Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Reader Series
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17
Summary: Still questioning your mothering abilities, you finally agree to take a pregnancy test. But when you run into an unexpected familiar face, it leads to some intimate conversations.
Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), angst, misunderstanding, mention of alcohol consumption, nausea, Reader takes a pregnancy test, mention of menstrual periods/tampons, panic attack, use of medication (prescribed), dirty talk, mutual masturbation, breeding kink, choking, submissive!Reader, mention of public sex (this chapter has a lot so please let me know if I missed something!)
WC: 10.1k
A/N: Thank you to @pastel-pillows, @corroded-hellfire, and @vintagehellfire for beta reading and helping with some dialogue. Y'all make me a horny better writer.
Chapter 17/20
Divider credit to @saradika
Harris's card credit to @girlwiththerubyslippers
--
It’s been one week since you’ve seen Eddie. The phone is silent on the hook, regardless of how strongly you will it to ring.
A wave of nausea ripples through you and has you lunging for the Saltines box on the coffee table. It isn’t unusual for you to feel sick when you’re anxious, and this entire situation definitely has you on-edge. The Jerry Springer audience chants his name from the TV set, though you can barely pay attention to the brawl that’s about to occur.
One week ago, you and Eddie broke up. One week ago, you realized you might be carrying his baby. One week ago, you began what you’d dubbed Self-Pity Spring Break, which was essentially a week of you wallowing in misery and ignoring the nagging question that constantly infiltrates your thoughts.
The movement for the crackers allows you to get a whiff of the pajamas you’d been living in. You’d convinced yourself there was no need to shower since you were barely leaving your apartment, but the odor emanating from your clothes—and your skin—says otherwise. You resignedly stand up and grab a towel from the hall closet, scowling at the box of tampons that’s seemingly taunting you.
Fine, you silently relent, I’ll get a test today.
There’s a forceful knock on the door, and your heart leaps. Eddie. Eddie’s here, we can talk and figure this out–
“Hey, Hermit, you alive in there?” It’s Jess, speaking even as she knocks.
“Coming, coming,” you grumble, not even trying to feign excitement. Maybe it’s better that it’s not Eddie; you’re not sure what you’d even say.
“Jeez, you look awful,” Robin comments, clamping her lips together when Jess shoots her a glare. “Sorry.”
“You’re not wrong,” you mutter. You haven’t looked in the mirror in days, not wanting to confront the reflection staring back at you. Fingertips greasy with old potato chip residue, you wipe them on your pajama pants and sigh. “I feel like shit, too.”
Jess grabs your hand and gives it a little squeeze. “C’mon, let’s get you some wine,” she says kindly, already padding towards the kitchen in search of an open bottle. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
You shake your head, throat dry. “I, um, I shouldn’t.” An unspoken plea floats from your lips, begging her not to ask further questions, but you know better than to get your hopes up.
She stops in her tracks, swiveling back in your direction. Her eyebrows pinch together, creasing in the middle. “No.” She waits for the punchline, and when there isn’t one, she envelops you in a hug. “Oh, honey.”
You feel another gentle hand on your back as Robin’s palm rubs comforting circles between your shoulder blades. You can’t pinpoint the moment she became one of your close friends, too; it happened naturally as the relationship between her and Jess became more serious and they spent more time together. Yet it feels as though she’s always been an integral part of your life, and you couldn’t be more thankful, especially in moments like this one.
“I don’t…I haven’t taken a test yet,” you admit bashfully, blinking away rogue tears, “but I’m super late. Like, almost two weeks late.”
Robin scrunches her face, unsure of her response but plunging ahead anyway. “Does Eddie…”
You shake your head. “No, and I’m not telling him either way.” The vitriol in your voice is biting, and both of your friends are taken aback by your anger. “He said that taking care of Harris was too much for me to handle; you think he wants to raise a whole other kid with me?”
“Okay, okay,” Jess softly interrupts your tirade, not needing to hear your break-up story for the fourth time. “First things first: you gotta take a test. Do you have one here?”
“Mm-mm.”
“Then Robs and I will go with you to the pharmacy.”
“I don’t wanna go,” you whine, sounding more like Harris than ever.
Jess sighs. “You’re leaving this apartment whether you like it or not.” She motions towards her girlfriend. “She’s stronger than she looks, so we will use force if we have to.”
“Fine.” You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “Can I at least shower first?”
“Please,” Jess mutters, grateful that she didn’t have to make the suggestion herself.
The shower water is scalding hot, but you don’t have the energy to fiddle with the knob until it’s a decent temperature. Instead, you stand underneath the stream and idly sway back-and-forth. You grab the Dial bar from the soap tray, lathering your body and taking good care to scrub under your arms. The suds slide down and swirl around the drain before disappearing entirely. You can only wish they took your problems with them.
You dry off as quickly as you can, throwing on the first pair of sweatpants you can find and a faded concert t-shirt from when you saw Joan Jett perform in ‘89. Dragging your tired body back out to where your friends are waiting, you grab a jacket out of the closet, stomach turning as soon as you put your arms through the sleeves. You haven’t worn this since last weekend, and the smell of Eddie’s cologne still faintly lingers. It’s like he’s there wrapping himself around you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and whispering sweet nothings in your ear.
Except he’s not here, his scent only serving as a painful reminder of what you used to have.
If he was here right now, what would he be doing? Cursing the broken condom that led to this chaos? Berating himself for getting another woman pregnant? And not just any woman; this would be the second woman he’d knocked up who’d failed to be a decent mother. This time; however, he’d know about your shortcomings before the baby could even arrive, before it could develop fingers and toes and have its own little heartbeat…
With a heavy sigh, you drag your feet out the door and into Jess’s car. Nausea creeps up on you the closer you get to your destination, and for the first time in your life, you pray it’s only carsickness.
Murphy’s Law states that “anything that can go wrong, will go wrong,” and that’s exactly what happened to Eddie this week.
First, he’d all but gotten confirmation that you were overwhelmed at the prospect of being a family, of being his partner, and eventually being a parent to Harris. Your silence when he’d asked if it was “too much” was deafening. He’d thought about calling you, even picked up the phone and dialed the first few digits on more than one occasion, but ultimately hung up. There’s no sense in trying to force you into a life you have no interest in, no matter how badly it hurts him to be without you.
Then, this morning, Harris had woken up at 6:30 AM, howling in pain. Eddie had nearly fallen out of bed at the sudden burst of sound, rushing to his son’s side to figure out the issue.
