El lay in bed, tracing lazy patterns over Mike's knuckles. His arms hugged her close, and his hands rested on her stomach. El wondered if her baby could possibly know how much love already surrounded it.
What did it mean to to love something this much, this tiny thing that was both a part of her and a part of him? She didn't know.
She rolled onto her back, gazing at the ceiling. She tried to picture what their baby might look like. Would it have Mike's eyes, her smile? It didn't matter.
She glanced at the sleeping boy, beside her, heart bursting with all the love she felt for him, for their child. She reached over, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. He stirred, slightly, eyelids fluttering.
They'd grabbed a bite to eat at the pizza parlor Mike suggested. She realized just how absolutely starving she was. She'd devoured two slices in the space of five minutes.
While she ate, Mike spoke. She listened to him talk about his classes, about people he'd met, and it felt almost normal.
They walked to his dorm, hand in hand, as the chilly, October air swirled around them and fallen leaves danced around their feet.
El liked the city. She liked the activity and the smell and the noise. She liked watching people as they went about their business, popping into shops, smoking on street corners. Unapologetic. She liked the lights, at night. She liked the towering buildings that cut the sky into a thousand pieces. She liked the car horns, the coffee shops, the graffiti. Indianapolis wasn't Hawkins. Maybe that's why she liked it so much.
They walked back to his dorm, hand in hand. They took a shortcut, crossing a courtyard. They passed a fountain. Mike paused, fishing in his pockets, and El caught the glint of a penny as he tossed it into the water. El watched the coin sink through the water to join the thousands of other coins that belonged to thousands of other people, trying to imagine the thousands of lives and thousands of spaces between moments and the thousands of hopes and dreams and fears of those who'd paused by this fountain, taking the time to toss their one-cent pieces in exchange for a wish. Trying to reconcile it all with this single moment in time, this moment that belonged to them. She tried to imagine their faces.
Her thoughts dissipated as she felt Mike's eyes on her, and she met his gaze, watching his face contort with an emotion she couldn't place.
"What?"
"El?" He asked, in a voice barely more than a whisper. "Will you marry me?"
She said yes before her brain had fully processed the words that had just come out of his mouth. He swept her into his arms, clinging to her so tightly it hurt, tears cutting down his cheeks. She choked back a sob, burying her face in his shoulder, fisting a hand in his curls, watching the street lights dim and the cars and the passerby and the bustle of the city come to a standstill. Riding that rollercoaster, holding on for dear life as it tossed her into a free-fall.
When they returned the dorm, he shut the door and froze, hand resting on the knob. His shoulders shook, and El touched his arm, wordlessly begging him to let her in, to tell her what he was thinking and what he was feeling so they might face it together. He turned, meeting her gaze. His eyes welled with tears.
"I'm sorry." He choked. "I'm sorry it has to be this way."
"Mike . . ."
"I love you." He said. "I think I knew it back in seventh grade, when you broke Troy's arm." He laughed, but it sounded all wrong. "And I'd be a liar if I said I'd never thought about us getting married, someday. But I never imagined it would happen like this. And I'm sorry." His voice broke, and he sucked in a breath, eyes and nose running.
El embraced him, tears stinging her own eyes. He buried his face in her hair.
"I'm so, so sorry."
All at once, he began to come apart at the seams. She held him while he cried and cried, rubbing his back, wishing she could take his pain away. He clung to her, and everything poured out of him as the dam finally broke.
Tell me what to do.
She asked whatever higher power might be paying attention. But no one seemed to be listening.
Things were so fucked up. And turned backwards. His words chased circles around her skull. She'd imagined proposals, in her head, when she was thirteen and just beginning to understand what all of it meant. When she lived vicariously through soap operas and convinced herself she'd marry Mike Wheeler. But none of those silly daydreams looked quite like this. This was messy, full of loose threads and jagged edges. Upside down and inside out.
At least they had each other.
Mike's sobs quieted, eventually. He wiped his eyes.
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry." She whispered, cupping his cheek. "I'm the one who should be sorry."
"No." Mike said, darkly. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, alright?" He shook his head, blowing out a breath. "This is just something that happened, and we'll deal with it." It sounded like he was trying to convince himself, more than anything. El brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, and he looked at her, attempting to crack a smile.
El wasn't buying it, but she let it slide. In truth, he looked terrified.
