Chapter Text
June 1986
In only two months, Eddie’s life had turned into the premise of what Robin dubbed “the quintessential teenage summer flick”: popular athlete meets charming delinquent, and they fall hopelessly, disgustingly in love despite society's expectations.
“I’m just saying,” she said, shelving the pile of VHS returns in her arms with little finesse. “Bucking convention is your thing, and dating the leader of the Barbie Brigade totally counts.”
Eddie choked on a handful of Skittles and swore he heard her snickering from the sci-fi section.
“Huh. Carver does look like a Ken doll,” Steve said offhandedly.
“Not helping!” Eddie wheezed before pointing an accusatory finger in Robin’s general direction. “And Jesus, Buckley, we’re not dating!”
“Nooooooo, but your big, brown moon eyes scream that you want to,” she quipped as she rounded the corner. “I’m honestly shocked she hasn’t noti—Ow!”
He chuckled gleefully as the candy missile he’d fired her way plinked right against her teeth, and he ducked to avoid the full-sized Milky Way she hurled in retaliation. It crashed loudly against a display in the comedy section.
“Hey, hey, hey! You break it, you buy it!” Steve yelled as a shower of rainbow droplets pelted his perfect coif.
“Munson started it!”
“I don’t care who started it. I’m finishing it!”
Robin groaned. “You are such a dad!”
“Children. All of you,” Steve muttered.
Hands raised in surrender but still grinning like a fool, Eddie hoisted himself onto the countertop, letting the heels of his Reeboks thud against the wall as he swung his legs like a toddler.
When Henderson had first dragged him to Family Video to meet two of the elder “Party” members, Eddie was highly skeptical that he’d get along with either of them. But, alas, the little goblin had been right. Eddie didn’t have siblings, but embracing the family dynamic was easier than he’d thought: Robin, the spunky younger sister, and Steve, the overly responsible younger brother who kept her and Eddie, the delinquent eldest son, in check.
Robin returned with a broom and dustpan, sticking her tongue out at Eddie.
“Objectified toys aside,” he said, popping the last Skittle in his mouth, “if this kind of setup is so ‘quintessential’ doesn’t that make it all cliché?”
“It’s only cliché in fiction, Dingus Numero Dos,” she said with a jab of her broom handle to his chest. “In real life, it’s extraordinary.”
That word echoed through his brain as he sat inside his and Chrissy’s latest designated meeting spot: Reefer Rick’s boathouse. Well-ventilated, secluded, and completely unsupervised, it was the perfect place to do all kinds of disreputable business without getting caught.
Although their friendship was indeed extraordinary, he wasn’t delusional. Despite how quickly they’d progressed from what he’d thought was a one-time drug deal to stolen afternoons of honest, electric, and (dare he say it) flirtatious banter, that cynical little dark spot of doubt marred all of Eddie’s stupid daydreams about their future.
Outside of the high school hierarchy, Chrissy was still a silver-spoon student with a world of possibilities open to her. Eddie would be lucky if he could get out of Hawkins period. At best any romance between them would be a temporary fling; at worst, a devastatingly embarrassing flop. Either way, Eddie convinced himself that a relationship wouldn’t—couldn’t—work; Hollywood endings weren’t meant for guys like him.
And yet, as the gentle waves of Lover’s Lake lapped quietly beneath their feet, casting ripples of golden light across Chrissy’s porcelain skin, he let himself indulge the fantasy just this once, because here, sitting barely inches apart from her at the edge of the dock, he was about to kiss the girl of his dreams, and it was her idea.
Sort of.
Technically she’d asked him to teach her how to shotgun weed after she’d heard about it from one of her squadmates, which okay, was not the same thing, but it was more than he was brave enough to ask for, and Eddie was seconds away from exploding into confetti. Distantly he was aware Chrissy was still talking, but the synapses in his brain had fizzled to static and a shortwave broadcast of “HOLY SHIT” on loop.
That was, of course, until she mentioned Carver, which brought the whole system back to life on red alert.
“Wait-wait-wait, hold on a sec, princess,” he said, shaking his bushy head violently enough to knock some sense back into it. “While I would more than happily agree to your request, I have to ask: Why me, and shouldn’t that honor go to your knight in shining basketball shorts?”
He wasn't going to get his hopes up by assuming he knew her reasons for asking him to teach her. That road only led to disaster.
Her cheer jacket slipped from one shoulder as she shrugged. “I mean, it’s kind of a no-brainer. If I’m going to try this, I want it to be with someone I really trust.” She smirked at him then, eyes glittering mischievously. “You’re also probably the one person I talk to who knows what they’re doing.”
Eddie gulped. Had he ever shotgunned with someone before? Hell no. But he’d kissed a girl once and toked more times than he could count, so how hard could the halfway point be?
“Consider my ego stroked,” he said, hoping his tone was playful enough to hide his spike in nerves. “And Carver?”
Her excitement dimmed as she shrugged. “He told me he wasn’t interested in smoking ‘the Devil’s lettuce,’” she said, pausing when Eddie grunted. “. . . And that if I had any self-respect, I wouldn’t be, either.”
