Page 2 of The Marriage Policy
I can’t help but smile…and feel so lucky. Everyone should have an Eric. I still don’t know why I got blessed enough to have one. “I’m so glad you think I’m infinitely cooler than I am.”
“But—”
“It’s not fair to everyone else. They made plans and bought gifts, and think about all the supplies your mom got.”
He sighs, and I know I have him.
“Fine, but I’m coming over right after. I can sleep over.”
“You don’t have to. We’re having a sleepover next weekend for my birthday.” It’s wild but our birthdays are only a week apart.
“I know I don’t have to, but I want to.”
“I’m not gonna be much fun.”
“You’re always fun, D.”
I roll my eyes. “Liar.”
“I’ll see you soon, okay?” he says, and emotion clogs up my chest.
“Okay. Bye.” I end the call before he can tell I’m upset.
I don’t want to miss his party. I don’t want to miss half the things I have to miss. I just want to be normal.
I curl onto my side and do my best not to cry.
Eventually, I fall asleep, then wake up and have nothing to do and end up going back to sleep again. Both my parents call to check on me. I pretend I’m not so…sad. Sad that I’m a burden on my family and on Eric.
I don’t know what time it is when there’s a knock on my door, and then it slowly pushes open.
“D? You awake?” I smile at the sound of Eric’s voice.
“Yeah.” I smell cheese and tomatoes before I see the pizza box in his hands.
“Double pepperoni and sausage, just how you like it.”
He knows I didn’t eat much today. We keep small things in my mini fridge, but I didn’t have much of an appetite.
My stomach growls in response.
“Holy shit. I heard that all the way over here.” He laughs, closes the door behind him, then sits on my bed. His floppy blond hair bounces when he does. Eric’s taller than me, more muscular too, with fair, white skin and bright blue eyes. “How are you feeling?”
When I try to sit up, he attempts to help, but I shake it off. “I can do it myself. I need to do it myself.”
“Okay. Sure, D,” he replies, and pretends not to pay attention to how long it takes to maneuver myself so I’m sitting with my back against the headboard.
While I’m doing that, he grabs two slices from the box and puts them on a paper plate for me before grabbing two for himself. Then he gets Cokes out of the fridge.
“How was the party?”
“Eh. It was all right. Wanna watch a movie?”
“Don’t do that. I don’t want you to stop yourself from telling me about your day because you don’t want me to feel sad. I hate that. I don’t want to be pitied.” My gaze darts away, my voice full of vulnerability.
“Okay. It was really fun. We played a lot of games, and I brought you cake too. It’s in the kitchen. You’ll never guess what happened.”
“What?” I ask, taking a bite of my food.