Then, he laughed. A manic, deranged sort of laugh. And El found herself laughing, alongside him, and then they were laughing so hard they couldn't breathe. The whole thing was absurd. They'd quiet for a minute, and then one would start in and they'd both dissolve into fits again.
"Stop!" She cried, wiping tears from her eyes. "It's not funny."
And Mike attempted to keep a straight face, which only set her off again.
They changed into their pajamas and climbed into bed, and he'd fallen asleep with his arms wrapped around her waist, hands cupping her stomach. And she drifted off feeling impossibly happy and sad at the same time and wondering how that could be.
They made it through the weekend with minimal hiccups. Mike took her on a tour of the campus. She liked the library best, with its many windows and thousands upon thousands of books—more than a person could read in a whole lifetime. She ran her hand down the spines and turned them over in her hands, thinking she'd gladly accept the challenge. She loved to read. She loved the way she could read a story and see the little squiggles of ink on the page become vivid pictures on her head. She liked thinking about the authors of those stories describing the pictures they saw in their own heads, liked to imagine the story defying the laws of space and time to end up in the reader's—nothing short of telepathy. She like to take her time with books. Large, complex words still caught her off guard, on occasion, a struggle resulting from the holes in her education.
"How long do think it would take person to read all these books?" She asked Mike. Wrinkles appeared between his brows as he worked it out in his head, eyes sweeping the rows of shelves.
"A really really long time." He offered, and El rolled her eyes.
"No shit, Sherlock."
They got coffee at the little cafe on the corner, in front of Mike's building. A they waited in line, Mike's friends greeted them. Nick, a tall, thin redhead, and a short, dark-haired kid named Matt, who kept pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Mike introduced her as his girlfriend, and she muttered a polite 'hello', absently tugging at her sleeve. They made small talk, finished their drinks, and bid Mike and El goodbye.
"They're pretty cool." He told her, as they sipped their coffee. "But they're not the guys, you know? It's not the same." El nodded. She knew. Nobody would ever truly understand what they went through, what they saw. Nothing would ever come close to the family they'd built for themselves.
El left Monday morning. They walked to the parking lot, hand in hand, and then Mike embraced her. And she started crying, because her moods were a little unpredictable at the moment and she didn't know the next time she'd see him and she dreaded returning home with this secret trapped inside. But she wasn't sharing the burden alone, she reminded herself, as she clung to him. The revelation didn't make her feel any better. Just thinking about the inevitable moment she'd have to tell Hopper was enough to make her feel sick. Here, at least, she was able to put a little bit of distance between her and that conversation. But she didn't know how long she'd last, back in Hawkins. She didn't know how much longer she could go on looking him in the eye and telling him everything was fine.
"No more secrets between us." He'd said, after she'd broken down and told him about Kali and her trip to Chicago. How she'd joined Kali on her escapade and almost murdered Ray, the man who'd fried her mama's brains past the point of no return. He'd held her while she cried, pouring her little heart out, confessing everything like some horrible secret. He'd comforted her and held her, and after she'd pulled herself together he'd proposed a kind of truce. A compromise. No more secrets. It wasn't like he wasn't guilty. He'd kept his fair share of secrets from her, too. But she was willing to let it go if he did the same. For El, who'd adopted friends don't lie as a kind of motto, liked the idea. And it worked, for a while. Maybe she didn't tell him when she had a drink or two at some party or other. Maybe she didn't tell him when she and Mike had ventured into the realm beyond just kissing. The first time they'd ever had sex. Maybe she didn't tell him everytime she snuck out her window, or confessed to every stolen cigarette, or told him about that time she'd punched a girl in the face for picking on Will, and then Jedi mind-tricked her way out of detention. But she didn't keep secrets when it counted. She told him when she was hurting. When she needed advice, or a shoulder to cry on. And he did the same. And it worked. They had their ups and downs. Sometimes there was screaming. Sometimes things flew across the room. But they always picked up the pieces, and in the end, she loved him like a father. And he loved her like a daughter. And everything worked out. But this . . . this was uncharted territory.
"If you need me, call me." Mike said, pulling back.
"Okay."
"I'm serious, El." He caught her face in his hands. "If your hormones or crazy, or you need pickles and apple sauce at three o'clock in the morning, call me."
That made her laugh. He leaned down and kissed her.
"I love you."
