chop, just as many peas, and perhaps a portion of a portion of the mashed potatoes, without the butter or gravy on top. She looks grateful. All Eddie feels is contempt.
“Ryan, dear, would you like to say grace?” Asks Chrissy’s mom.
The younger blonde boy, who looks to be about 11 or 12, perks up immediately, folding his hands in prayer as the rest of the Cunningham clan joins him. Eddie isn’t a big prayer guy, but he understands his place as a guest – Chrissy’s guest of honor – and does his best to mimic their actions as the boy begins his invocation, a practiced rise and fall to the boy’s voice tells Eddie that this is a nightly ritual.
“Amen!” The Cunningham family says in unison.
“Amen,” trails Eddie, unfolding the cloth napkin to lay across his lap. He watches as the family before him takes their first bites in silence, Chrissy delicately cutting her one pork chop into several smaller bits. Still, she eats all the peas first.
“So, Eddie,” Laura calls out, facing him with the kind of feigned kindness he grew up learning to read in the expressions of social workers and parole officers coming around to check in on dear old dad. “What do you do?”
‘I’m The People’s Pharmacist. Ask your daughter!’, he quips inwardly, ultimately deciding against coming into Laura Cunningham’s life guns blazing. “I have an apprenticeship at a repair shop. When I’m not doing that? I tend the bar at a place called The Hideout across town. Sometimes I write, or draw, or paint,” he shrugs, keeping out the bits about the writing being in service of a Dungeons and Dragons campaign, lest he give them any indication that he is the hellspawn Laura must assume him to be. “But that’s not…work. More of a hobby.”
“Fascinating.” Laura says as if it’s not at all fascinating, looking to Chrissy to silently demand that her daughter explain why she’s wasting her time feeding Eddie.
“He plays guitar! He’s in a band!” Chrissy beams, looking around the table like she’s been waiting to tell her family how cool Eddie is. “They’re really good. Mom, do you remember when the junior high cheer squad performed at the talent show when I was in middle school? Eddie was there! His band went on after us. And they’re still together!” Her mother nods, lips twitching into a tight smile before returning her focus to her plate.
Laura desperately wants to leave her body, from the looks of it.
“Jack of all trades, huh?” Her dad asks, his tone less curt than his wife’s.
“Master of none,” Eddie replies, sticking up his best finger guns. Chrissy’s dad laughs, charmed by Eddie’s wit. It feels good – he just might pass tonight’s test, if he can get Ryan on board, that is.
Chrissy reaches for the serving spoon in the china housing the mashed potatoes, scooping some onto her plate when her mom makes a face, her displeasure clear in her thin, downturned lips. “Chrissy, dear, are we sure that’s a good idea?”
Eddie’s jaw clenches as he watches his girlfriend’s face deflate immediately, her head shaking in quiet defeat. She puts the spoon back in the bowl, her plate untouched by the seconds she so clearly wanted for herself.
If he feels helpless watching this go down, how does Chrissy feel?
Eddie clears his throat and grabs for the bowl, spooning heaps of mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Sorry, I think my eyes might be bigger than my stomach. No way I can finish all these! Chrissy, help me out here?”
It’s the slightest bit of resistance, but he thinks it’s the best he’ll get while he’s in the lair of this particular fire-breathing dragon. He watches as Chrissy takes a small bit from his plate, savoring the taste. Her mother’s hands are folded in front of her, watching the two of them intently as if she’s thinking very hard about all the things she would like to say to the monster from the depths of Forest Hills whose come to steal her daughter away to feed her too many buttered starches and poison her mind with degenerate rock music.
“Lovely table,” He remarks to no one in particular. “Looks sturdy.”
Washing her food down with some ice water, Chrissy must pick up on the subtle dig, as she covers up her shocked guffaw with a cough. After all, it was only days ago that he’d laid her out on this very table, planting kisses on her neck while he railed into her no more than six inches from where Laura was currently seated.
“It’s a Cunningham family heirloom.” Says Phil, proudly. He’s an okay guy, comparatively speaking – he might not deserve Eddie’s jabs.
