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“What’s it like?” Eddie asks, picking mindlessly at the skin of one of Chrissy’s purple grapes. “Being the daughter of a pretty pageant mommy?” there is a certain venom to his words interlaced with genuine wonder, and Chrissy stills.
She glances up at him, watching as his big bambi eyes wander over her face with a look of curiosity and a splash of protectiveness, and Chrissy wonders how anyone could ever look at her like that.
“It’s…” she minces her words. “Interesting” she chuckles uncomfortably, hoping that Eddie would follow suit to ease the discomfort settling in her stomach, only to sink deeper into the thick pit at the empty look he gives her.
“Interesting?” he parrots dryly, because Eddie has the innate ability to pick things apart and peer at their core.
Chrissy fumbles for a second, mouth opening and closing like a hungry, spotted koi fish. She sifts through her thoughts, silver tin pan in shallow, murky water, filtering out the tales that would paint her mother in a poor light, she wasn’t allowed to tell those ones .
“It was a lot of travelling. Lots of going outside my comfort zone. A lot of missing out on birthday parties and playdates because beauty is pain and apparently that phrase doesn’t mean just physical pain” Chrissy drags, head twitching and curling into her right shoulder as she mimics her mothers voice, a little too accurate for comfort.
Eddie inhales sharply, eyes narrowing and dark in the way that makes Chrissy’s skin crawl.
“So, you’re telling me, the Chrissy Cunningham hasn’t been to a birthday party?”. It’s playful and soft and definitely not what Eddie wants to talk about.
Chrissy giggles, loud and high pitched and colourful, and Eddie grins a little at her outburst of joy, watching with softening eyes as she hushes herself in what he thinks must be shame, eyes flitting downward and her shoulders bunching together.
She looks so small .
Chrissy clears her throat, embarrassed. “I’ve been to parties” she chirps, drumming her fingers on her thighs, heart dipping sickly into her stomach when she notices the slightest bounce back of her flesh.
Clearly she hadn’t been watching what she’s eating close enough.
Eddie notices the conflict in her expression and quickly reaches across the table, grinning as he shoves a red grape between Chrissy’s slightly parted lips as a distraction, huffing in amusement when she screws her face up and she accepts it.
“I wasn’t talking about parties, Cunningham. I was talking about birthday parties”.
“There’s a difference?” she asks earnestly, tilting her head and slipping the grape into the pocket of her cheek for something to mouth around.
Two calories.
Eddie blanches like she’s just said something outlandish, staring at her with an owlish, genuine expression of horror.
“ Absolutely there are differences. Parties are all booze and drugs and bright lights and loud noises” he lists in a faux sleazy voice, expression stale and a mockery of the snobbish frat boys at Hawkins High. “But birthday parties, however, that is where it’s at”.
Chrissy’s brows furrow as a silent question and Eddie sighs.
“Well, birthday parties all” he gestures vaguely at the booth they are sitting in, at the colourful ribbons adorning the seats and the gentle twinkle of fairy lights above their head. “Soda’s and ice cream cake and pass the parcel”.
“Pass the parcel?”.
Eddie gasps, clutching his chest in a dramatic display that's so familiar that it makes Chrissy kick her legs under the table, giggling sweetly and then dampening a little at the deepness of her voice.
Eddie doesn’t seem to notice, and if he does, he doesn’t say anything.
“You wound me, princess”.
She rolls her eyes softly.
“It’s basically a parcel that is wrapped in layers and layers of paper, each one has something in it- usually a candy bar, a toy car, something simple like that, and the final layer is the grand prize- usually something like a toy or a box of chocolates, whatever kids are into, I guess”.
Chrissy chuckles, watching as Eddie explains the game, wearing a giddy grin on his lips.
“So, everyone sits in a circle and someone who isn’t in the circle plays music. The people in the circle have to pass the parcel around and the person playing the music will pause it at random. Whoever is holding the parcel when the music stops gets to open that layer and claim whatever is inside of it”.
Chrissy hums thoughtfully around the straw tucked between her lips, nodding carefully as she finally chews the grape and forces it down.
“Sounds way better than alcohol” she taunts, and Eddie grins slyly.
“Are you mocking me, Cunningham?” Eddie gasps, eyes tender at the way Chrissy crumples in on herself in laughter.
“No, it’s just”, she pauses to giggles, watching and wiggling as Eddie looks at her like he’s a cat and she’s a live mouse. His eyes were just piercing at the best of times, and Chrissy wonders again why he looks at her so intensely.
“I don’t know” she finishes, propping her head on her arm. “I’m a bit sad I never got to experience that kind of fun”.