“My ear!” Harris wailed, pressing a tiny palm to the side of his head. “It hurts so bad!”
“Okay, okay,” Eddie murmured. He tried to pull Harris’s hand from his ear to get a better look, but quickly stopped when the boy cried out in agony, rivaling a Wilhelm Scream.
He called the pediatrician and got the earliest appointment available, arriving at the office before they’d even opened. The receptionist had given him a strange look as he barreled through the doors, Harris hoisted in his arms.
Forty-five arduous minutes later, the doctor took one look inside Harris’s ear canal and diagnosed him with an ear infection, scribbled out a barely-legible prescription for antibiotics, and sent the Munsons on their way.
Now, Eddie slams the sedan door shut as he walks into the pharmacy for the second time today, mumbling about his shit luck. He’d brought Harris to Wayne’s trailer after dropping off the prescription once they informed him that it would be a two-hour wait. There was no sense in forcing the poor kid to sit around the drugstore when he desperately needed a nap, Eddie reasoned, ignoring his own exhaustion. He makes up his mind right then and there that, in addition to whatever bubblegum-flavored concoction he’s picking up for Harris, he’s getting a pack of Camels. The stress is just too damn much for Nicorette to handle.
He makes a beeline for the pharmacist, nodding along as she explains that the medicine should be taken twice daily with food.
“Do you have any questions?” she asks patiently, a kind smile on her lips.
“N-No,” Eddie stammers, the paper bag crinkling in his grasp. “Thanks,” he throws out haphazardly, already hyper-focused on securing the cigarettes. He can practically taste the tobacco on his tongue, smoke filling his lungs. He’ll quit again tomorrow, once all of this is–
“Is this it? EPT?” A familiar voice briefly grabs Eddie’s attention, but he quickly brushes it off. It’s a small town; everyone’s bound to recognize each other after a while.
It’s the response that truly draws him in, a timid, “y-yeah, I think so.”
Eddie swivels around, cigarettes long forgotten, peering down each aisle until he finds you. You’re standing with Robin Buckley—the voice he’d recognized earlier—and Jeff’s sister-in-law, Jess.
“Hi,” he blurts out, shoving his free hand in his pants pocket. His heart breaks at the defeated look in your eyes, swollen from days of crying. He wants to pull you in for a hug and feel your arms wrap around him, relishing in your safety.
It only takes a half-second for his gaze to drop to the pink box clenched in your death grip, a pathetic attempt to hide it from him. “Wh-What’s that?” He’s suddenly all-too aware that you’re all standing in the Family Planning section, and unless science has made some extraordinary progress lately, it’s unlikely that Jess and Robin need anything here. “Are you—”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” You regain as much composure as you can. “But whatever I am, I can handle it by myself.” You’re unsure of the truth behind that statement, but you refuse to let him see you waver.
Eddie takes another step forward, removing his hand from his pocket and taking the test from you. You’re hesitant to relinquish it, but you ultimately concede.
“Let me pay for this, at least,” he says softly, not waiting for your reply before tucking it under his arm and heading to the cashier.
“Eddie—”
“You’ll take it at my place,” he continues as though you hadn’t just spoken his name, “and if you’re…if it’s…we’ll, uh, we’ll figure out where to go from there.”
You shake your head. “I don’t need your help,” you protest, firmly but not unkindly. “Seriously, I’ve got this.” Be done with me. Just let me go, Eddie. Find someone who deserves your—and Harris’s—time.
Eddie places the test on the counter, digging into his wallet for the dingy MasterCard he keeps tucked away for emergencies. You cringe at the cost; if you’d known Eddie would insist on footing the bill, you would have chosen a cheaper option.
“I can take this at home. Robin and Jess will be with me,” you push on as the four of you leave the store. You turn to them for back-up, frowning when Robin gives you a tight smile and Jess shrugs.
“I…think you should take it at Eddie’s,” she offers, trying to ignore the death glare you’re sending her way.
“If you need us, just call, and we’ll pick you up,” Robin hurriedly adds, quickly squeezing your upper arm before the two of them leave you and Eddie alone.
Without thinking, Eddie’s hand slips into yours. Maybe it’s because you’re more scared than you’ve ever been in your life, maybe it’s because his gentle demeanor has breathed new life into your love for him, but you let him keep it there.
The hum of the sedan’s engine is the only sound until Eddie speaks again.
“How long have you known? Or, thought, I guess,” he asks, drumming his ringed fingers on the steering wheel.
You don’t want to answer truthfully, but you’re too tired to lie. “Since last week.”
“Last week?” He slams on the break, instinctively putting an arm in front of you to protect you from injury. No matter that your seatbelt had been clicked in place since you’d sat down. “Shit, sorry.” He clears his throat. “Like, before the trip? Or…”
“On the bus ride home,” you clarify, shame seeping through every pore. It had seemed so natural to keep this information to yourself, but now you just feel stupid for not letting him in earlier. The baby–if there even is a baby–is his, too.
Eddie breathes out a long sigh, followed by silence until he poses yet another question. “Does anyone else know?”
“Yeah, I rented out a billboard in Times Square,” you quip before you can stop yourself. “Sorry, that was bitchy.” Maybe you’re just trying to fool yourself, but you swear you see a faint smile on his lips. “Um, no. Just you, Jess, and Robin.”
He nods. “Harris’s at Wayne’s, so it’ll only be us.” Eight days ago, that statement would be associated with passion; punctuated with a grab of your ass, a kiss to your neck, fingers gliding over your breast. Your heart lurches with longing, but you shove it deep down. That’s what got us into this whole mess, you remind yourself.
Still, his grip on the gearshift as he throws the car in park has you internally shouting for him to grasp your knee in the same manner. You’re moving in slow motion, providing him with ample time to get out and open your door for you.
“Thanks,” you whisper, but when he extends his hand to help you up, you fight the urge to accept it. Whatever the results of this test are, it doesn’t erase the fact that he’d said that parenthood was too much for you to handle. And you refuse to selfishly burden their family with your inadequacy.
Eddie rakes his fingers through his hair, casually playing off the rejection, but you don’t miss the brief pained expression in the scrunch of his nose.
Neither of you utter a word as you walk up to his apartment, your footsteps echoing throughout the stairwell. His hands are trembling so violently that he drops the key in front of his door; it lands on the floor with a tiny ping.
“Y’okay?” It’s an absurd question, but you’re unsure what else you can possibly say.
