El held the stick with trembling fingers. She glanced at the box, at the instructions printed on the side. Three minutes. How long had it been? One minute? Two? Thirty seconds? She didn't know. She couldn't focus, couldn't catch her breath. The lights were overbright, and the ground seemed to dip and roll under her feet. She sat down on the toilet seat, dizzy.
It hadn't crossed her mind. Even after the occasional bouts of nausea and fatigue . . . she hadn't really noticed anything off until her second missed period, and even then, it was a passing thought. Maybe it was because Hopper had never had the Talk with her, and her limited knowledge of what went on between the birds and the bees came from exactly two sources: batty old Mrs. Fowler during ninth grade health class and a gaggle of prepubescent teenage boys. Or maybe it was because she'd known, for a while, and she just couldn't bring herself to confront the truth. So she denied it. Even after two months of aching and bloating and waves of nausea that left her clammy and shaking, it wasn't a physical symptom that brought it to her attention. It was an a tug, like a nibble at the end of a fishing line. She didn't think much of it. Sometimes she picked up on other people's thoughts, some shout in the void, without meaning to.
When she first felt it, she'd been at the station, talking to frazzled woman whose car had been broken into, the night before. El filled out the case file, trying to be patient with the woman, masking her irritation. All morning, the littlest things got under her skin. The coffee maker was taking too long, and she'd missed Mike's call, last night, and Hop was in one of his moods, which, in turn, put her in an even worse mood than she already was. To top that off, the new intern had spilled coffee all over some paperwork she'd been filling out. So, yes, she was irritated. But at least she was trying to be patient.
Tensions were running high when she finally handed the file to Powell and bid the woman a hasty goodbye, excusing herself to use the bathroom.
A few minutes of peace, she thought, that's all I want. She went into the stall and locked the door. She dropped onto the toilet seat and let her head fall into her hands, trying to soothe away the beginnings of a headache growing in her temples. The ache wasn't enough to condone an aspirin, but enough to annoy her. She combed a hand through her unruly curls. She'd slept in late and hadn't had time to brush through it. She took a breath, pressing her fingers over her eyelids to ward off the artificial light.
It was in this stolen moment that she felt something shift. An undercurrent. A separate consciousness. It passed like a fleeting shadow, and she barely thought twice about it, unlocking the bathroom door, knowing she'd been gone long enough. Flo would be on her case if she didn't get back to work. She unlocked the stall, steeling herself in anticipation of facing the growing pile of papers she had to file and phone calls she had to make. Plus, there was an old cardboard box full of Halloween decorations that needed to be put up. Around lunchtime, Hopper stormed in, cigarette between his lips, going off about something, then stomped down the hall. They all winced as the door slammed shut, behind him, and then Flo made her go check on him.
"Why me?" She'd cried, indignantly. Flo just shot her a look that said all that needed to be said, and so El reluctantly got up from her chair and slunk down the hall to see what his deal was. And that was just one roadbump in an already shitty day. The chaos at the station helped her forget all about that strange flutter she'd felt, brushing against her mind, until she was packing up to go home.
She told Hop she'd meet him at the house. She stepped outside, pulling her black, knit sweater tighter around her shoulders. Halloween was a mere week away. An autumn chill tainted the breeze, and dead leaves skittered across the pavement, gathering on lawns and in gutters. El surveyed the street in the fading light, watching Cal climb into his car and pull out of his parking space. She lifted her hand in farewell, then got into her car. She turned onto the main road, humming tunelessly, surfing the radio channels with a tilt of her chin. After a moment's indecision, she made a left, heading to Rosale's, a store across town. She avoided Melvald's, in the unfortunate event she might run into Joyce.
As she made her way up the walk, she kept glancing over her shoulder, unable to shake the uneasy, guilty feeling twisting in her gut, as if she was doing something she shouldn't. Unable to rid herself of the fear that someone might recognize her, which was actually very likely, in a town like Hawkins. She pulled open the door, and a rush of warm air greeted her, soothing the numbness in her cheeks. An employee—a boy not much older than her, face studded with acne—greeted her. She tried to smile in return, averting her eyes. She wandered the aisles until she found what she was looking for. A pregnancy test, packaged in a little pink box. She picked it up, perturbed to find her fingers were shaking. She turned the box over in her hands, mouthing the words as she read: Fast, accurate results!