"I love you, too." She said. She climbed into her car. He waved at her, face screwed up against the morning light, the toes of his Chuck-Taylor's hanging off the edge of the sidewalk. She waved back, then pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street.
They'd agreed he should stay in Indianapolis, at least for the time being. They had plenty of time to figure stuff out. In the meantime, he'd figure out how to tell his parents, and she'd tell Hopper, and they'd go from there. It seemed as good a plan as any, at the moment. It wasn't like they could hide this from their parents for much longer, even if they wanted to. She was pregnant. In a few months, she'd actually look the part. She just needed to figure out the right time to tell him.
It wasn't doing her any good to worry about it, right now, so she tried her best to put it all out of mind. She pulled onto the highway, tapping her fingertips on the steering wheel, humming along with the radio.
El wasted her afternoon at the mall. She'd wrestled with a rising tide of irritation all morning, until it bubbled to the breaking point and she'd screamed at the intern for putting a case file in the wrong folder. Flo ended up letting her off early, to get her out of the office for everyone's safe. El accepted the offer, grabbing her coat and marching out the door. Steve, rain-drenched and heading toward the station, bumped into her in the parking lot, but she just bid him a hurried hello got in her car, speeding away. She popped in and out of a handful of stores, buying a sweater and a pair of boots for herself. She'd eaten an early lunch, so she bought herself a warm pretzel and nibbled on it as she walked.
She'd noticed more symptoms of the pregnancy in the past week or two. She was either hungry or tired or annoyed, usually all three at once, all the time. Not to mention the nausea that overcame her whenever someone walked by wearing a particularly strong perfume, or that time Cal brought a tuna sandwich for lunch. She'd rush to the nearest bathroom to puke her guts out. And don't even get her started on the discomfort surrounding her swelling breasts. She battled with her bra on a daily basis—it constantly bugged her, and she swore the moment she got home and took it off was the single best part of the day. It never failed to draw a sigh of relief out of her.
She told Mike all of this during their daily phone calls. Sitting in bed, telephone cord wrapped around her finger, she reported it back to him, the good and the bad. The ups and downs. Because he'd insisted on being a part of it, and she intended to hold him to that promise. He sympathized with her the best he could and some days, they could even laugh about it.
"How was Halloween?" Mike asked.
"Boring." She sighed. "I snuck some candy from the stuff we were giving out, and then Hop caught me and I had to listen to him lecture about calories and blah blah blah. He keeps complaining about the extra ten pounds he's gained ever since Steve started bringing a box of doughnuts for the whole department every morning. Kiss-ass." El scoffed. "I told him it's cliche, but he thinks it's funny. Anyway, Hop eats a dozen donut holes, then makes a big deal out of me eating a few pieces of candy on Halloween, like I'm the one putting on the pounds." She rolled her eyes, listening to Mike's laughter, accompanied by a burst of static, on the other end.
"Well, you're eating for two, so you've got a pretty good excuse."
"Even if I wasn't, I can't resist Halloween candy. Especially Snickers."
"Snickers? Really?"
"It's the best, hands down. Don't fight me on this."
"Mmm, I disagree."
"What?" She yelped. "You can't beat chocolate, caramel, and peanuts."
Mike didn't respond. El sat up.
"Michael Wheeler, tell me there is not a single type of candy on this planet that's better than a Snickers bar."
"There is, actually." He said. "Twizzlers."
"Gross. They taste like plastic."
"They taste like heaven."
She was grateful. Their conversations dulled some of the anxiety that sat in the bit of her stomach, festering like an open wound. Because she hadn't told Hopper yet, and she was starting to think worrying about the thing was worse than the thing itself, and she'd be better off to grit her teeth and get it over with. Nowadays she walked around with her lungs squashed into a tube, struggling for breath. The guilt and anticipation weighed on her, more than ever, and she was grateful to distribute some of the weight onto Mike's shoulders, whenever he called. Still, it wasn't the same as actually having him there, with her, which was what she wanted more than anything. She missed him a whole lot, lately.
El returned home, shopping bags in hand, and went up to her room. Hopper hadn't returned from the station, and so she changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, finally, wonderfully braless, and went into the kitchen to get a snack. She grabbed a cup of yogurt from the fridge and settled herself on the couch to watch a Days of Our Lives rerun. She fell asleep wrapped in blankets, until the sound of the squeal of the front door's hinges woke her. She stifled a yawn, blinking at Hop as he stomped through the door, shrugging his raincoat off, and asked what she wanted for dinner.