“Um, no,” he admits with a terse laugh. “I went into Rite Aid to get medicine and came out with a possibly pregnant…” He almost says girlfriend, but stops himself just in time. “So, yeah, I’m far from okay.”
He finally manages to open the door, pushing it open so you can go in first. You stand in the living room, feet glued to the floor. Your legs are weak beneath you, threatening to give out at any moment.
“I can’t do this,” you mumble, words catching in your throat. Your vision goes blurry with tears. “I just…” you trail off, shaking your head incredulously. “We were so careful, and the condom went and broke that one time…”
Eddie’s palm cups your chin delicately, calloused skin grazing smooth. “Listen to me.” His voice is calm despite his body brimming with nerves, “what’s done is done, okay? You’re either having my baby, or you’re not.” My baby, my baby, my baby. As he says it, his gaze flits down to your stomach. “But we have to know.”
You nod, unable to fully accept the weight of his words. “Do you have, like, a paper cup or something for me to pee in?”
“Yeah.” He shuffles over to the small linen closet next to the bathroom and grabs a Dixie cup from a stack. “Did you want me to go in with you, or wait out here…I, um, don’t really know the protocol.”
You manage a tiny laugh at his candor, despite the unfavorable circumstances that brought you back to his home. “You can just wait out here,” you tell him. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
Your heart skips a beat as you close the bathroom door, and lock it behind you. Eddie’s voice is muffled outside the door as he talks on the phone, ending the conversation with, “thanks, Old Man,” before you hear the soft click of the receiver being replaced on the hook.
You lay everything out on the countertop in front of you, scanning each object in disbelief. The words on the instruction sheet swim away, leaving only tidbits in their wake.
If two lines appear, this indicates a positive result. Call your doctor for further evaluation.
You read that line over and over. If two lines appear, you’re pregnant with your ex-boyfriend’s child. It’s going to take a lot more than an obstetrician to evaluate that chaos.
You pull down your pants, then your underwear, nestling the paper cup between your thighs. Eddie’s reminder replays in your head: what’s done is done.
It’s easier for him to say; it’s not his body, but the sentiment remains true. All you have to do now is find out exactly what you’ve done.
You gingerly drop the paper strip into the cup, watching as the control line begins to darken. The instructions advised you to wait twenty minutes for the results; according to the digital watch adorning your wrist, that will put you at 12:18 PM.
You don’t have to wait that long.
The familiar reddish tinge that stains the toilet paper is the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen. It almost seems too good to be true, so you take a fresh square and wipe again. This time, it’s even more pronounced.
An involuntary laugh that bubbles up from your throat, scaring even yourself. You can hear Eddie outside the door, stumbling over his feet to stand.
“Wh-What’s going on? What happened?” His hands twist the knob with no success. “Can I come in?”
“Y-Yeah,” you manage, smiling so wide you can barely speak, “I just got my period.”
There’s a long pause, then, “like…now?”
“Right now. At this very second,” you confirm, sending you into a fresh fit of giggles. You grab a tampon from your bag with far too much enthusiasm, unlocking the door once you’ve washed your hands and put yourself back together.
“We can still wait for the result, if you want,” you tell him. A strand of hair falls in front of his eyes when he nods in agreement; without thinking, you brush it away. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” you mumble. You feel yourself shrink inwards, palpably embarrassed of the intimacy of your slip-up.
“Do it again.”
Your brow furrows in confusion. “What?”
“Do it again,” he repeats, and when your fingertips make contact with his hair, gently tucking it behind his ear, his own hand slides into place against your cheek. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”
You say nothing, letting your body language speak for you in the slight upward tilt of your head as your lips find his, noses almost colliding in haste. Your hand slips down to his bicep as you accept his touch, parting your lips to allow his tongue to enter while your own breathy moan exits.
The sound has him tugging you closer, grabbing the hem of your shirt and inadvertently pinching a bit of skin in his hurry. The sudden twinge of pain snaps you out of the moment, and you take a step back.
“We can’t…” You take a deep breath, gathering the thoughts that have been jumbled by his touch. “We’re not together anymore,” you finish dumbly, cracks splintering through your heart as you hear it aloud. Not together.
Eddie’s voice is hardly above a whisper. “I know.” But his thumb traces over the plush of your lips in memorization. “Can I ask you something before you go?”
You contemplate it, rolling it over your tongue and finally relenting when you remember you’re still waiting for the official test result. “Sure.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” There’s hurt in his voice, and more than a hint of anger, though you certainly can’t blame him.
“I didn’t want to worry you in case it was nothing…which it was,” you hastily add, needing to hold on to the lightness of the false alarm.
“No, I’m not talking about that,” he rebuts, continuing when you cock your head in confusion. “Why didn’t you tell me that taking care of Harris was too much for you?” Realization floods his body, carefully curated thoughts giving way to a horrified stream of consciousness. “Or was I too much?”
Bewilderment raises your eyebrows. “I never said that taking care of Harris was too much for me. You did.”
“Me?” He scoffs, pushing his body back with a slight bend at the hips, hands shoved into his pants pockets, rings peeking out over their seams. “No, I didn’t. I asked you, and you never gave a straight answer. Any answer, really.”
You think back to that confrontation, trying to remember the inflection in his voice: ‘s too much for you, isn’t it? In your insecurity-laden state, you’d assumed that it was a declaration of your shortcomings; now, you’re able to see what he’d actually meant.
He was trying to reach out, his own self-doubts bleeding through, but you were so consumed with all of the ways you’d failed him and Harris that you couldn’t see it.
“I…” Your brain is scrambled, unable to catch a single thought. You inhale for three, lungs expanding under your ribcage. The exhale is slower; you need all the time you can to collect yourself. “I messed up so badly…the donut…the elevator…the market…”
Spots dance across your vision as your breathing becomes more rapid and shallow. All you can picture is Eddie’s fear when Harris ran off; your chest is heavy with the same sinking feeling that as when you’d turned around and he was missing.
Your legs wobble beneath you, no longer attached to your body, but a separate entity.
Eddie’s voice is an echo in a tunnel, loud but far away. “I got you,” you hear him say as he leads you to the couch. Your feet move robotically, left right left right until you’re sitting on the lumpy cushion, the same one you’d gotten well acquainted with on that fateful August night.
Donut—elevator—market. Donut—elevator—market. An internal chant that served as a reminder of your failures. “I’m right here, okay? ‘M not going anywhere.” The couch dips a bit as he sits next to you. He hesitates for a split second before his hand is making small, concentric circles on your upper back.