She tucked it under her elbow and continued to look around, picking up a pack of batteries and a bottle of shampoo and some aspirin, for her headache. She knew they were almost out. Plus, if Hop asked any questions, she'd have something to show for herself. She took the items to checkout, refusing to make eye contact with the clerk. As soon as she paid for her stuff, she was heading towards the door, resisting the urge to sprint to the parking lot.
"Miss, would you like your receipt?" The clerk asked.
"No, thanks!" El called, letting the door swing shut, behind her.
During the drive home, she cranked up the volume on the radio, and a pop song about love and nothing drowned out all those nebulous, stormcloud thoughts tormenting her until she composed herself enough to join Hop for dinner.
They had leftover spaghetti for dinner. She pretended like nothing was going on. She'd gotten good at it, over the years. She didn't want to worry him. He sacrificed enough for her, already. She ignored the panic gnawing at her insides, trading bits of conversation with him, but her thoughts wandered to that little pink box tucked in her bag. She thought of the flutter she'd felt, in the void. An awakening. Like a woodland creature stirring after a long hibernation. Almost indistinguishable from the traffic of her own thoughts, it was enough to catch her attention, and now she found herself dwelling on it. Like a song you don't know you like until you really listen to the lyrics, and then you start to hear it on the radio, everywhere you go.
She excused herself from the table and went upstairs She paced around her room, eyeing the pregnancy test as if it might come alive and eat her. She tidied up, shelving books and folding clothes. She paced some more, wringing her hands, until she could no longer avoid the inevitable. She put a Fleetwood Mac vinyl on the turntable and locked herself in the bathroom, shaking from head to toe.
Now, here she was, sitting on the edge of the toilet seat. The room spun, around her. She checked her watch. Three minutes.
She took a breath, steeled herself. Two lines. Positive.
El stared at it, numb. Her ears began to ring. She felt insubstantial, like a ghost. Like she might float away on a breeze or fade into dust. She squeezed her eyes shut, counted to five, and opened them again, as if that would make it all go away. No luck. She got to her feet, shakily, and the test slipped out of her fingers. It clattered on the bathroom floor, and she fumbled around for a minute, floundering, caught in a riptide. She retrieved it and stuffed it in her pocket. She unlocked the door, struggling with the knob. Her limbs didn't seem to be obeying her brain signals, at the moment. Her knees dissolved into jelly as she lurched down the hall, barely making it to her room before the tears started to fall, thick and fast. She clapped a hand over her mouth, closed the door, and collapsed on the bed. By then, her tears became sobs that wracked her entire body, and all she could do was shove her face into her pillow, desperate to hold onto something as the world spun out of control.
How could she be so stupid? She was so, so stupid. And now this was real and it was happening and she couldn't wrap her brain around it. She just lay there, sobbing, waves of grief and panic and guilt pulling her head underwater. She gasped for air, trying to soothe the ache in her chest, for lack of oxygen. She cried herself out, until she lay there, hiccuping, feeling drained and empty. Like someone had cut her open and let everything bleed out. It didn't make her feel better.
She wiped at her eyes. Slowly, she slipped a hand under her shirt and rested it on her abdomen, over the place where her baby grew. She stroked a fingertip across her waistline and closed her eyes, forcing herself to take deep, measured breaths.
She'd have to deal with this. She was a stupid teenager, stupid and in love and she'd let it get in the way of making any sort of intelligent decisions. Nobody had ever really told her how it all worked. She recalls all the times she and Mike slept together. They'd always used protection. But sometimes that failed. Sometimes the odds were skewed. And it was too late to change things, anyway. She knew there wasn't any point crying over spilled milk, but she couldn't stop the tears.
Her thoughts ran on a continuous loop, chasing each other around her skull. And they kept coming back to Hopper. It was like picking a scab. It hurt to dig your fingernails under the hardened skin, to pare it from the wound, to let the blood flow. But it was hard to stop, once you started. And despite the horrible ache in her chest, she couldn't stop her thoughts from returning to him. What would he say, when she told him? How would he react? She pictured the shades of disappointment and anger crossing his face, and it was enough to prompt a fresh wave of tears. She wasn't supposed to be his responsibility. They found their way into each other's lives by chance, and he'd become her family. He'd signed up for the job, but he certainly hadn't signed up for this. And now she was dropping a bomb on him. Literally. A tiny, ticking time bomb.