El wasn't expected at the station, today. She spent the day at home, enjoying the house to herself. She put a vinyl on the turntable and cranked the volume up with a flick of her head. She fished in the bathroom cabinets for a bottle of nail polish and painted her toes bright purple. She made a grilled cheese sandwich for herself. She started the third installment of a trilogy about the colonization of Mars, until she grew bored and set the book down, stifling a yawn.
She'd endured a fitful sleep, last night, her slumber plagued with strange nightmares. She couldn't piece together the fragments of dreams to make sense of them, but she can't rid her mind of the sound of a baby, crying. She remembers the desperation, the panic, filling her up as she heard that sound and searched for the baby. A baby, without its mother. She couldn't find it. It was just black, so dark she couldn't see her hand when she held it inches from her face. So dark she couldn't tell if she was upside down or rightside up, couldn't tell if she was moving forwards or backwards or stuck somewhere in between. She'd woken to a dampened pillow and salty tears sliding down her throat. She'd wept in her sleep.
Now, El lay on the sofa. She eased her shirt up, pressing two fingers over the expanse of skin below her belly button. She felt bloated and swollen. She didn't yet have a bump, of course, but her abdomen felt full and solid, like a water balloon. She stretched, standing up, and headed toward the bathroom. She had to pee. Again. When she finished, she ventured into the kitchen for a glass of water. A knock on the door interrupted her wandering thoughts, and she went into the entryway to answer it.
Joyce stood on the porch, carrying a couple plastic chairs.
"Hey, sweetie." She said, smiling. "I wanted to drop these off. I called Hop, at work. He said you'd be home."
El grinned. "Sure, I'll take them off your hands." She said, reaching to relieve Joyce of the burden. She propped them up against the opposite wall. They'd lent Joyce a couple chairs for a Halloween party for the staff at Melvald's.
"Wanna come in?" El asked.
"Sure, just for a minute. I've gotta be at Melvald's in an hour. I'm covering."
El led her inside, putting a teapot on the stove. Joyce took a seat at the kitchen table, twisting her hands, and El sat across from her.
"Are you enjoying the peace and quiet?" El asked. Joyce laughed.
"Yes, I certainly am. It gets lonely, some days. Others it's nice to run a nice bath and relax. Easier to cook for one."
"Well, they'll be home in a few weeks." El said, touching the older woman's hand.
The whole party would be home for Thanksgiving. El had been counting the days. She'd seen Mike, of course, and Dustin had visited home, once, for a weekend. Max and Lucas, however, were in California, and Will was in New York, so she hadn't seen a whole lot them. She received plenty of phone calls from all of them, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't the real thing. It didn't come close to the warmth, the safety, she felt, enveloped in their presence. The way she felt when all of them squeezed into the blanket fort in Mike's basement, telling ghost stories by flashlight, and she fell asleep with several different limbs poking her in the ribs, and the air was at least seventy-percent Dustin's farts, but she didn't care, because they were her family and they were all so close and safe and all hers. Or the times they all piled into Steve's car, and they drove through Hawkins late at night, speeding down empty roads, singing along to the radio. Or all those summer days they wasted swimming in the quarry, splashing one another, climbing up to the ledge on the cliff face and leaping off, watching the water rush up to meet them. A phone call wasn't the same. It didn't beat the countless memories and fragments of time she kept buried inside and locked with a key. It didn't chase away the loneliness.
"You look tired, hon." Joyce said. "You feeling alright?"
"Yeah." El lied. "I'm fine. Really."
"You're sure?"
El looked at her. Joyce's eyes, which were so light they were almost golden, like caramel, cut into El. She found herself squirming under a gaze that saw right through her, finding the weaknesses and widening the cracks, because Joyce knew all about pain. She'd been in pain all her life.
El cast her eyes away, running a fingernail up the grain of the wound. Joyce touched El's hand.
"Honey, you can talk to me." Joyce said, gently. "Are you alright?"
El pressed her lips together, trying to ignore that terrible ache in her chest-pain that seemed almost unbearable, all of a sudden. And El felt herself beginning to come undone. She took a breath, then burst into tears.