Eddie hated the way she curled inward a little, rubbing her arms self-consciously. She’d made incredible progress on her quest for self-discovery: calling out the basketball team whenever they bullied his sheep, learning to say “no,” and even small but monumental things like adding a handful of bacon bits (courtesy of Eddie’s lunchbox) or a smidge of dressing to her salads. Her boyfriend had flipped his shit at her more than once since the start of her journey, and Eddie had cackled like a hyena from the Hellfire table the day she flipped Jason off in front of the whole cafeteria. Despite all that, sometimes her armor was still fragile. He wanted to throttle Carver for chinking it.
Instead, he held up a fist, counting up with his fingers.
“Two things: One, that’s rich coming from the guy who has no problems drinking ‘the Devil’s water’ at every house party. And two, what you want is your business, not his. So! If my lady rebel wants to learn how to shotgun”—he rolled clumsily backwards, earning a surprised giggle from Chrissy, and offered her his hand—“then I am at your disposal.”
Despite having rolled hundreds of joints in his life, this one took him a few tries. His whole body vibrated with anticipation. By the time he joined Chrissy on their pallet of couch cushions, blankets, and pillows smuggled from Rick’s living room, he was terrified she would be able to feel him shaking, too. And she might have if her own heel wasn’t bouncing a mile a minute against the planks. She chewed her lower lip like bubble gum, and Eddie wondered if it tasted as sweet as it looked.
He spoke before he could do something stupid.
“You okay, Cunningham?”
“Mhm!” she chirped, jumping as though he’d startled her. Nice going.
“Just so we’re clear,” he said tentatively, “tell me how you think this works. There’s a few different techniques to it.”
She nodded, strawberry blonde locks bobbing with the motion. “Lindsay said that, too.”
Ah yes, Lindsay Johnson, a junior on Chrissy’s squad who happened to be one of his regular customers. Eddie made a mental note to give that girl the friends-and-family discount for the rest of his fucking life.
“According to her,” she continued, sounding a little unsure, “you’ll suck in the smoke first, then I’ll steal it from you when you exhale.”
“It isn’t stealing if I give it freely,” he countered, “but yeah, more or less. We’ll, uh, have to get close to make this work, sooo . . .”
“Oh! Right. Like this?” she asked, scooching until her leg tapped against his thigh.
“A little closer, sweetheart. Promise, I won’t bite,” he teased with a wicked smile that hid the freakout steadily building beneath his skin. “Unless you ask me to.”
She giggled and playfully whined his name like music. Eddie’s heart flip-flopped once at the sound, then again as her thigh pressed up fully against his leg. The heat of it burned through his jeans and reignited his confidence in one fell swoop. Christ.
“Ready?” he asked.
Chrissy licked her lips, gaze flicking down to his mouth. “Yeah.”
“. . . Go.”
Eddie took the hit, then leaned in so close that the tips of their noses brushed. His tongue burned. His throat, his chest, his entire being began to blaze from the inside out, and it had nothing to do with the smoke but everything to do with the pretty girl whose clever lips were an inch away from his. The smoke stream pouring from his mouth quivered thanks to a shiver that tingled slowly from the roots of his hair all the way to the base of his spine, and his eyelids fluttered shut as the cool air from her inhale whispered a phantom kiss over his lips. Only by sheer willpower was he able to keep from blowing everything out in a burst.
It was pathetic, really, how the almost-contact alone filled him with a sweet, aching ecstasy that left him yearning to close the distance. But that was one hundred percent her call. He wasn’t going to be an asshole and ruin this.
Eddie let the rest of the smoke expire and watched, entranced, as Chrissy drew in the tendril of hot, swirling vapor. She held it in for a heartbeat, then exhaled like a dragoness, coughing just once, before breaking into the most luminescent smile he’d ever seen.
“Wow,” she squeaked.
Eddie huffed a laugh, echoing her “wow,” even though the word didn’t even begin to describe it. In fact, only one word seemed to be left in his brain aside from their names.
The shrill beep of Chrissy’s watch cut through the moment like a knife.
“Shit! I’m gonna be late for dinner,” Chrissy said, shooting to her feet.
“For God’s sake, language! My delicate ears!” Eddie chided, though they both knew he loved it when she cursed. She meant the words with every fiber of her being, but the effect was as unthreatening as a spiked collar on a chihuahua.
He trailed after her, helping to gather her things. When they reached the entryway, she whirled to face him.
“Eddie, I . . .” She bit her lip, looking torn. She shifted her weight from one foot, already beyond the threshold, to the other, which was still inside the boathouse, as though fighting against time to stay in their suspended limbo.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he offered, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.
Chrissy nodded, eyes flicking upward to his with a determined look he didn't understand until she lifted onto her toes, gripping his forearm for leverage, and pecked a kiss to the hollow of his cheek.
“Tomorrow,” she promised before dashing to her car, her sleek ponytail swishing behind her.
Eddie stood frozen in place, watching her taillights disappear around the bend through the supernova of fireworks that exploded across his vision.
If not for the fact that the world outside still looked like Rick’s backyard, he’d honestly think he’d died right there on the porch and gone to Heaven, because this sure wasn’t Hell.
Eddie’s fingers ghosted over the spot she’d kissed, replaying the last ten minutes over and over and over to the persistent echo of that one word:
Extraordinary.
<>———————<>———————<>
Christmas Eve, Present Day
Eddie had barely stomped the snow from his boots when the voice of God summoned him from the back room of the store.