She tried to imagine what it looked like. Was it simply a cluster of cells? Did it have a heartbeat? Did it have a nose and hands and eyes and feet? Did it have fingers and toes? She shivered, rolling onto her side, body curved into a C, both hands pressed flat against her stomach. Skin to skin contact. She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face, and listened. And she felt it. A tiny consciousness, a tiny mind. It was close. She could almost . . . touch it.
What would Mike say?
Would he be disappointed? Disgusted? Happy? He'd left for college less than two months ago. How could she ask him to throw in the towel, now? How could she ask him to put everything on hold just because their protection failed?
She couldn't.
She wouldn't.
She'd just have to deal with this. She'd give Mike a choice. And they'd figure it out, together, like they always did.
She took a breath, listening to Stevie Nicks ask, "would you stay if she promised you heaven?"
El's breaths slowed, as she lay staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows thrown by passing headlights chase across the walls, letting the song drown out her racing thoughts. She fell into a slumber filled with strange, wandering dreams. Dreams she wouldn't remember when she woke.
Steve sat with his feet propped up on the desk, watching El hang a string of orange, pumpkin-shaped lanterns in the front window of the station. She stood on a step-stool, cursing her height, fumbling with a thumbtack. She dropped it, and it rolled onto the floor and out of sight, under a file cabinet. She swore.
"Woah, you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Steve asked, half-joking. El turned, glaring at him.
"Hand me that tack, will you?" She asked.
Steve's eyebrows disappeared under his mop of hair.
"Geez, if looks could kill . . ." He bent down, searching for the stray tack, then resurfaced, holding it out to her. She took it, pinning the end of the cord to the wall, and plugged it in. The lanterns glowed a bright, cheerful orange. She climbed down from the ladder and folded it, leaning it against the wall. She returned to her desk, pinching the bridge of her nose to relieve the pressure in her head.
"Hey, you okay?" Steve asked, brows knitting. He touched her shoulder, gently. She looked at him.
"Yeah, just tired."
Steve's eyes narrowed.
"You look like you just got trampled by a pack of demodogs."
"Thanks?"
"You sure you're getting enough sleep?"
El cocked an eyebrow.
"Steve, I don't need a babysitter."
"Who says?" He said. "And I'm a damn good one, so show a little more appreciation, Hopper."
El rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out. Steve grinned.
"There she is."
That tempted a smile out of her. Steve's smile widened. Apparently, she'd given him all the encouragement he needed, and he took it upon himself to entertain her. He coaxed her into a paper football tournament until the game got so heated Flo confiscated the football and sent them outside. She accompanied him on patrol, flicking through the radio channels for a good station, and Steve insisted on belting out the lyrics to every song that came on. He let her turn on the lights, and she let out a triumphant cry as he floored the gas pedal and they sped down the highway. By the time they returned, El's worries didn't seem so dire, and ache in her chest had lightened, considerably. The morning's exhaustion didn't weigh on her so much. Figures. She could always count on Steve to make her laugh, to banish the storm clouds from her horizon. And for that, she was grateful.
At home, she watched Family Feud with Hopper until he fell asleep, on the couch. She went upstairs to be alone with her thoughts. Steve's company at the station had given her a distraction, and a bit of distance from the capital-P Problem. And El thought she could maybe possibly sorta muster up the courage to deal with it. And by dealing with it, she meant calling Mike. It had been nearly forty-eight hours since she'd found out, and she still hadn't told the father of her child that he was, in fact, going to be a father.
She hadn't told Hopper, either. She hadn't told anyone.