“The princess was too busy attending parties with rich mommy’s and daddy’s and prettily plated canopies”.
“None of which I could eat” she huffs angrily, shuffling and shrinking in embarrassment at the way Eddie’s eyes widen.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to say tha-”
“Chrissy”.
“It’s not that I wasn’t allowed, I just coul-”
“Chrissy”.
“It really wasn’t like tha-”
“Chrissy”.
Chrissy finally pauses, hands trembling and nervously twitching because she misstepped .
“I’m not here to interrogate you, yeah?” Eddie whispers, leaning forward, eyes serious and set.
Chrissy gulps, eyes flitting around, folding her hands under her thighs and squishing them together to suppress the nervous twitching of her fingers, face falling even further at the sight of what little fat she has bunching around her hands.
Eddie notices this time, ever the observant, and pieces it together. He doesn’t announce his hurt aloud, but Chrissy can tell by the sad murmur of, “Oh, sweetheart ”, he lets slip out, and the tenderness and concern behind it makes her brain melt.
She doesn’t understand why he cares so much.
He shuffles a bit, letting his broad leather jacket slide off his shoulders before bunching it up in his hands. He sets it down on the table, pushing it gently towards Chrissy.
She looks up an furrows her brows, “I’m not cold” she murmurs, and Eddie sighs. It’s not exasperated but it’s not exactly fond either, and that makes Chrissy want to curl into a corner because she can’t tell if he’s angry or not.
“Just put it over your thighs, Chrissy”.
Chrissy .
Her nose wrinkles, eyes glancing up again to Eddie’s, folding under the sternness of his gaze.
She wordlessly brings the jacket under the table and drapes it over her thighs.
It’s silent for a while as Eddie dishes out grapes and pours cool water into her glass.
Chrissy eats four grapes and drinks four glasses of water at the diner, and the whole time Eddie struggles to think of how to help.
They are cooped up in Eddie’s new truck on their way back to his new trailer, ‘Zelda’, when Chrissy turns to him, eyes wide and glossy and scared.
“Have I done something wrong?” she asks anxiously, and Eddie barely hears her over the music playing.
He furrows his brows and glances at her quickly “No?” he murmurs softly, more of a question than anything.
“You just seemed… off?” She whispers, and Eddie sighs tiredly and doesn’t expand.
“If I’ve done something, please tell me so I can explain myself” Chrissy fumbles, and Eddie sighs, reaching forward to turn off the music, flicking on the turning signal and waiting at an intersection.
“It just fucking sucks”.
Chrissy furrows her brows.
“What does?” She asks around a gulp.
“Seeing someone you love in pain. Not having any way you can help. Knowing anything and everything you say falls like thin air because when you’re so submerged in that frame of mind absolutely nothing gets through to you” Eddie rambles, and Chrissy sniffles.
“I’m sorry” she whispers hoarsely, throat feeling a little tighter because Eddie is mad and it involves her.
“Do not apologise for being sick, Chrissy”.
Chrissy whimpers, looking down and wincing at the sting of salt in her eye. “Please don’t call me Chrissy. I know it’s dumb but it just reminds me of my mom and it’s scary and I know it’s ridiculous but-”.
“Hey, hey ” Eddie whispers, having pulled off the road at some point during Chrissy’s flurry.
Chrissy looks up, lips quivering and throat thick, eyes glossy and wide and tired and Eddie sniffles.
“C’mere, sweetheart”.
Chrissy huffs out a breath, glancing around Eddie’s face and searching for any trace of anger before she clutters across the center console, seating herself in Eddie’s lap and letting herself melt into his hold.
“Hey, I’ve got you ” he whispers, arms circling her small waist, shoving his nose in her hair, hand dragging down her spine.
“It’s just so fucking exhausting” Chrissy blubbers, and Eddie sighs, closing his eyes and breathing in the sweet scent of her shampoo.
“Everything I eat goes to my shoulders and my arms and my calves and my waist and it makes me look so masculine and I hate it” she sobs, hiccuping around laboured breaths, whining when Eddie scratches at the nape of her neck.
“I know, my love” he whispers, tears welling in his eyes. “ I know ”.
Chrissy clings to him like a lifeline, peeking over his shoulder and watching as cars zip down the highway, headlights blaring and painting the woods in a flaxen glow. She watches as a deer laps at a puddle by the treeline, a small fawn beneath her lapping at her underside and seeking milk.
She softens and her breaths even, and Eddie presses a kiss to the crown of her head.
“My beautiful girl” he whispers earnestly, raw and tired, and Chrissy lets her pearly tears fall, snuggling into his shoulder with a bitter-sweet, open mouth smile.