“Munson, my man, you are late !”
“How’d you know it was me?” Eddie called, clambering over the counter to the break room as the manager himself emerged, squeezing out of the way just in time for Eddie to barrel past. It wasn’t that hard to accomplish, because Dale Duffy was thin as a post. Were it not for his bargain-bin boy-band getup—dark, baggy cargo jeans and a burgundy turtleneck—he’d disappear between the shelves.
“I’d know the sound of those boots anywhere, metalhead. I was starting to think you wouldn't show,” Dale said wryly, sipping from a Grinch-themed coffee mug. “What took you so long? And don’t try to lie. I’ll know.”
“That’s weirdly ominous. Looking for a reason to fire me, Scrooge?” Eddie cracked.
“Start talking, Tardy Tim.” Slurp.
Eddie shrugged, swapping his leather jacket for the small, plastic name tag he’d personalized with Sharpie bats and spiders because why the hell not?
“I had to straighten up at home. The place was a mess,” Eddie half-lied, pouring a cup of black coffee for himself and hoping it’d get him through the morning.
The townhouse hadn’t been just a mess; it had been a catastrophe. A few hours ago, he’d told Chrissy the bar for cleanliness was set very low, but he hadn’t realized that, sometime during the pre-holiday insanity, he and his housemates had taken that standard and laid it to rest. He’d gotten home from Chrissy’s at 6:00 am and immediately tripped over a tower of Chinese takeout containers and pizza boxes in the dark.
There was no way in hell he’d ask Chrissy to make herself at home in that dump. She’d probably offer to help him clean it, too, which would be mortifying.
So, Eddie spent three hours deep cleaning his bedroom (not that he had any expectations, because he didn’t!) and the common areas, freezing his ass off with the windows wide open to vent any smells he was too noseblind to notice. Wayne’s gravelly chuckle in his head the whole time.
Told you to keep your room clean, boy. That’s basic hospitality. You never know who’s coming over.
No one ever did in those days except for Red, Henderson, and Chrissy, who was the only person out of the three that he’d ever legitimately tried to impress. Even then, visits were rare. Right now, Eddie found himself wishing he’d kept up the habit because a Bag of Holding to hide all this shit in was definitely not a gift he was going to get this Christmas.
When the townhouse was finally liveable, he’d reluctantly stripped out of his borrowed Madonna shirt that still smelled like cinnamon sugar despite his added sweat, showered, then trekked to 42nd Street.
Dale took another loud sip.
“Straightening up, huh? Got a hot date or something?” he asked, one eyebrow arching all the way up to the tips of his frosted bangs.
“No! What’s with the interrogation, Detective Duffy?” Eddie took a scalding swig of joe and made for the break-room door with strides he hoped did not look as forced as they were.
“That’s a shame,” Dale tsked. “She sounded cute over the phone.”
Eddie jerked to a stop and whipped around, eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“A girl called the store about an hour ago asking for you.”
“Shit, why didn’t you lead with that?” Eddie yelled, both thrilled out of his mind that Chrissy had actually called and fucking devastated that he’d missed it. “Did you ask her to call back?”
“No, man, I didn’t know if you were coming in, so she thanked me and hung up.”
Eddie wilted against the doorframe, stomach sinking to the floor.
Dale barked a laugh. “Jesus, dude! Just call her back. She sounded like she really wanted to get a hold of you. Maybe she’s still at home.”
Eddie’s body moved on its own, bounding to the phone at the front and lifting the receiver only for the most horrible realization to slam into him like a train:
He’d never asked Chrissy for her number.
He’d left all of his contact information but completely spaced on grabbing hers and had to spend the next four hours in this garish, fluorescent music box. God, was this how Christmas Eve was going to be? Pacing like a lonely puppy next to the phone until the shop closed early, praying Chrissy would decide to call him back before then? He could swing by her apartment after work, but what if she tried to go to his place and they missed each other in transit?
Eddie slumped over the laminated countertop, thumping his head against the cold, pitiless surface beneath him.
“You know you’ve actually gotta use the number keys to dial her up, right?” Dale asked from somewhere to his left.
“Would if I could, Bucko,” Eddie growled.
Dale was blissfully silent for two whole seconds before he spoke again, sounding unreasonably smug. “You don’t have her digits, do you?”
Eddie flashed his middle finger in the man’s general direction, forehead still pressed to the desk in despair.
“Then it’s a good thing that I do.”
Eddie reverse-jackknifed so fast that his neck and half his spine cracked. Pinched like a cigarette between Dale’s fingers was a torn slip of receipt paper with the tail end of a phone number visible. Eddie reached for it, but Dale stepped back.
“Ah ah ahhh, not so fast, Munson,” he said through an impish grin.
“Dale. Buddy. You’re literally holding my life in your hands,” Eddie pleaded. “What do you want?”
“Bring her to the Rein-Dale Games tonight.”
Okay . . . that was absolutely not the torture he’d expected. Covering extra shifts in the postholiday retail madness? Yes. Forfeiting his right to choose the ambient music in the store for a month? Fine. But dragging Chrissy as his plus one to an annual Christmas Eve party that he hadn’t planned on attending?
“What’s the catch?” he finally asked.