It wasn't like she hadn't tried. Yesterday, she'd sat in the shower and ran through all the possible scenarios in her mind. She spent so much time in there all the hot water ran out, and icy water doused her and left her shivering. And of all the possible scenarios, none of them seemed all that promising. The ones that were bearable seemed almost too good to be true, and the ones that were less than ideal were so unpleasant she immediately shoved them away, refusing to dwell on them. A phantom voice echoed in her head, a voice that belonged to Mike but seemed alien, too. A voice telling her he wanted no part in raising their child, and that he couldn't love her. That he never did. And then there was the voice telling her she had no right to call him at all, to disrupt this new chapter of his life when it had barely begun. Another voice told her she couldn't hide this from him. That if she tried to keep it a secret, he'd never forgive her. It just wasn't an option. She would have to tell him, sometime. The question was when.
She'd stepped out of the shower, slipped into her bathrobe, and picked up the phone. She dialed his number, but she didn't even make it to the third ring before she set the phone down, shaking and gasping for breath, the secret turning to ashes in her mouth, suffocating her.
It had to happen sometime, she reminded herself. Better to get it over with. Like ripping off a band-aid.
El paused, staring at the phone. She took a breath, picked it up, and dialed his dorm room. He picked up on the second ring, before she had time to change her mind.
"Hello?"
"Mike." She said, fighting to keep her voice steady.
"El!" He said, excitedly. "What's up? It's good to hear your voice."
"Oh, not much . . ." She said, trailing off. She twisted the phone's cord around her finger and sat on the carpet, leaning against her dresser. "I've been busy at the station. It's been a bit chaotic, these past few days." She told him, hating the way her voice didn't sound like her own.
"El, you okay?" Mike asked, concerned, and El bit her lip. It was just like him to know exactly when something was bothering her, even through the phone. Even with so much space between them.
"Yeah, I'm fine." She lied. "Listen, I'm thinking about driving up there, this weekend."
"This weekend? Yeah, I mean, I think my roommate's going to be out of town for the weekend, so it actually works out. We'll have the dorm to ourselves. I'll show you around campus, and . . ."
"That's great, Mike." She said. "I can't wait."
"I miss you." He said. El smiled.
"I miss you, too."
She did. She missed him more than she was willing to admit.
They lapsed into silence. El listened to the sound of his breathing on the opposite end. The phone created a sort of alternate space. He was so near but also so far away, and she felt as if she could reach out and touch him, but she didn't know how. Like there was this veil of static and time and space separating them that couldn't be surmounted. It was like that when she visited him in the void, too. When Hopper kept her hidden and Mike radioed her on the supercom every day and poured his soul into the blackness and the static. And she could see him and touch him and listen to him even though he couldn't see her or feel her or hear her, and there was this trench between them they couldn't cross. She hated it then and she hated it, now. Of course, nothing was stopping her from getting in the car and driving to Indianapolis, right now. Well, nothing except the soul-sick guilt eating her from the inside out.
"I gotta go, El." Mike said, disrupting her thoughts. "See you soon." He hung up, and the line went dead. She kept the phone pressed to her ear, letting the static fill her up, drowning out all the noise, until she felt tears begin to roll down her cheek and fall into her lap. She hung up the phone and pulled her knees to her chest, feeling sluggish and disoriented, like when you fall asleep midday and wake up in the evening, and time feels like thick syrup. She ran a hand through her hair, and her thoughts wandered, returning to the conversation she knew she'd have to have. Mike wanted to show her the campus. And she was planning on showing him that little plastic stick that turned her world upside down in the space of three minutes. And then where would they be?
"Hey, Mike, I'm glad everything's working out for you The campus is beautiful. By the way, you got me pregnant, so now you have to drop out of school so we can raise a kid together. Sound good?"
Yeah, no.
She laughed through her tears. The sound was humorless, like broken glass. She tried to imagine a better way to say what she knew needed to be said. Nothing was forthcoming, so she tried to put the whole thing out of her mind.
She changed into her pajamas and climbed into bed, though the clock's red, digital numbers read 8:34 p.m. Lying in the semi-darkness, she slipped a hand beneath her shirt, so it rested over her abdomen. In the quiet moments, safe and out of reach of prying eyes, she let her guard down. She allowed herself to devote some attention to the baby.
The beginnings of a consciousness stirred alongside hers. Over the last two days, she'd gotten better at picking it out among all the background noise. It was faint, fuzzy around the edges, but she learned to recognize when it was more active, when it was subdued, like it might be sleeping. Like it might be dreaming. El closed her eyes, tracing lazy circles over her skin. She pressed the pad of her fingertip over her belly button.