Safety’s warmth crawls in as your physical and psychological worlds slowly merge. You’re in Eddie’s apartment, on his couch, next to him.
“Eddie…” you croak out, but he silences you with a shake of his head.
“Let me talk for a second. Please.” He sighs, not out of impatience, but as a means of gathering his thoughts. “You…you’re everything I ever wanted for myself and for my son. And, I’m gonna be real honest with you here, that scares the shit outta me.” A peal of disbelieving laughter accompanies his confession. “I shouldn’t have had you take him to the playground by yourself or leave you alone with him at the market. Not,” he hurriedly adds, ‘because of you, but because, sometimes, he needs the supervision of two people.” His hand drops from your back and lands on your own fingers, splayed on the couch next to him. “I think I just got so excited that I finally wasn’t parenting solo, y’know? And I relied on you too much.”
You wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand. “You’re supposed to rely on me,” you counter. “That’s what partners do.”
“Yeah, well, maybe if I wasn’t acting like such a dick, you could’ve told me you felt overwhelmed. Partners tell each other those kinds of things, too.”
“You’re not a dick because you got upset that I lost Harris.” You roll your eyes, not wanting him to downplay his own emotions just to protect yours.
Eddie clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Maybe not,” he acquiesces, ‘but I was a dick when you bought him a donut in the morning, like it was the worst thing that kid’s ever eaten for breakfast.” You both smile at that, knowing full well that Eddie’s had to bribe his son with a Pop-Tart on more than one occasion. “And then you took him to the playground without me even having to ask, just so I could get some rest. And don’t even start in with me about the Great Elevator Meltdown of 1997, because we both know he just would’ve flipped out about something else.” He scoots a millimeter closer to you, wanting to bridge the gap between your bodies without barging past any boundaries. “He was tired and in a new place away from home. A tantrum was damn near inevitable.”
As much as you’d like to wallow in self-pity, you know that it’s true.
“Speaking of the playground,” he continues, “all I heard about for the rest of the weekend was how much fun he had with you.” He throws his voice up an octave to mimic Harris’s tone. “I had the BEST TIME with Ms. Sweetheart! She pushed me on the swing SO HIGH!”
The corners of your mouth tug upwards at the memory. “He said that?”
“Mhm,” Eddie nods, contemplating the next piece of information to divulge. “He, uh, also told me that you love me. Not a little, but a lot.” You watch as the tips of his ears turn scarlet, visible even underneath his layers of curls. “Not sure if that still stands.”
You let your knee gently knock into his, a sliver of an olive branch. “Do you want it to?”
“So fucking much.” It’s a plea, breathy and desperate. “I love you, too.”
You crack a small smile before teasing, “A little, or a lot?”
A ridiculous amount, he thinks. I wake up thinking about you, go to sleep thinking about you, and most of my day in-between is spent thinking about you, too. “A lot, baby. More than I ever thought I could.” His gaze doesn’t leave your lips, chocolate brown eyes drawing you in closer. “Before we…I just need to know. For Harris and for me.” He rubs his palms on his denim-clad thighs, hoping to push away his nerves. “Being in it for the long haul…is that what you want? Because if it’s not, I can’t…y’know…”
You know. You know he can’t muddle through a relationship that has a certain expiration date. You know he can’t bring you into his son’s life any more than he already has if you don’t plan to stick around.
“I’m in it for the long haul,” you tell him, relaxing as a smile overrides the anxiety previously etched into his features. “I’m just scared that I’ll fuck it all up. That I can’t be a good mom to Harris.” You realize too late what you just implied, but judging by Eddie’s unwavering expression, it’s unlikely that this is the first time he’s thought about you filling that position. “At the playground, um,” you fidget with your fingers, suddenly entranced by the ridges of your knuckles, “Harris said that he wants me to be his mommy, but you and Wayne told him not to ask me yet.”
Eddie squeezes his eyes shut and clenches his fist before flexing his fingers, rings gleaming in the lamplight. “And that freaked you out?” he supplies, noticeably shocked when you refute his assumption with a shake of your head.
“Not in the way you think,” you say, gnawing on your inner cheek. “He was just so excited, and I started thinking–”
“That was your first mistake,” he jokes, wincing overdramatically when you swat at his chest.
“I started thinking,” you continue, throwing him a playful glare, “that he’d eventually be let down by me, that you’d eventually be let down by me, and that both of you would regret ever meeting me.”
His face falls at your admission, eyes losing their sparkle as he recognizes your fear. He’s been there: anxious about not living up to Harris’s expectations; the inevitable fall from grace when he realizes his dad is flying by the seat of his pants when it comes to parenting. Yes, he knows the feeling all too well, and it shatters his heart that it weighs on you, too. And the fact that you hadn’t told him–hadn’t felt like you could tell him–forms a knot in his gut.
“Baby,” he murmurs. The warmth of his palms envelops your face as he rests them on your cheeks. “Oh, my sweet girl. Don’t you know that that will never happen?” He sighs at your downcast eyes. “I need to tell you a secret, but you have to promise you won’t get weird about it.”
That captures your attention. What does he mean by ‘weird’? Angry? Annoyed? Scared? “What?” you ask, extending the word with an abundance of caution.
“When you told me you might be pregnant…the thought of being responsible for another kid fuckin’ terrified me. But not,” he swallows, a huff of air sufficing for an incredulous laugh, “not the thought of having one with you.”
Your eyes widen, eyebrows practically reaching the edge of your hairline. His unspoken words reverberate in your head: I’m not scared of parenting with you. I’m not scared of whatever journey lies ahead, as long as you’re beside me. I’m not scared of loving you.
Without warning, you press your lips to his. Tangled, messy curls find their way into your fists as you draw nearer to each other in a blur of hands and mouths. Though he’d kissed you only moments earlier, Eddie treats this one like a novelty; a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
To your chagrin, he abruptly breaks the kiss. “Wait right here.” You scrunch your nose as he dashes into his room. You can hear him rummaging through drawers, swearing loudly before slamming it shut and jogging back to the sofa.
“This,” he announces, holding out a small paper bag, “is the reason I asked you to watch Harris at the market.”
You take it, curiosity sufficiently piqued by the air of mystery. Tipping it slightly, you feel a delicate chain snake into your palm. Dangling from the center is a tiny heart pendant.
