Chapter 2: Does Your Mother Know (ABBA)
A few weeks later
Jason wasn't handling the breakup well. At all. Neither was her mother, for that matter. Both of them were sure that Chrissy was experiencing some rapid onset hormonal imbalance.
"Why else would she unceremoniously dump the most charming, most promising, most admirable boy in Hawkins High?" Chrissy had groaned when she heard her mother continuing to heap praises about him to the caller on the other end of the phone. She assumed it was Jason himself, given that he had taken to calling nearly every evening after school. Twice on Saturdays and Sundays.
At this point, Jason had better communication habits with her mother than he had ever had with Chrissy. She had always been his shiny little trophy, nothing more. Trophies didn't need to be paid attention to, or talked to, or treated decently. They just needed to stay shiny and sit tight.
Chrissy was done pretending as though that was enough. Especially since her clandestine sleepovers at Eddie's trailer the past few weeks had made her realize there was a lot more to relationships and romance, and even just plain friendship, than she had ever experienced with Jason.
Not that she and Eddie had done anything beyond what normal friends do when hanging out. Radio surfing, 20 questions, sharing a joint, normal stuff. And it was totally normal for friends to have sleepovers nearly every night…right?
Right, totally normal. She had tried to convince herself over and over again. Besides, Eddie was a perfect gentleman every time they hung out. He never made her feel uncomfortable, never made any move to suggest they were anything other than friends, even if a small part of her (okay, a really significant part of her) wished that he would.
He had begun picking her up most nights, after her parents had gone to bed and after his band practice or D&D sessions had finished up. The possibility of her parents waking up to realize the car was missing was more than they were willing to risk. So Chrissy had gotten really good at scaling the lattice that was next to her bedroom window. Even in the dark, she could climb down without hurting a petal on her mothers prized roses. Then she'd sneak quietly to the end of the cul-de-sac and wait for Eddie to arrive.
Tuesday night finds her doing the same routine. It's quarter after 11 when she spots Eddie's van slowly rolling up to her street corner. He kills the lights when he's close, then reaches over to unlock the passenger door.
"Fairy godmother rented out all her carriages this evening, so we're stuck with this," he says with a lopsided grin, eyes bright with mischief. Chrissy's heart skips a beat as she takes in his expression. His energy is radiating; she can only assume that it had been a very fun D&D session for him tonight.
"Hmm, you'd think she'd cut you a better deal after all the chauffeuring you've been doing with me," she retorts, returning his grin with one of her own. He gives a brief burst of surprised laughter in response, making the butterflies in her stomach go crazy. She loved his laugh. It was loud, and boisterous, and carefree. Like she wanted to be.
"Wow, Cunningham with the witty replies, I like it," he says as he slowly peels away from the curb and begins driving them back to his place.
"I'm guessing D&D went well tonight?" she asks.
"What makes you think that?"
"Your Eddie-Munson-the-Dungeon-Master energy is off the charts," she teases.
He snickers as his head thumps back against the headrest. "Well spotted, you caught me, Cunningham."
"So…? Are you going to spill the story or what?" she presses.
"Well, it's rude to brag, but I'll have you know that my rendition of Tiamat the Chromatic Dragon managed to take out two members of the party, Sirs Gareth the Brave and Mike the Loyal," he says loftily, smirking. Then he regales her with the story of the party's misguided decision making, which ultimately led to the demise of two beloved characters.
"So it's… good… that two of your friends' characters died?" Chrissy is confused. Eddie's explained D&D pretty extensively to her at this point, but she still finds it a little odd that the dungeon master can be both a helper and a villain to his players.
"Well, not if you ask them," he concedes. "But, if you're knuckleheaded enough to walk straight into a dragon's lair and start pocketing its hoard willy-nilly, then yeah… the revenge is a little sweet," he chuckles.
Chrissy grins. "Wow, seems like you're a pretty ruthless dungeon master."
"Ouch, you've wounded me, Cunningham!" Eddie smacks a hand to his heart in a dramatic flair.
She giggles. "I'm sure your dead characters said worse."
"On that point, you are absolutely correct," he beams at her after putting the van in park.
"Shall we?" he gestures to the trailer. Chrissy nods and hops out, following him to the porch.
They end up radio surfing again, Chrissy's favorite. Lying on his bed, side by side, heads hanging off the edge of the mattress. They take turns moving the dial on the old, beat-up boombox. There's really only one rule to the game; they just surf until one of them knows the song that's playing. Then they both have to listen until it ends. Truth be told, it's expanded Chrissy's music taste quite a bit.
She watches Eddie's fingers flip the dial around carefully, listening for when the static fuzz will morph into something discernable. Then suddenly, clear as day, music pours from the speakers.
There's that look in your eyes, I can read in your face that your feelings are driving you wild. Ah, but girl, you're only a child.
Chrissy bolts upright, clapping her hands, at the same time Eddie groans and allows the boombox to thwack onto his stomach.
"Goddammit, not again," he sighs.
But Chrissy ignores him, overjoyed to hear another one of ABBA's pop-disco tunes filter through the speakers. She turns toward Eddie and sits with her legs crossed, dramatically mouthing the words to the song and bobbing her head.