“Mom says it’s mine when I’m married,” Chrissy recovers as she remarks in a sing-song voice, taking another bite from Eddie’s plate.
“Well Chrissy, if there’s one thing we’ve taught each other these past few weeks, we can’t always rely on one another to keep our word, now can we?” Laura asks, her head tilted with an icy glint in her expression. “But that’s another discussion for another time.”
“Guess a table’s the first thing on the wedding registry, then?” Eddie jokes, attempting to diffuse the situation.
Laura clears her throat, and that’s that.
But at least Chrissy is smiling.
***
Later that night he’s sitting in his van, sipping on a milkshake while Chrissy nibbles at a chicken nugget. She’s wearing her nightgown on account of the fact that she snuck out of her bedroom window, while Eddie’s settled for something less formal than what he’d worn to dinner earlier that night, but he still but some effort into his appearance – like he usually does when he knows Chrissy will be around.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I might be a better cook than your mom.”
“No contest, Eds,” she chuckles.
He’s only really known Laura for 5 hours and she’s already made a lasting impression on his psyche — he can only begin to imagine the kind of shit Chrissy’s had to unpack from 18 years of her. He’s not sure if it’s a good idea to bring it up, but the worry has sat in the pit of his stomach since she walked him out after dessert. “So, uh. That was an interesting dinner! She’s not gonna, like, cut you off or anything, right?”
Chrissy sips on her Diet Coke in ponderance. “No, the rules are…dad’s alma mater, dad’s money. Thankfully, she doesn’t really call the shots there. Besides, I don’t think she could handle the way her neighbors would look at us if I was here and not away in Illinois this fall. They’d know…you’ve seen how neighbors like to talk around here.”
Bunch of busybodies — it makes him laugh. Yeah, the upper crust of Hawkins have certainly made a hobby out of constructing entire soap operas out of rumors and hearsay whispered through the perfectly maintained hedges of a boring, cookie-cutter neighborhood filled with people leading abominably boring lives. “Sounds suffocating.”
“That’s why I’m so glad I’ll be gone in a few weeks.” She holds her striped styrofoam cup up, toasting to freedom.
“So. Is she like that all the time? Your mom?”
“Um.” She can’t look at him. “I don’t know. What’s she like? To you?”
“I got the impression that she was holding back on what she really wanted to say…Did she explode when I left?”
Chrissy’s lip twitches as she considers what she’s willing to reveal to him. “My mom’s not much of a yeller, if that’s what you’re asking. She prefers shutting us out when we offend her, or disobey her, or…break up with her favorite guy, I guess?”
From the sound of it, Chrissy may have done all three of those things fairly recently, and perhaps those transgressions are all one in the same.
“Moms can be tough, huh?” Eddie doesn’t like talking about his mom. He knows she lives about two miles away from Wayne’s trailer — beyond that, he’s learned that it’s easier to nurse the fonder memories of the woman who raised him than whoever she turned into when it all really went to shit — when dad went back to jail, when Eddie very nearly followed in his footsteps.
“I don’t know, I guess,” Chrissy sighs. “I think she means well. The way she talks about…her mom, makes it all sound so normal.”
“Very conciliatory,” he offers before stuffing a set of greasy French fries into his mouth. Like Chrissy, he supposes he’ll have to cross the bridge housing his Mom Mess whenever he gets to it.
“I think it’ll be easier to…tackle all this when I’m not stuck under her thumb. Distance might help clear my head,” she shrugs, like this is something she’s discussed with someone with a proper Degree in these kinds of things. And after what he watched go down during dinner? Yeah, that’s fair. It’s all fair. The discussion is a good reminder that an end to her time in Hawkins is coming closer and closer, and Chrissy perks back up, turning to face him more directly. “So, what’s Wayne think of all this big news?”
Suddenly, the to-do list he keeps written on the tattered-up notebook inside his mind is front and center, and Eddie swears he can make out “Talk it over with Wayne” at the very top. Smudged, but very much still unchecked.
Oh, right. Fuck.
He…he still has to tell Wayne.