“Wanted it to be a surprise,” Eddie explains, trying to gauge your expression. “I know it’s not, like, the fanciest jewelry. There’s no diamond or any—”
“I love it.” And you do. God, you do. You quickly bring it to your neck, fumbling with the clasp for a half-second before you feel his strong fingers atop your own.
“I got it,” he murmurs, and you shift slightly to give him a better vantage point.
He adjusts the heart so it’s centered just below your collarbone, lingering a beat longer than necessary before pulling away. “Perfect.” He clears his throat and offers an apologetic smile as he ruefully adds, “I have to get to Wayne’s and give Harris his medicine,” he explains, nodding towards the paper bag on his countertop.
“Eddie!”
“What?”
You laugh, fingers dancing across the prickled stubble along his angular jaw. “You should’ve told me that Harris was sick!” This whole time, you’d just assumed he’d been on a playdate, but now you have an explanation as to why Eddie was in the pharmacy and who the medication is for.
“It’s an ear infection,” Eddie says nonchalantly, standing up and stretching his back. “Besides, when I told Wayne that you were here—I didn’t tell him why, don’t worry,” he throws in for good measure, “he said, and I quote, ‘don’t come back here until you make things right with your girl.’”
Your girl. You’re still Eddie’s girl. “We probably should check on the test before we go.” It’s been soaking in the cup of urine for twenty-three minutes. Padding to the bathroom, you double, triple, and quadruple check the singular pink line. Not a second one in sight, and you breathe out a sigh of relief before cheerfully announcing. “Officially negative!”
Eddie’s still fixated on one word. “You, um, wanna come with me?”
“If that’s okay.” Feeling out boundaries, a toe timidly dipped into the water.
“‘Course it’s okay. Fuck, ‘m just so happy you’re mine again. Missed my girl so much.” He plants a wet kiss on your forehead. “Harris is gonna be so happy to see you.”
Happy might be too strong a word to describe Harris’s reaction when you walk through the door of Wayne’s trailer, squeaking hinges waking him from a restless sleep.
“Ms. Sweetheart?” His voice is thick with grogginess and disbelief. “What’re you doing here?” He clumsily wipes his eyes with his little fists, sweaty from fevered sleep.
You sit next to him on the couch, pushing his sweat-logged curls from his face. “Just came to check on you. I heard my favorite Munson wasn’t feeling well.”
Harris giggles, delighted to be so highly ranked. “Yeah, I got an ear ‘fection. But I just gotta take medicine for it and it’ll go away.”
“Got it right here.” Eddie holds up the bag. “Did you eat anything?”
Harris looks over at his grandfather, not yet awake enough to answer the question.
“Had some toast and jelly right before his nap. ‘Bout…half an hour ago?” Wayne confirms.
Eddie nods, taking the bottle of amoxicillin out of the paper bag and giving it a good shake. You watch as he unscrews the cap and meticulously pours the medicine just to the dosage line. “Here ya go, Har Bear,” he says, walking over to the sofa where his son is half-sitting, half laying. “This’ll make you feel better, okay?”
That’s not a strong enough sell for Harris, who promptly crosses his arms over his chest, wrinkles his nose, and shakes his head in protest. “Yuck.”
“C’mon, please?” Eddie’s face falls in desperation and exhaustion at his son’s refusal. “It’s bubblegum fl–”
“No!” The ferocity in Harris’s objection could rattle the entire trailer.
You take Eddie’s hand and squeeze it reassuringly. “Can he have a cookie?” you whisper in his ear, hopefully low enough that Harris can’t overhear.
“What?” There’s no way you’re going to reward his behavior with a treat, right?
“Just trust me.”
He can do that. “I think Wayne keeps some in the pantry.”
Sure enough, you find an open package of Oreos, the same off-brand kind that Eddie had brought over on Thanksgiving, right on the top shelf. You slide the plastic shell from the case and pull out a cookie, carefully breaking it in half over the sink to avoid spraying crumbs all over the floor.
“Hey, Har, can I tell you my secret trick?” Harris perks up a bit at this, though he doesn’t give an outright answer. “Okay, so you take the medicine, and then you pop the cookie in your mouth super fast so you barely taste it.”
He considers this, mulling it over silently before warily agreeing and holding out his hand. Eddie gives him the medicine-filled cap and holds his breath that your trick will work.
Harris takes the medicine in one grimacing gulp, and as soon as he swallows it down, you give him half of the cookie. “Go, go, go!” you chant excitedly, grinning as he shoves the treat in his mouth, assessing whether it successfully masked the chalky aftertaste.
“Well?” you ask earnestly, heart beating in your chest as you await the outcome.
Harris purses his lips in contemplation, fueling your anxiety. After what seems like decades, he returns your smile tenfold, cookie crumbs wedged between his teeth.
“I did it!” he chirps with a level of enthusiasm that has you and Eddie doubting he’s even sick. “I like that trick.”
You feel Eddie’s arm snake around your waist as he grabs your side in appreciation. “You can have the other half when you take the next dose,” you tell the little boy, lovingly ruffling his curls. “C’mon, let’s get you home so Grampa can get some rest before work.”
The laugh lines around Wayne’s eyes crease in gratitude as Eddie scoops his son into his arms and thanks his uncle for the childcare. You grab the medicine bottle with the hand not holding the Oreo half, echo Eddie’s statement, and close the door behind you.
Eddie buckles Harris in and starts the car, peering through his rearview mirror while the engine grumbles to life. “Y’good back there, Har?”
“Mhm.” There’s a solid ten seconds of silence before he speaks again. “Ms. Sweetheart?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you tell me a story? Like a made-up one from your head?”
“Sure.” You lean back into the seat, thinking of a plot that will last until you get dropped off at your place.
“Once upon a time,” you begin, donning your best narrator voice, “in a tiny little village, there lived three princes who were fighting to be the village’s next king. The villagers didn’t know how to choose between them; after all, they loved all three princes dearly—”
“Daddy’s turn!” Harris interrupts, pointing at Eddie, hands clapping together in gleeful anticipation for the game he’s created.
“Uh, okay,” Eddie stammers, clearly caught off-guard by the request. “So instead of doing a normal vote, the villagers decided to have them battle the evil, ugly troll that lived up on the hill.”
“Now, Ms. Sweetheart!”
“Each prince would try and defeat the troll, and whoever won would be king,” you continue the story, improvising as you go. “The princes packed up their shields and swords—”
“Daddy!”
