Eric simply smiled where he was on the couch.
Whatever you want doll. You're eating for three, right?"
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Eric sighed as he walked to the door of their place. The night before, at about two in the morning, Cleo had woken him up, begging him to get pickles & rocky road ice cream. He'd raced out to the store, buying two gallons of ice cream and four jars of doll pickle spears, just like her made sure she wanted; he'd been informed of how important specificity was to a pregnant woman. He'd bought so much planning on having extra for the next time. Instead, she had inhaled all of it, then started screaming at him when she ran out, claiming 'If you didn't know that this wouldn't be enough, you obviously don't love me!' Eric had tied to apologize, then she accused him of patronizing her and locked herself in the bathroom for nearly an hour. Towards the end, Eric had decided to just go back to bed and let her calm down. A bit later she'd crawled into bed, crying apologizing profusely, and by the time Eric had finally gotten her calmed down, he managed about a half hour of sleep before he had to go to work. Cleo called in sick, feeling extremely nauseous (which he was sure had nothing to do with eating two gallons of ice cream & four jars of pickles).
He'd kissed her goodbye and assured her that they were okay (which they were), as was the pact that they had made after Lebanon. And he was okay, although a bit sleep deprived & emotionally drained.
"Honey, I got you your favorite!" he said, having two pints of Phish Food he picked up in his way home from work.