“Ouch, man,” Dale whined, looking almost offended. “There’s no catch. It’ll be a great time, and if she’s half as peppy as she sounded over the phone, she’s going to love it. Also, you’re actually in town this year, so you have no excuse to skip.”
True, he’d always been in Hawkins by Christmas Eve. The problem wasn’t the event or the people. He just wasn’t sure whether Chrissy would be up for a party.
Dale waved the slip of paper tauntingly.
Eddie broke the standoff first with a sigh, snatching the number from Dale’s hand. “I will ask if she wants to go. But if this is a prank, Duffy, I swear to God . . .”
At that moment, the manager’s attention was pulled away by a pair of frazzled, last-minute shoppers, which left Eddie alone with the phone. He dialed each key slowly and deliberately to get them right and gripped the receiver as it rang.
Please pick up. Please, please, please.
The phone crackled, and Chrissy’s voice followed after. “Hello?”
“Chrissy!” he shouted, startling a customer in his fifties who’d been browsing the new arrivals section as though wanting people to think he knew what he was looking for.
“Eddie! Did Dale tell you I called?”
“Yep, he did.”
She made a relieved little sound. “Please tell him thank you for me. It was really sweet of him to pass on the message.”
Eddie twisted to glance over his shoulder at Dale, who smiled cheekily. Thankfully there was only one phone in the store, so it wasn’t like the conversation could be tapped.
“Does this mean you accept my offer?” Eddie asked.
“Yeah, if it’s still on the table.”
“Absolutely, prin—Cunningham.” He would not let Dale hear him use that nickname, or the guy would be insufferable all day. “Hey, listen, I’d wanted to invite you to my place since my housemates are gone, but there’s a party tonight called ‘Rein-Dale Games’ that a few of my coworkers put on every year.”
Chrissy laughed. “Rein-Dale Games?”
“Yeah, like ‘Reindeer Games.’ Dale thinks he’s punny.” Eddie felt the snap of a rubber band sting his shoulder and smirked. “Anyway, they’re loud, but I promise they’re all good eggs. Would it be okay if we stopped by? Let me emphasize that we do not have to stay.”
“Sure! Sounds like fun. Should I bring anything? Is there, um, a dress code?”
“Just your lovely self and whatever you want to wear,” Eddie said reassuringly.
He turned around at the sound of a knock behind him to find Dale drawing the shape of a thong in the air with his fingers. Eddie grabbed the first thing he could reach—a stack of flyers for some upcoming sale—crumpled them into a ball, and hucked it at Dale’s head. For someone without a ton of athletic ability, Eddie threw the projectile with shocking accuracy. It zoomed past the barrier of Dale’s hands and caught him in the eye. Eddie then covered the mouthpiece completely so Chrissy wouldn’t hear the slew of words Dale hissed in the background.
The party wasn’t going to start until 7:00 pm, so Chrissy agreed to meet him at his place first. They’d head over together, since Dale’s apartment was a few blocks from the townhouse.
“See you at 6:45, then?” she asked.
“6:45,” he confirmed. "Later, Chrissy.”
“Bye, Eddie.”
As the receiver clicked into its base, he ignored the expectant look that bored into the back of his head. For someone barely older than Eddie, Dale was as much a busybody as a pack of grandmothers at a quilting bee.
“See you at 7, Ed. Or maybe 8,” Dale teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Eddie groaned and checked the time: 11:46 am. This was going to be a hell of a day.
<>———————<>———————<>
Although Eddie had made the Rein-Dale Games and subsequent hangout seem like trivial things, Chrissy seized upon them as opportunities to apologize for her breakdown. She knew if she admitted that thought to him out loud, he’d tell her she didn’t have anything to make up for, but the fact that he’d witnessed it at all filled her with shame. At the same time, she couldn’t deny how grateful she was that he’d rescued her from the nightmare she usually faced alone. His gentle hold had banished the sensation of the fat, fleshy tendrils that suffocated and ripped her apart, while his soft voice cocooned her in the warmth and safety she needed to return to a dreamless sleep.
It was more than she would have ever asked for and definitely more than she deserved.
Chrissy smacked her cheeks lightly, blowing a frustrated raspberry upwards into her bangs. She would not allow time for self-pity, not today. Today was Christmas Eve, and she was going to make the most of it, starting with her wardrobe.
In the daylight, Laura Cunningham’s stinging critiques had no shadows to cling to, making it much easier for Chrissy to enter her closet with a clear head. Her main goal was to find something party worthy between dressy and casual, but she also found herself sorting out the pieces she’d held onto throughout the years that just weren’t her anymore. The Chrissy she’d become didn’t wear tight blouses or really anything that subconsciously made her feel like she had to be thin. She loved the freedom that came with looser-fitting clothes: winter sweaters that wrapped her like a wearable blanket or summer sundresses in light, airy fabrics. They reminded her that she was finally free. That she could simply . . . be.
She came up empty for a party-worthy outfit but felt triumphant anyway, having stuffed a Santa-sized sack of clean clothes for the local donation bin. Years ago this kind of purge would’ve left Chrissy mentally and emotionally depleted, but the fact that she could do it now was a testament to the healing she’d achieved. As the bag disappeared down the chute, she gleefully imagined her mother’s voice cawing like the Wicked Witch of the West along with it.