"What're we gonna do?" She asked. Her child was roughly the size of a bean, yet she already shared an intimate connection to it that transcended anything she could've expected. She already felt a primordial, powerful urge to protect it. Loved it, even.
Lying there, she thought maybe it wasn't so scary, after all. Maybe it wasn't the end of the world.
El rapped on the door. She couldn't figure out what to do with her hands. She twisted them, nervously, then shoved them in her pockets, squaring her shoulders as footsteps sounded inside the dorm. Mike opened the door, and before he could say two words to her she'd launched herself into his arms. Their lips met, and then they were kissing. He fisted his hands her in her hair, fingers splayed across her jaw, and she shivered. She leaned into the kiss, hands curled and resting on his chest, giving and taking and asking and granting. They broke apart.
"Hey." He said.
"Hey." She gasped, out of breath. She looked at him, drinking in every detail of his face. He looked good. His eyes were bright and clear, cheeks stained pink. He looked so comfortable in his skin. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she felt a familiar, swoopy feeling low in her belly, like a free-fall. He still made her feel like a giddy little girl with a crush, after all these years.
"Wanna come in?" Mike said, cheeks flushing. He took her bag, stepping aside. She stepped over the threshold, glancing around the room. It was small, with two beds, two desks, and a cramped, little closet. A stack of textbooks sat at the foot of his bed. His desk was cluttered with notebook and a couple crumpled pieces of paper. An IU pinup accompanied the rest of his old movie posters, which he'd pinned to the wall, above his bed. There were a handful of photos had been taped up, as well. One of Nancy and Holly, a candid shot of her, laughing at something, one of the entire party, taken in the summer of 1985. She smiled, tracing the edge of the photo with her fingers, studying in their smiling faces, ice cream cones in hand. The dorm was a change, no doubt, but the pieces of their lives were still there. It was just a change of scenery. She liked it.
Mike wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"What d'ya think?" He asked. El smiled.
"It suits you."
He grinned, pressing a kiss between her eyes.
"C'mon, you hungry? There's a really good pizza place downtown . . ."
She pulled away, looking into his eyes. Her heart crawled into her throat. She'd rehearsed what she'd say to him a thousand times in her head, on the way over. She thought she could delay that inevitable conversation a little longer. She wanted to see the campus. She wanted to visit the places he studied and ate, the places he went with friends and the places he went to be alone. She wanted to experience his new normal. She wanted him to share this piece of his life with her. Telling him about the baby would ruin that, so she'd decided waiting another day wouldn't hurt anyone.
She looked at him, swept away in the riptides of his gaze. All at once she realized all of that was complete bullshit. She couldn't pretend like everything was alright and then drop a bomb on him. She couldn't bring herself to lie to him.
She reached for his hand, took it. She exhaled, shakily.
"We need to talk." She said. Mike eyed her, frowning. She knew he was trying to read her.
"El, what's wrong?"
Unfortunately, he was pretty good at it.
"Let's sit."
He sat on the edge of his bed. She sat beside him.
"El, tell me what's going on. You sounded weird over the phone, and you've missed a bunch of my calls the past few days, and . . ."
In answer, she held out the pregnancy test. Mike's gaze dropped to the plastic stick. She pushed it into his hands. He took it, turning it over.
"What's this?"
El didn't answer. She bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes.
Mike swallowed, lips forming a thin line. She watched the color drain from his cheeks.
"El, you're not . . ."
She nodded, clapping a hand over her mouth. She couldn't say it.
Mike shook his head. He squinted at her.
"No . . ."
She nodded, again.
"Yes." She choked.
"I don't understand . . ."
She sighed, wiping her eyes.
"It's fairly self-explanatory."
Mike leapt to his feet, running a hand through his hair. He began to pace, and El followed the progression of his feet across the carpeted floor.
"When did you . . ." He trailed off, licking his lips, nervously.
"Monday." She said.
"It's mine?"
El laughed. The question was absurd.
"Yes."
The corners of his mouth twitched, and El studied his face, carefully, watching a hundred different emotions cross his face. Confusion and fear and guilt and joy.