“And rode their horses up the hill until they reached the troll’s house.” Eddie’s eyes sparkle with a mischievous glimmer as he adds, “but when they got there, the troll refused the typical duel. Instead, he insisted on battling the only way he knew how: a competition of throwing balls into laundry baskets.”
Harris cackles at this but doesn’t ask you to take over, so Eddie keeps talking. “The princes were like, ‘um, this isn’t what we prepared for,’ but the hideous, grotesque troll didn’t care.”
“Ms. Sweetheart!”
You have no idea where this story is headed, but Harris is having the time of his life, so you plunge along. “The troll bared his teeth and hissed to try and frighten the princes, but it didn’t work. They each picked up the ball and tossed it into the laundry baskets, easy-peasy lemon squeezy.” You pause there to see if Harris calls on Eddie, but he doesn’t make a peep. “The troll was so surprised at their skills that—”
This time, Eddie doesn’t wait for his son’s instruction and takes the story over. “—that he stumbled backwards off of the edge of the hill, plummeting into the piranha-infested waters below. The end,” he finishes proudly.
Your jaw drops in disbelief. “Eddie!” you hiss, clapping a hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle. “You’re gonna traumatize the poor kid!”
“Nah,” he shakes his head, not even bothering to mask his laughter. “He’s out like a light.”
Sure enough, you twist around in your seat to see Harris sound asleep, head tilted against the headrest and mouth agape. A speck of drool collects in the corner of his lips, but he remains undisturbed.
“Medicine must’ve kicked in,” you agree, shifting back to look out your window. The trees flourish with leaves in various shades of green, a colorful promise replacing winter’s barrenness. Hawkins may not be the picturesque postcard town, but there is still some beauty in it.
“Yeah, about that.” Eddie’s brown eyes dance as he steals a glimpse of you before returning his attention to the road. “Do me a favor, ‘kay? Never worry about your parenting skills again.”
Your brows furrow in confusion for a brief moment. “Oh, you mean the trick?”
Eddie nods, tongue unconsciously swiping over his suddenly dry lips.
“That’s just something Grandma did to get me to take medicine as a kid,” you shrug. “She usually gave us Nilla Wafers, but it looks like Oreos make a worthy substitute.”
He doesn’t respond to that directly, simply rests a hand on your lower thigh just above your knee, the hangnail on his thumb scratches against your cotton sweatpants as he tenderly rubs the spot. “It’s okay if you’re not ready to officially take on the ‘mom’ role in his life,” he starts, even and reassuring, “but whenever you are? God, you’re gonna be the fuckin’ best.” He pauses for a beat before adding, “Y’already are.”
With Harris still snoozing in his booster seat, you press a kiss to Eddie’s jawline, just below his earlobe. Your nose smushes into his cheek, tickled by the stubble of a few days of missed shaving. It will take more than a compliment to quell your anxiety, but you refuse to ignore the way it ignites a small fire within you. Self-assurance is a flame, soft and flickering, burning from the inside out. Insecurity is a rigid block of ice, one that has been poking at you for years, but it begins melting against the blooming bundle of warmth.
Wednesday’s post-tutoring pizza party had an extra guest this week. Wayne helps himself to a pepperoni slice, humming some Bob Dylan to himself as he brings his plate to the table. Harris eagerly climbs into his lap, heaving a dramatic sigh as he plops down and steals his grandfather’s pizza slice. His ear infection has cleared up, thanks to the amoxicillin and your cooke trick.
“Hey!” Wayne barks out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “What’re you doing?”
Ever unfazed, Harris works on a mouthful of mozzarella cheese. “Eating,” he replies nonchalantly, a dot of sauce staining his nose. He barely swallows his giant bite before starting on another.
You giggle, handing Wayne a new slice before sliding into the chair next to Eddie’s. “I’m really glad you could have dinner with us tonight,” you tell the older man before tucking into your meal. Wayne had decided to cut back to part-time at the plant, citing older age and the desire to spend more time with his grandson, leaving his Wednesday evenings wide open.
Eddie’s the only one who hasn’t started eating yet, too busy soaking in the sight in front of him. He’s sitting around a table with his son, his father figure, and his girlfriend. The three people he loves more than anything in the world. He watches as Wayne presses a kiss to Harris’s messy curls, the little boy giggling into his piece of pizza. He watches as you lean over to wipe the sauce off of Harris’s nose with a napkin, shrieking happily when he sticks out his tongue and licks the side of your hand. “Gotcha, Ms. Sweetheart!” the little boy cackles, but while he’s distracted in his victory, you manage to clean his face.
This is happiness in its purest, most unfettered form. Maybe it won’t always be this easy, but he realizes now that he’s willing to fight like hell to get through the hard times if it means having more of these moments.
“Eds?” your soft, inquiring voice tugs him from his thoughts. “You feeling okay?” Your fingertips find his under the table, concerned by his preoccupation.
“‘M good,” he reassures you, holding your hand and using the other to fold his slice. Once again, the room is filled with silly banter and kind conversation.
Yeah, he’s good.
You expect the three Munsons to leave altogether, so when Wayne tells Eddie that he can take care of Harris for the evening, you’re caught off-guard.
This apparently deviates from Eddie’s plan, too, because he cocks his brow at his uncle. “Y’sure, Old Man?”
“Sure as sh—sugar,” Wayne says, catching himself at the last second. He scratches at the whiskers on his chin, an itchy reminder to pick up some new disposable razors at Melvald’s. “What good’s all this free time if I don’t spend it with my grandson?” He holds out his hand and Harris takes it eagerly.
“Bye, Daddy! Bye, Ms. Sweetheart!” he chirps, already pulling Wayne towards the door.
“Hold on,” Eddie pipes up, forehead creased in feigned agitation. “Let me give you a kiss goodbye.” His jaw drops when Harris shakes his head in defiance; this time, he’s genuinely shocked.
“I want a squish kiss. From you an’ Ms. Sweetheart.” Harris tells him, eyes darting between the two of you.
You turn to Eddie, feeling like you’re missing a crucial piece of this puzzle. “What’s a squish kiss?” you ask quietly, but Harris still manages to overhear.
“‘S when Daddy kisses one cheek, an’ you kiss the other!” he informs you, clapping his hands together giddily. “An’ it squishes my face, like thith.” The last word is obscured with a lips when he pushes his cheeks together to emphasize his point.
You walk over to him and crouching down to his level. “I can definitely do a squish kiss,” you say, wincing slightly when he excitedly squeals in your ear.