The rest of her afternoon consisted of a trip to Macy’s, a grocery run, and a brief stop in the liquor store. After donning her new outfit, she crammed most of her purchases into a tote bag one-third her size along with a handful of movies, a set of toiletries, and pajamas just in case she had to stay at Eddie’s. Not that she expected to or anything. No, she was being prepared. Who cared if she spent thirty minutes deciding which pajamas to bring?
When Chrissy finally rang his doorbell at 6:40 pm, no one responded at first. She was only five minutes early, but the silence had her bouncing on the balls of her feet. What if Eddie was on his way back from somewhere else? Crap, she should’ve called ahead.
Chrissy pushed the bell again and this time heard thundering footfalls and a frantic “Just a sec!” before the door swung open and she came face-to-face with Eddie’s bare chest. Or, most of it. A black long-sleeve shirt hung around his neck like a scarf, obscuring his collarbones.
“Chrissy! Shit, am I late?” Eddie asked, tugging his shirt the rest of the way on.
Chrissy coughed, hoping he’d think her raging blush was simply from the cold. “No! I’m early. Sorry about that.”
“No need to apologize, princess. Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, ushering her inside. He eyed her bag curiously. “You moving in, or is all of that for the party?”
“Actually, most of this is for later. I, um, may have overpacked a little since we didn’t really plan out what we wanted to do,” she said, placing her tote on his beat-up leather couch, where it sagged heavily into the cushions with a squeak.
“Looking forward to it,” he said, flashing her a dimpled smile that sent her tummy fluttering.
She cleared her throat, which was suddenly very dry. “As for the party . . .” She reached into her stuff and carefully lifted out a bottle of tequila with a thick, red bow tied neatly around its neck. “Think they’ll like it?”
“Dale definitely will, but he already likes you better than me. I think he’s biased,” Eddie said with a fake pout that made Chrissy giggle. “Anyway, make yourself comfortable. Give me a few more minutes, and I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll be here.”
Eddie’s dark eyes lingered on her for a moment, an odd little smile on his face, before he turned and bounded up the stairs two at a time.
Chrissy walked a circle around the living room, making a game of picking out which parts of the space were probably Eddie’s and which belonged to his housemates. The records and cassettes were mostly him; she doubted he’d gained an affinity for the country-western tracks that filled an entire lower shelf of the entertainment center. On another shelf sat a collection of novels, many of which were hardly readable by the spines. Curious, she pulled one out to investigate: The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkein. Definitely Eddie’s.
As she moved to tuck it back into place, a photograph he’d likely been using as a bookmark landed facedown onto the carpet. She flipped it over and froze.
It was Eddie in gaudy graduation robes, holding his diploma in one hand and giving a metal salute to the camera with the other. An older man, probably his Uncle Wayne, stood beside him with an arm wrapped proudly around Eddie’s shoulders. Chrissy had never met the man; he’d worked nights, so they’d never crossed paths.
Chrissy’s eyes drifted back to Eddie and the empty space on his other side. She’d wanted to celebrate that day together, but—
She watched Eddie strut across the stage to a smattering of applause from his fellow Hellfire seniors and the underclassmen who’d come just to cheer him on. She wanted to cheer, too, make herself hoarse screaming his name so he’d know how proud she was to see him finally succeed.
But she felt Jason’s eyes on her from his seat a few C names away and knew she couldn't make a peep. Otherwise her mother’s loyal pointer would do what he did best: fetch and carry her back to her mother’s feet.
Laura’s words echoed in her head like a warning bell. “Make your choice, Christine, or I will make it for you.”
Eddie waved to his friends but didn’t spare a glance her way.
Chrissy gripped the edge of her seat hard enough to crack a nail.
Two days. Two more days, and she’d be able to tell him everything. And maybe, if she was lucky, someday he'd forgive her.
She watched Eddie grab the diploma from Higgins’ hand, flip the man off as he’d always vowed to do, then bow out with scampering steps off the other side of the stage before the principal could snatch the paper back.
Everyone laughed. She couldn’t.
The VP droned on, and Eddie disappeared from view into the sea of green and gold.
At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Chrissy hid the picture between two books and spun around just in time to see Eddie leap down the final three. Sporting ripped jeans, a black shirt, a dark-red flannel, and his signature leather jacket, Eddie would’ve been dressed for a normal day save for the familiar bell-tipped elf hat over his mop of curls. It jingled as he trotted over to her and offered his arm.
“Shall we?”
She plastered on her cheer smile. “Lead the way!”
<>———————<>———————<>
They’d barely walked into Dale’s apartment when someone bellowed at them.
“MUNSON! So glad you could make it on time .”
The owner of the voice, and presumably their host, jogged toward them, his baggy, Santa-themed jumpsuit flapping against his willowy frame. The man had all the swagger and style of a pop star wannabe but the haircut and build of David Bowie. He threw a wink Eddie’s way that Chrissy didn’t have the chance to ask about before he changed his trajectory.
“You. Must. Be. Chrissy,” he said, using his last few footsteps to punctuate each word.
“And you must be Dale!” she replied, passing the Patrón to him. “I came bearing a gift.”
“An offering for the man-child,” Eddie quipped.
Dale smirked. “Well, amen! Come on in, the games are about to start.”