"I'm not asking you to do anything, Mike." She said, quickly. "I just needed to tell you." She sighed. "If you don't want to be a part of it, I understand. It's your choice, and I don't want you to think you have to drop everything because of this, I just—" Mike leaned down and kissed her, stopping her words.
She kissed him back. When he drew away, his eyes were filled with tears. His hand rested over her belly. He looked at her.
"I want to."
"What?"
"I want to be a part of it." He said. "All of it. The pregnancy and the weird cravings and the birth and the diapers and the first steps . . . all of it."
El stared at him, breath snagging in her throat.
"Promise?"
Mike laughed.
"I promise."
The corners of his mouth twitched. He caught her face in his hands.
"El?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you."
They lay on his bed, wrapped in each other's embrace. Mike played with her hair, combing through her curls with his fingers.
"What are we going to do?" She asked him. Outside, raindrops trickled down the window pane.
"We'll figure it out." He said.
"Your classes . . ."
"Don't matter." Mike finished, cutting her off. "You don't have to face this alone, El."
She looked at him, grateful he was putting on a brave face, for both of them.
"This isn't the only option, you know." She said. A wave of nausea swept over her as she said the words. Even though she knew the definition of family wasn't just the people you were related to, but the people who loved you and stood by you. Even though she knew sometimes people found their way into each other's lives for a reason. Hopper wasn't her biological father, and yet he was the closest thing to a parent she'd ever had. He was more her family than Brenner, or even Terry. She didn't think she could just jump ship like that. She couldn't give her baby up, couldn't risk her baby falling into the hands of someone like Brenner. She couldn't abandon it. She couldn't—wouldn't—let her child grow up in a prison, starved of love. With that thought came the revelation that the baby might turn out just like her. With abilities. With a curse . . . she withdrew from the thought, as if it had burned her, and it pushed it away, into the dark corners of her mind.
"No." Mike shook his head. "We'll be okay, El." He traced his thumb over her cheekbone. "I want to do this right."
She looked at him. She knew he meant it. He wasn't going to leave. He wasn't going to let her fall through the cracks. He wasn't going to let her do this alone. She hated herself, for doubting him. Looking at him, as he watched the raindrops streak across the window, tracing patterns over knuckles, she made up her mind. She wanted that future. She wanted their baby to grow up knowing who its parents were, knowing it was loved and safe. She hadn't had the privilege, and so she was determined to give her baby nothing less than all the love she could possibly give.
She leaned toward him, kissing him slowly and deeply, trying to make him understand everything she was thinking without saying a word. He returned her affections, lips traveling from her mouth to her earlobe to her neck. She hummed in pleasure as he eased her shirt up and planted feather-light kisses on her stomach.
She brushed a hand through his curls, affectionately.
"Does Hopper know?" He asked.
"Nobody knows." She said, cupping his cheek. "Just you."
They fell silent, letting the truth of their secret sink in.
They'd decided to be parents. They'd decided to make this work. Somehow. Though Mike did his best to hide it, El saw a flash of terror chase across his face, and found her own feelings reflected it. She was going to be a mother. The truth of it broke over her head like a wave, threatened to pull her under, and she realized just how ridiculously unprepared she was to be a parent. To be a mom, when she didn't exactly have a model example to guide her through the next chapter. Her mind struggled to piece together a picture of what a mother should look like, how a mother should act, and the person who came to mind was Joyce.
El sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. They were just kids. They shouldn't have to deal with this. It could never work out the way she wanted it to. How could she hope to guide a child through all the ups and downs of life when she'd barely begun to live it? When she felt like little more than a child, herself? They were too young, and she had too many jagged edges and missing pieces. How could she bring a child into the world having seen the monsters that lurked in the shadows?
What if it was like her? Her baby, born with powers. A weapon. A monster.
Mike must've seen it in her face, because he stopped that spiraling trail of thought before it could to swallow her, whole.
"El, listen to me." He said. "It's going to be fine. We're not alone. The Chief, my parents, the guys, they're the baby's family, too. And don't think, for a second, that you won't be a good mom, because you will. I know it." He took her hand.
"You're not the monster they made you. How many times do I have to say it until you start believing it?" Mike tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "We'll figure it out. I promise."
El nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She wanted to believe him.