Eddie counts down from his other side. “Squish kiss incoming in three…two…one!” Leaning in simultaneously, you both feel the apples of Harris’s cheeks as he smiles, giggling again when you and Eddie pull back with an exaggerated, mwah!
“Now we gotta give Ms. Sweetheart a squish kiss!” the little boy announces. Heat creeps up your neck, and you silently place the ball in Eddie’s court. Before this, he’d always been cognizant to avoid displays of affection in front of his son. And while you’re not opposed to getting a squish kiss from them, you don’t want to put any unnecessary pressure on him.
“You heard the man.” Eddie’s response is near-immediate, wasting no time directing Harris to your left side and shuffling in closer to you. “Count us down, Har.”
“Three…two…one!” Harris smushes his whole face into yours, little nose pressing into your cheek before his lips can. Eddie’s contribution is much less aggressive, but there’s ample love in both kisses.
Satisfied with his handiwork, Harris skips back to his grandpa. Wayne just throws Eddie a wink as he grabs his car keys from the hook and closes the door behind him.
Eddie puts his hands up in surrender when you turn to him, the sounds of his uncle’s and son’s respective footsteps gradually diminishing as they walk down the hall.
“I swear, I didn’t ask Wayne to take care of Harris tonight,” he says with a laugh, looping his pointer finger across his chest to make an X over his heart. Lithe fingertips broach your waist, drawing you closer into him. “Not that I’m complaining, though…”
“Me either,” you murmur, lips finding their way to his collarbone, sucking so harshly that they threaten to leave a bruise. Your own fingers fumble to unbuckle his belt; a difficult feat considering your eyes are watching the vein that runs along his neck, beckoning you to mark it next. You crave the thrill of make-up sex, to allow hunger and desire to fuel your every move.
You grimace at the cool sensation of his rings against the bare skin of your stomach, a painful reminder of one frustrating barrier. “Fuck, my period,” you grumble, taking a small step back. He doesn’t let you go far; instead, he grabs your ass and pulls you towards him. “Eds,” you whine, trying to focus on your words rather than the way he’s beginning to strain against his pants zipper, “did you hear what I said?”
Eddie nods, tongue prodding at your mouth so he can kiss you deeply. “We can put down a towel,” he mumbles into you.
You sigh, wanting nothing more than to have him inside you, quelling the fierce ache settling between your legs, but it seems like Mother Nature is making up for the two weeks she’d lagged behind. Still, you don’t want to leave your boyfriend turned on without any reprieve; he’s practically quivering with anticipation to explore you already.
“C’mere,” you whisper in his ear, though it’s wholly unnecessary given his absurdly close proximity. You hook your forefinger into his waistband and lead him to your bedroom. “Pants off,” you order, and he obeys without hesitation, exposing plaid boxers that fail to constrain his hardening length.
You give him a little shove onto the bed, sensing his heart beat faster underneath your palms. Locking onto his widened eyes, you straddle his waist as he sets himself up against the pillows.
“Can I ask you a question?” You nibble on his earlobe, grinning when a shiver courses through his body.
“A-Anything,” Eddie manages, hissing when your clothed core drags over his tented shorts, the newfound pressure only weakening his resolve.
You hum your approval. “What do you think about when you touch yourself?”
His breath hitches, hands clamping down on your hips so possessively that his fingerprints might be etched into your skin. “You,” he whispers. “Always you.”
“What about me?” You wrap a curly lock of hair around your finger and give it a playful tug. “What do you picture me doing? Or what are you doing to me?”
“Fuck.” He starts to palm himself over the fabric but you swat his hand away.
“You tell me, and I’ll make you feel so good.” Your fingers tug at the elastic band until his cock springs free. He’s mouthwateringly hard, but you don’t allow yourself to taste him. Instead, you wrap your hand around the base, lean over, and spit directly onto the tip. “‘M ready when you are, baby.”
He needs a moment to collect himself, to allow his mind to create coherent thoughts. It takes too long, apparently, because he hears you softly snicker.
“Cat got your tongue?”
And, fuck, all of the blood in his body rushes south at that. He’s reminded of the dream he’d had all those months ago; the one that catapulted his feelings from schoolboy crush to full-blown lovesickness. Dream You had said the same thing.
“At work,” he croaks, twisting his fists into your bedsheets, desperate for your hand to glide up and down his shaft, “you surprise me a-and suck me off behind the counter, and a c-customer walks in.”
“And then I stop, right?” you tease, thumb swiping at the pre-cum pooling at his slit. “I let you attend to the customer because I’m a good girl?”
“N-No.” Eddie furiously shakes his head. “You k-keep going; such a bad f-fuckin’ girl. Keep your pretty little lips wrapped a-around me.”
You finally relent, giving him what he wants, and he bucks into your hand with a groan. His fantasies flow freely now with each stroke. “Once he leaves, I grab you, spin you around, and–f-fuck–flip your little skirt up.”
“Am I wearing anything under this little skirt?” you coo, tightening your grip on his cock.
He shakes his head, curls already beginning to stick to his temples with light perspiration. “Not a thing. J-Just on display f’me.” He sucks in a harsh breath as he moves you so you’re sitting next to him, knees grazing one another. He quickly shifts to unbutton your jeans, meticulously working the button like he’s opening the gift of his dreams. “And only me.”
“Eddie, I–”
“Gotta touch you,” he mumbles. The way your panties cling to your cunt makes it easy for him to find your clit through the fabric. “Gonna lose my fuckin’ mind if I don’t touch you.”
And, God, you might lose your mind if he does. His nimble fingers rub your sweet spot, a delicious friction created by your underwear. Desire oozes from his pores, only heightening when you whimper at his touch.
“Don’t worry, sweet girl,” Eddie’s voice is low in his chest, “‘m gonna make you feel good, too.” He pushes your panties to the side; the cool air hitting your pussy makes you shiver.
“Wish you were inside me right now,” you moan, almost drooling just thinking about being stretched open as he pushes into you. “You always fill me up perfectly.”
His cock twitches at your words, and you take the initiative to quicken your pace. “Is that what you think about?” he asks, groaning in pleasure when you lean in to spit on his dick again, saliva messily snaking down his shaft and nestling in the thatch of curls on his pelvis. “Y’think about me filling you up?”
“Mhm.”
“M-Me too, Princess. Want to fuck you full of my cum.” Eddie leans back onto the headboard. “You’d look s’good filled with my cum.”