He took their coats and nudged them into the main room, where fifteen or so guests milled around, laughing and reclining against the furniture that had been pushed against the walls.
Based on Dale’s self-titled event and her two-minute conversation with him, Chrissy had assumed this get-together would be similar to the loud, overpopulated house parties that Jason had dragged her to in high school, just with Santa hats and more booze.
She definitely did not expect the dollar-store wonderland in front of her: Thick, cotton batting lined the tables and countertops like snow, and fluffy, incandescent garlands looped and sagged around the doorframes and ceiling edges like frosting on a gingerbread house. Anything that wasn’t covered in white stuff—anything—was either tied with red and green streamers or covered in cartoony wrapping paper, as though the whole apartment was a pile of Christmas presents. The overall effect had the chaotic whimsy of a child’s birthday party but with holiday flair.
Chrissy loved it.
Eddie must’ve seen her awed expression because he barked a laugh beside her. “This is nothing. One year apparently he rigged a train set with a tooting horn and everything through the entire apartment, and another year he almost set the place on fire with too many candles and crazy-long streamers. Dale never half-asses Christmas.”
Then his gaze traveled downward to her new evergreen sweater dress with a wide faux-leather belt that merely hugged rather than forced her curves. Chrissy had noticed upon walking in that the other guests mostly wore holiday T-shirts or a Christmas accessory. Evidently Eddie noticed the difference, too.
“I’m overdressed, aren’t I?” she asked, ducking self-consciously.
“Maybe so,” he conceded with a tilt of his head, “but if anyone’s staring, it’s because you look absolutely radiant.”
Suddenly the apartment felt a whole lot warmer.
“Well, look who decided to show up!” someone said as their hands clapped Eddie’s shoulders from behind.
Eddie grinned, spinning and locking the newcomer, a black man Chrissy vaguely recognized, in a chokehold. “Says the guy who’s been under a rock for months. Gigging without you sucked.”
“It’s called grad school, jerkwad,” he said, squeezing out from under Eddie’s arm before straightening out his own flannel. “Barely made it out alive this semester, and I’m catching the first flight back home tomorrow morning. When’re you going back?”
“That’s a bit tricky,” Eddie said, and the lack of explanation sounded oddly like hedging, especially because Eddie had told her last night he’d planned to be back by New Year’s.
She would’ve asked him about it if the other man hadn’t spotted her in Eddie’s shadow and stilled like a rabbit in a fox’s sight. Following his friend’s eyeline, Eddie leapt aside.
“Jeff, you remember Chrissy Cunningham?” he asked, not bothering to wait for an answer.
“Chrissy, meet Jeffrey the Just: champion of Hellfire, Corroded Coffin guitarist, and aspiring high school music teacher. May Corellon have mercy on his soul.”
She had no idea who Corellon was, but she and Jeff exchanged awkward hi’s.
“I’m sure your metal background will really help you connect with the kids you’ll teach,” she said. It was a weak compliment, and she knew it. But she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Not while he kept staring like that.
Whatever Jeff might have said or done in response was interrupted by the slam of their host’s sneakers on the coffee table. Dale cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled loud enough for a stadium instead of a two-bedroom apartment, “Aaaaaall right, you merry misfits! Who’s ready for the 1992 Rein-Dale Gaaaaaames?”
The crowd around them roared with excitement and quickly divided into four teams by a random, blind draw of holiday gear from Dale’s Santa bag. By a stroke of luck, both Chrissy and Eddie chose peppermint-striped bandanas and put them on, hers artfully tied around her neck like Daphne’s from Scooby Doo and his dangling from his back pocket the way his skull bandana used to.
“Aren’t you worried it’s going to fall out?” she asked, watching as the more seasoned guests began setting up props throughout the room for each game.
“Nah, it’ll stick,” Eddie said, slapping the fabric to prove it was anchored well enough. “Even if it doesn’t, I’m pretty sure everyone knows exactly whose team I’m on.” He smiled and elbowed her gently just like he had the night before.
He wasn’t flirting. She knew that, but her stomach fluttered again in a way that sent pleasant shivers down her spine. Outwardly she rolled her eyes and caught sight of Jeff across the room. He stood with his team, who wore identical headbands with tiny felt antlers on them. His attention flicked to her in the exact second Eddie moved into her focus.
“Hey, are you okay?”
“Yep! I’m fine,” she said, willing herself to ignore his friend’s behavior. She’d ask about it later. Right now, they had games to win. “Let’s do this!”
They joined their candy-cane-clad teammates at the beat-up whiteboard—which Eddie mentioned had been in pristine condition before Dale “borrowed” it from work years ago—just as Dale explained the games: reindeer ring toss, in which one team member wore a hat with twig antlers glued to it for their teammates to throw rings onto; speed wrapping, which Chrissy thought would be a breeze until Dale clarified it would involve the whole team wrapping one box while blindfolded; a version of “chubby bunny,” where everyone would take turns stuffing marshmallows into their mouths until they couldn’t say “chubby chestnut” clearly; and finally limbo but with balloons under their shirts for Santa bellies.
Each team had to play each of the three main games and would compete once against every other group. Since there were four teams total, two games with two teams each would happen concurrently to keep things moving until limbo, which would be the final challenge.