"Oh, sweetheart." Joyce said, jumping out of her chair. Her arms encircled El's shoulders, and El clung to her, sobbing. Joyce held her, while she cried, and El couldn't stop the tears from coming. She mopped at her eyes, furious with herself. They were the kind of tears that got all stuck in your throat, and you couldn't talk or breathe, you just choked on them. They were the kind of tears that hurt.
Joyce stroked her hair, whispering soothing words against her temple, and El made futile efforts to pull herself together. Eventually, she'd calmed down enough to get words out, and then everything came spilling out into the open.
"I'm pregnant."
There, she'd said it. There was no taking it back, now.
"What?" Joyce asked. El couldn't meet her eyes. She wiped her nose with her sleeve.
"Oh, honey." Joyce gasped, clapping a hand to her mouth. El's eyes flicked to her face, saw the look of horror, there. It was enough to prompt a fresh wave of tears.
"Oh, honey . . ." Joyce said, again, enfolding her, once more, and El clung to Joyce, feeling like a child.
"I'm sorry." She muttered.
"Why are you sorry?" Joyce asked, smoothing down her curls. El didn't answer. Joyce took a seat, opposite her. She took El's hand, enfolding it in both of hers.
"Does Hopper know?"
She shook her head.
Joyce smiled, a sad, adult kind of smile.
"He needs to know."
"I know."
"How are you feeling?"
"I'm okay." El said. She wiped her eyes. "Just tired and hungry." She sighed. "And moody."
"That's normal." Joyce said, and laughed. "You know, if it makes you feel any better, I got pregnant with Jonathan when I wasn't much older than you. I wasn't married. " Joyce sighed. "I dropped out of college. Lonnie wanted to get married, because of the baby. I can't stand him, now, but I did love him, once. It takes a toll on a relationship, for sure. And if you've got plans, hon, kiss 'em goodbye." Joyce said, half-joking. El stared at her lap, heart sinking. Joyce went on.
"It's beautiful, too. Motherhood isn't always sunshine and rainbows, but it is beautiful. You'll have good days and bad days, but it'll work out, in the end." Joyce squeezed El's hand. "I promise."
El nodded.
"Were you scared?" El asked.
"I was terrified."
El nodded, solemnly, massaging her abdomen. Of all the rollercoaster of emotions she felt within a day, terror tainted all of them, spilling into her nightmares and waking hours, making it hard to breathe.
"Is it Mike's?" Joyce asked. El nodded.
"He's a good kid. You'll be alright." She smiled. "Does he know?"
El nodded, again. They lapsed into silence.
"Thank you." El said, after a while. "This helps. A lot." And it did. She was driving herself crazy, keeping it all inside. Joyce was the closest thing to a mother she'd ever had. It seemed the only fitting that she was the first person El told outside of the people directly involved. Joyce knew what to say and how to act because she'd lived it.
"What did you do when you found out? Did you tell your parents?"
"I put it off until I was four months along. When I told my mom, she kicked me out. I went to live with Lonnie. It wasn't until Will came along that we finally worked it out. Even then, it wasn't the same. She died a month after Will's third birthday. She was a force to be reckoned with, my mother." Joyce sighed. "She couldn't bear the thought of an illegitimate grandchild. It was a disgrace to the family and all that bullshit." Joyce worried her lip. "She wanted me to give it up for a adoption, but I couldn't. Jonathan and I belonged together. I knew it from the beginning."
Joyce looked at El. "But nevermind my mother, El. Hopper won't kick you out. You're his whole world. All he wants is for you to be happy and safe, even if it doesn't seem like it." She smiled. "Don't let anyone tell you how to live your life, El. Don't let anyone tell you what you should do or who you should be. And don't let anyone treat you differently because of this. This is yours. When that kid is born, you're gonna fall in love, and you're gonna fall hard. It's best to just let things work out the way they're supposed to."
Joyce took her hand, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear.
"You're strong and smart and brave. You'll be okay."
El nodded, tears springing in her eyes, clinging to very word. Looking at Joyce, who was so beautiful and strong, the strongest person she'd ever met, listening to her say everything was going to be alright . . . El believed her.
"Thank you." She breathed.
"If you need me, I'm just a phone call away. For anything. Got it?" Joyce touched her cheek. "You're not alone. Don't ever forget it."
A/N: After today, I will be sticking to a one update per week schedule, and I will be posting on WEDNESDAYS! Hope you're enjoying. Drop a review and say hi!