Well, I can dance with you, honey, if you think it's funny. Does your mother know that you're out? And I can chat with you, baby, flirt a little maybe. Does your mother know that you're out?
"Does your mother know that you're out, Chrissy Cunningham?" Eddie says in a mock-serious tone.
Chrissy laughs. "She most definitely doesn't. And that's a good thing," she beams down at him.
"Oh, and why's that?" he asks, sitting up to face her. That mischievous grin is hovering at the corners of his mouth again. She so wishes to know what it would feel like against her lips. She thinks Eddie is probably a good kisser. She doesn't have any evidence to support it, just a feeling she gets when he smiles like that.
"Because it would mean I couldn't be here with you. And I really like being here. I like being with you," she answers honestly, distracted by his mouth (and really his presence in general) and those pesky butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
The mood in that little trailer bedroom changes in an instant, despite ABBA continuing to sing their funky, upbeat jam. Eddie's Cheshire-Cat expression slides off his face at her words. He looks at her intently.
"Seriously?" he asks quietly. Chrissy's never seen him sit so still. Like he's thrumming with stored energy, powering up to be released the second she gives a response - good or bad.
She drops her eyes, clears her throat quietly, notices how her hands have begun to fidget in her lap.
Quiet, so quiet, she responds. "Yeah… I… I really like you, Eddie." She looks up to see he's deadpanned. "I kind of… thought it was obvious? Since I'm over here almost all the time…?" she trails off.
Eddie's still just staring. And his silence makes her start to word vomit all over the place, despite her Mother's words ringing in her head that ladies should always maintain their composure, regardless of the situation. She just can't help it. Eddie's lack of a response has her heartbeat surging, her hands clamming up with embarrassment.
"Not that you have to return those feelings… I mean, duh… you're your own person of course…and I get that maybe - or probably, I guess - I'm not your type… I mean I know I look like a preppy prom queen or whatever and you're totally cool and edgy…or maybe you already have someone anyway… and that's totally cool with me, if you're happy I'm happy…so we can absolutely just be friends, that's totally fine with me because I don't want to make things awkward for you and-"
"Chrissy, Chrissy, Chrissy! Snap out of it," Eddie says gently, finally reanimated and holding her face between his hands so carefully. Chrissy takes a deep breath, realizing her lungs had been screaming for air during her manic monologue.
"Sorry," she whispers, looking up at him, her hands reaching up to meet his, where they remain on her face. "I just word vomited. A lot," she winces.
But he's smiling. Eddie's smiling a full, teeth-baring, pure happiness grin. "You totally did, Cunningham. But to tell you the truth, it was abso-fucking-lutely adorable."
And, before she can feel another ounce of shame or awkwardness, he leans forward to kiss her squarely on the mouth.
A hum of contentment bubbles from her throat before she can stop herself. His lips are so soft, better than she had been imagining. And the way they move against hers is like magic. Like music. Like perfection. She doesn't think she'll ever get enough of this feeling. And when his mouth opens to slide his tongue across the seam of her lips, she responds without hesitation.
Then her fingers are in his hair, and even his curls feel brilliant against her skin. She tugs, lightly, and thrills at the groan that lurches up from his throat. She tugs again, just to hear him make that noise once more. That's the last conscious thought she has. The rest is just sensation. Limbs tangling, mouths coming together, soft sighs exchanged between them.
When she finally floats back down from cloud nine, she's lying next to Eddie on the bed, both curled on their sides. She watches their hands play, weaving together and apart like some secret handshake. She glances up at Eddie, and smiles shyly.
"You never said it back, you know."
He furrows his brows. "What do you mean?"
"You never said you liked me back."
"Chrissy, I just kissed the shit out of you. I think that qualifies as an answer," he retorts, grinning like a mad man.
"I don't knowwww" she says quietly in a sing-song voice that only makes him laugh. She squeezes his hand in response.
He blows a raspberry and suddenly, without warning, pulls her on top of him. She giggles like crazy as he readjusts so she's lined up exactly along his torso. He clears his throat dramatically.
"Christine Cunningham. It is with the utmost sincerity that I must confess a secret long withheld from you," he says in a serious tone, like some old British parliamentarian.
She ducks her head into his chest and giggles again before matching his air of stiff formality.
"Edward Munson, I wait with baited breath to hear your confession."
Then he drops the act, grinning at her sweetly. "I've liked you since middle school, Chrissy. Ever since that stupid talent show."
"That long?" she whispers, shocked.
"Yeah, that long."
She doesn't say anything at first, just looks at him and grins.
Then, finally, she stretches up to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Sorry it took me so long to catch up," she whispers in his ear.
She bounces slightly as he laughs beneath her, feels his arms come up to wrap around her, safe and secure.
"I'll forgive you, but only on one condition."
"Hmm… what did you have in mind?" she asks, genuinely curious.
He tilts his head so he can look her straight in the eye.
"No more ABBA when we radio surf," he says seriously.
A loud, boisterous, carefree laugh erupts from Chrissy. It's the first time in a long time, maybe ever, that she's laughed that hard.
"Deal," she finally mumbles against his lips, kissing him again. And again. And again.