Winning teams would earn two points per game, losing teams one, and if anyone cheated, their whole group would get a big, black, zero-shaped lump of coal on the scoreboard.
By the end of Dale’s spiel, Chrissy was honestly impressed. If he ever left retail, he’d make an amazing party planner.
Dale stomped his foot on the table and raised a wooden clapper like a starter pistol over his head. “’Tis the night before Christmas, so without further delay, ready or not, it’s time to play! ”
<>———————<>———————<>
The games were perfect in that they played to and against everyone’s strengths equally. Where Chrissy’s and Eddie’s team, the Peppermint Punishers, failed to win the ring toss—
“Toss ’em a little higher, Cunningham!”
“I’m trying, Eddie! You’re so tall!”
“Trust me, the top inch is just hair.”
“Shut it, Johnny!”
—against Jeff’s team, the Sleigh Squad, they scored a huge win in the speed-wrapping challenge by talking out every action and feeling for each other’s hands to secure the Scotch tape in place. Eddie still managed to stick some to everyone’s arms, but appropriate use of supplies wasn’t a requirement to win. The Rudolph Rangers had the speed but tore the paper in three places and failed to cover the entire box.
“No fair! Munson’s got Sarah on his team, and she’s a manager!”
“You’re a manager, too, Matt. Want some pointers?”
In the bout of chubby chestnut against the Light Knights, Chrissy surrendered in the early rounds and watched the other contestants drop like flies until Eddie was the last Punisher standing against two opposing Knights. The first managed to tuck a thirty-sixth marshmallow into his cheek but lost the round because he couldn’t do more than grunt. When the thirty-seventh marshmallows went in, the remaining Knight gagged as he tried to speak, then spat into the bin nearby. Eddie, victorious, somehow managed a smirk with his lips stretched wide and had the audacity to chew.
Winning chubby chestnut meant they were tied with the Sleigh Squad at five points each with the Light Knights right behind at four points, meaning limbo could settle it all.
Chrissy wondered whether saving this game for last was a ploy on Dale’s part to discern who of his guests would be too drunk to walk home. If they couldn’t lean backwards and shuffle under a broom handle held five feet high—with or without a balloon in their shirts—there was no way they’d be able to handle stairs.
Dale popped a mixtape of upbeat Christmas tunes into the boombox and the game began. Every round, the bar dropped six inches, and after the first go-around a handful of competitors had either hit the bar or fallen on their asses, Eddie included. He whooped enthusiastically for Chrissy as she completed her third lap.
By the time the bar dropped to three-and-a-half feet, only she and one other girl, a Squad member, remained. Chrissy’s opponent went first, both the balloon under her shirt and the bottom of her chin passing beneath the broom handle easily. Her teammates cheered, and she straightened up—a second too early. The top of her forehead smacked the bar.
“You’re out!” Dale declared amidst a chorus of defeated groans and playfully vindictive heckling.
“Did we win?” Sarah asked.
“Not yet. The last woman standing’s gotta do it first.”
Chrissy shook out her limbs, focusing on the goal in front of her and on Eddie, who waited on the other side.
“You got this,” he mouthed.
Sidling up to the bar, she spread her feet wide, arching backwards while bending her knees, and shifting her center of gravity between her lower back and her toes. Chrissy had never imagined that the spatial awareness and balance she’d honed through years of dance and cheerleading would culminate in a limbo contest, but as she and the balloon taped to her dress ghosted beneath the bar and the crowd exploded, she thought maybe all that work had been good for something.
<>———————<>———————<>
Chrissy wandered through the party, searching for Eddie. After Dale had declared the Peppermint Punishers the official winners of the 1992 Rein-Dale games, he’d presented them with small, gold-painted nutcrackers and assorted liquor in a crate labeled “Holiday Spirits!” to divide amongst the four of them.
“I’ll go put these with our stuff,” Eddie had said, hands full of their trophies. “Be right back.”
That had been ten minutes ago. Chrissy had spent the first five chatting with Sarah and Johnny but now wondered where Eddie could have gone. The apartment was only so large. Besides, he wouldn’t have left her here . . . right?
Just before Chrissy emerged from the small side corridor that connected the bedrooms to the main room, she halted when Jeff’s voice carried through the small window ahead of her.
“What’s she doing here, Ed?”
Chrissy peeked around the curtains to find Jeff and Eddie leaning their elbows on the fire-escape rail, their profiles in relief against the shadowed backdrop of the brick wall on the opposite side.
“What do you mean?” Eddie asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
“Exactly what I said: why is she here?”
Eddie’s cheeks puffed as he blew out a sigh. “The past twenty-four hours just . . . It’s been fucking crazy , man. We ran into each other . . . Actually, no, I slammed into her yesterday on the train. Dale found out about her this morning and blackmailed me into bringing her as my plus-one tonight.”
Chrissy chewed her lip. She’d known that Dale had extended the invitation to her but hadn’t realized he’d strong-armed Eddie into following through.
“So Dale knows who she is?” Jeff asked.
Eddie waved dismissively, his rings gleaming in the glow of the streetlights three floors down. “He knows she’s an old friend who we went to high school with, and that’s all I let him wheedle out of me during my shift today.”
Jeff tsked. “No wonder why he’s being so polite.”