Your widened eyes and the way your stroking motions end abruptly inform him that that was not the response you’d been expecting.
“Shit, I—”
You recover from the shock remarkably fast. “Yeah? You’d like that?” You resume your pace, fist sliding up and down his length, paying special attention to the overstimulated head. Your breath tickles his ear as you whisper, “tell me about it.”
He’s suddenly shy, softening slightly in your hand. “You sure?” His gaze shifts to your lower stomach; only a few short days ago, there was the possibility of you carrying his child there. “‘S not weird?”
You shake your head, trailing kisses down the side of his throat. “Tell me about it,” you repeat with a bit more charge, inciting him to let go. “I want to know all of your fantasies, Eddie.”
His name is so pretty coming from your lips, accompanied by a gentle smile. “Never thought about it until you,” he admits, the weight of anxiety lifted at your insistence, and you feel his length begin stiffening once more. “Keeping you bent over, coming inside your perfect little pussy, and fucking it all back into you so it…” he trails off, still too sheepish to compete the sentence.
But you have no problem with finishing it. “So it sticks?” you ask innocently, as though you have no idea what the mere utterance of that phrase will do to him. He nods, unable to speak. “Do you think about everyone knowing what you do to me? Hmm?”
There’s so much that he wants to say, but he swears there’s no blood flowing anywhere but his cock. “You’d look fuckin’ gorgeous havin’ my baby,” he manages, mind filled with images of you in maternity dresses, bump pressed against his stomach as you kiss him deeply.
There’s further implications; namely, that he wants you and only you to bear his children, which you quickly make a mental note to unpack at a less sensual time. For now, you focus on taking his words at face value. “Bet you’d show me off everywhere we went. Wouldn’t keep your hands off of me.”
“Can barely keep them off of you now,” he says, finger circling your aching clit to prove his point, “but seeing you pregnant with our kid…” He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years, enveloping your busy hand with his free one, wrapping it around his erection and moving it faster. “Jus’ like that, fuck, sweet girl. Tell me what gets you goin’ now, yeah?” When you bite your lip apprehensively, he sighs. “Don’t be shy; I know you’ve been holding back on me.”
“Okay, okay,” you acquiesce with a knowing smile, “I think about you taking control. Just…using me however you want.”
Your toes curl as he rubs faster, clearly just as turned on as you are. “Y’need me to boss you around? Treat you like my little toy?”
“Mmm,” you agree, settling into the mattress. “Want you to choke me, too.”
His eyebrows raise at this, and his lips soon curl into a mischievous smirk. “Come ride my thigh an’ tell me more.” He pats his leg, his gaze never leaving your body as you reposition yourself to straddle it. You keep your hand on his member, spitting on it once again while moving your hips back and forth. “Take what you need, baby.”
“Need you,” you moan, the cotton fabric of your panties dragging along him. “Need you to decide if I come…” It’s a delectable thought: Eddie pounding you into the mattress, reminding you that good girls take what they’re given, and nothing more. Quieting all of the noise in your head. Day after day, you’re supposed to make choices for others; some major, some minor. All you want is for someone to tell you what to do.
Eddie’s rings are cold on your neck, giving it a hesitant squeeze. “That good?” His eyes are kind but fiery, willing you to beg for it.
“More; more, please.” And give you more he does, only stopping when you cough. “‘S good now.” Words barely audible between his tight grip and your own descent into submission.
But Eddie hears you loud and clear, voice firm when he orders: “Come with me. Don’t wanna come without you.” He’s pulsing in your grasp. “An’ if you don’t come now, don’t even think about trying to get yourself off later.”
Relief floods you as the coil snaps, his dominance scratching an itch too often left untouched. You come with a cry of his name, feeling his own hot release coating your hand. You’re both giggling and gasping for breaths as you float down from your respective highs, lips crashing together in sloppy, needing kisses.
“I love you so much,” Eddie mumbles into you, blindly reaching for the Kleenex box atop your nightstand. “I’ve never trusted anyone like this before.” He wipes your hand clean before brushing his thumb across your lower lip.
“Me either.” You kiss him again, tongues mingling before you confess, “for the record, the thought of having a baby is a little less scary when it’s yours. Someday,” you add for good measure.
Eddie smiles, cocking his head and looking up at you like you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. “I can live with ‘someday.’”
The school week draws to a close on Friday. Coming back from a break is never easy; the kids act like they’ve never been to school before. Just nine days out of the classroom and you’re fairly certain they’ve lost the ability to stay seated for more than ten seconds at a time.
Will is cleaning the tables with Clorox wipes, washing away crayon residue and softly whistling to himself. You’re filing away some paperwork, scrawling For Monday on a Post-It note and sticking it on top of a stack of handwriting practice worksheets.
There’s a light tap on your classroom door followed by an enthused voice.
“Ms. Sweetheart?”
You look up to see Harris and Eddie standing in the doorway. Harris excitedly waves you over, holding a piece of construction paper tight to his chest.
Eddie clears his throat, hands tucked into his back pocket. “Harris has something for you,” he says softly. His eyes light up when he notices the heart necklace that drapes over your collarbone. “Go ‘head, Har Bear,” he encourages his son with a tiny nudge.
“Um, well,” Harris starts, uncharacteristically nervous, “I know you’re still just my almost-mommy, but Ms. Marion had us make cards for Mother’s Day. An’ we learned that mommies love their babies, an’ take care of them when they’re sick, an’ cheer them up when they’re sad, an’ read to them, an’ play with them–”
“Har,” Eddie prods gently, not wanting him to lose himself in a tangent.
“Oh, yeah. An’ I don’t have a mommy-mommy yet, but you do all those things for me, so I wanted to give you this.” He hands you the paper. Two handprints, one pink and one purple, serve as flowers in a pot.
One of the teachers–Marion or Paula–has neatly written at the top, Thanks for helping me grow! and Mother’s Day 1997 on the bottom. In the pot, Harris has printed his name.
“I love it,” you manage, blinking away the tears that spring to your eyes. “It’s the best card I’ve ever gotten.”
Harris wraps his arms around you in a hug, and you embrace him with everything you have. When you look up at Eddie, he grins and mouths, thank you.
You just smile back, feeling as though you should be thanking him. Thank him for allowing you into his little family, for letting you make mistakes, for being there to help you fix them. Thank him for that fire inside you, burning a bit brighter each day, reminding you that this is where you belong.
--
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