Eddie stood up straight. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
“Eddie, are you for real, or did you somehow forget how miserable you were after ‘the incident’? It took weeks to get you out of your funk and back on stage. Henderson almost had to write a three-shot to keep the club going until the end of the year. And don’t think we all didn’t know why you up and left Hawkins to couch surf in my dorm immediately after graduation.”
Chrissy’s heart sank through the floor. It made sense now, why she hadn’t been able to find him.
She twisted the spiral telephone cord in her fingers as she waited for the call to connect. Her mother might very well be home from the community center any minute, but Chrissy didn’t care, not after she’d spent the last three days looking for him in all their old haunts and coming up empty. She’d even driven by his trailer in Forest Hills enough times for it to be considered stalking, but his van was still missing, and no one answered the door either.
Chrissy had fished his number out from where she’d hidden it in her diary and dialed. Maybe he’d pick up if he didn’t know it was her?
The ringtone stopped, and Chrissy didn’t even wait for a greeting, practically shouting into the phone, “Eddie!”
A gruff voice grunted sleepily on the other end. “No, this is his uncle Wayne. Who’re you, little lady? Is Eddie in some kind of trouble?”
“What? Oh, no. No nothing like that.”
Wayne hummed. “You a friend of his?”
Chrissy nearly answered yes but faltered. They had been friends, almost more, but that had been a month ago.
“Just someone from school,” she replied.
“Uh-huh,” Wayne said, talking in the same tone Eddie did whenever he was trying to puzzle something out. “Well, ‘someone from school,’ if you’re calling about my boy, you’re too late. He already left.”
Dread began to twist in her gut, and she fought to keep her voice steady. “Do you, um, know when he’ll be back?”
“’Fraid I don’t, little missy. He’s made it outta Hawkins for good, so if you were looking to get something from him, you’ll have to look elsewhere.”
She should have asked where he’d gone, should have begged for some way to contact him. Instead her mind filled with a hollow whoosh, like wind in a graveyard. Eddie had left, and he probably never wanted to see her again.
“O-oh. Okay,” she said, her tenuous composure crumbling with every word as tears slipped from her control. “Thank you. I’ll leave you be. Have a nice day—”
“Hey, hold on there, who—”
“Goodbye!”
Maybe she should’ve stayed on the line back then. Faced the consequences of her actions and listened to whatever Wayne had been about to say.
Leaning in against the shadowed windowpane, she was certainly listening now.
“Your point, Jeffrey?” Eddie snapped. He sounded angry like a simmering pot, quiet but still scalding if touched.
“She led you on for two months—”
“That’s not true.”
“—then tossed you in the trash like yesterday’s lunch,” Jeff finished. Silence hung between them before he spoke again, softer this time. “Has she even told you why?”
Eddie slinked back to the railing, bravado shrinking into defensiveness. “We just reconnected, man. I wasn’t going to haul my baggage out over hot cocoa and schnapps. Shit was already wild enough when I got snowed in at her apartment and had to stay the night. Hey, don’t give me that look! Nothing happened.”
Jeff held up his hands in a placating gesture. “All I’m saying is she’d better have a damn good reason for playing you before,” he said, “because I’d hate to see what’ll happen to you if she ends up pulling the same shit again. Personally, I think you’d be better off kicking her out first.”
If Eddie said anything after that, she didn’t hear it as she dashed to the first open door she could find. The bathroom. Perfect. She locked the door behind her and made it to the sink before tears blurred her vision.
The cautious stare Jeff had given her earlier made sense now; he considered her a threat. Fury surged through her veins, and for a crazy moment, she wanted to confront Jeff the Just and tell him the truth—she hadn’t hurt Eddie for kicks; she’d been trying to save him the only way she’d thought she could, and if Jeff really embodied his Hellfire title, he’d hear her side of the story, too—but the feeling deflated as quickly as it’d come on.
Jeff could think what he wanted about her. She valued Eddie’s opinion more. But if everything Jeff had said about Eddie was true, how could he not hate her, too?
She stifled a sob as someone knocked at the door.
“Chrissy?”
She closed her eyes and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. Of course Eddie would find her now.
“Sweetheart, are you in there?”
“Yeah,” she answered, not trusting herself to give more than a few words at a time. “I’m here.”
“Oh. Great. It’s, uh, getting late for these guys, so we should probably head out soon.” A pause. “You okay?”
“Mhm,” she lied, trying to dab her swollen eyes and pinkish nose with cold water without smearing her makeup or wetting her dress. “Just give me a minute.”
Three minutes later when the redness had dissipated enough, she unlocked the door to find Eddie standing just outside of it with her coat in one hand and their prizes in a plastic “Have a nice day!” shopping bag in the other.
“Ready?” he asked, inspecting her with eyes that were too keen for Chrissy’s comfort.
She nodded, accepting her coat and making for the exit, where Dale was already bidding two more partygoers farewell.
He caught her hand in both of his just before she passed him. “Hey! Congrats again on that epic win. It was great to meet you, Chrissy. Take care of our mutual metalhead, okay?”
Dale smiled warmly at her, and it was almost more than she could take.
No wonder why he’s being so polite.
You’d be better off kicking her out first.
Chrissy laughed to cover the cry that broke from her chest, managing a nod and a quick smile before walking down the hall, Eddie trailing after.