"You . . . you want to move in with me?" Mike said, weakly.
She nodded.
"Yeah, I mean, it makes sense, doesn't it?" She asked.
If Mike moved out of the dorms, and they got a cheap apartment somewhere close to the campus, that fixed the majority of the problem. They would no longer have to make the long-distance thing work; there would be no more long drives or long calls. That saved a lot of gas money. Mike could keep going to that class. Plus, he'd have time to work on the weekends. The downside: El would have to leave her job at the police station, and the remaining members of her support system. But she could make that work. She'd get a job in Indianapolis. She had a couple years of administrative and secretarial experience under her belt. Hopper and Joyce would be a phone call away, or an hour's drive, depending on the situation. And she couldn't resist the idea of living with Mike, of sharing their own space and their own bed. They were raising a child. They were engaged, for God's sake. She couldn't think of a single valid reason to keep living under separate roofs. Or in separate cities, for that matter.
"Yeah." Mike said. "Yeah, totally. I was . . . I actually assumed we'd move in together at some point. Ideally, before the baby's born."
El nodded, a little overwhelmed, yet happy all the same. A smile stretched across her face.
"So, we're really doing this?"
"Yeah." Mike said, and laughed. "I'm sure we can find an apartment in Indianapolis. We set aside a day to look at some places, check out our options."
She nodded.
"My parents will disapprove of course, but screw 'em."
"Hopper's gonna freak."
"Probably." Mike conceded, with a sigh.
He took her hand. They kept walking, trudging through the layer of powder that coated the street. They reached the end of the road and turned back, toward her place.
She tried to imagine Hopper's reaction when she told him they were moving in together. He'd freak out, for sure, but she hoped he'd at least see the logic behind it. It made sense. Period.
He'd always been protective of her. He'd kept her hidden for year, almost two, and she knew he would've kept her hidden for another ten years if he had even a shadow of a doubt. The older she got, the more she began to understand his motives. The more she recognized the necessity of those three hundred and fifty-three days she spent in hiding. He still overreacted whenever she missed her curfew. She knew he still drove past the lab whenever he was scheduled for a nighttime patrol, checking for any signs of a disturbance. A light in the window, perhaps, or guards stationed at the gate. All remained quiet, thankfully, but he was ever the paranoid.
She wondered what how he'd react when she told him she was leaving the nest. This was new territory for both of them. She'd lived her entire life in Hawkins, and Sara never made it to her eighth birthday.
She told herself, over and over again, that this wouldn't change anything. He'd always be her dad, and she'd always be his daughter. It was just a part of life. It was what people did, when they grew up. They moved out, started their own lives. For El, who's life had been anything but normal, the prospect was as exciting as it was satisfying. Rarely had she used "normal" to describe the strange, chaotic, and sometimes life-threatening course of events she called life.
El resolved to put off telling him until they cemented a more concrete plan. Right now, she and Mike were merely entertaining an idea—daydreaming, more than anything. She wouldn't tell him until they found a place to live, at the very least. She wanted this to go as smoothly as possible. She needed him on her side. Though she had a fair amount of money saved up, she was going to need all the help she could get. Rent was expensive. Babies were even more expensive.
Money aside, she didn't want to jeopardize whatever it was they had. She wanted his support in this decision to start the next chapter of her life. He'd giver her a beautiful little normal; as normal as was possible, considering. He'd raised her, cared for her, protected her. He'd been a teacher and a parent and a confidant, and she'd never be able to repay him. The last thing she wanted to do was destroy everything they'd built over the years.
"We'll need a two-bedroom apartment. The baby should get her own room, don't you think?" Mike asked, entwining their fingers.
"Mmhm." El agreed.
"And we'll get to share a bed." He said, with a smile. "No parents, no roommates, no interruptions. Just us."
She kissed him.
"I can't wait."
The more she thought about it, the more she fell in love with idea of them doing their own thing, starting their own chapter . . .
And it meant she'd finally leave Hawkins. While it would always be home, and the place where she'd met a freckle-faced dork and his band of nerds, the place where she'd learned the meaning of the words friend and promise, it still had its fair share of shadows and monsters. It was still the place she'd been stolen from her mama, stripped of her identity, poked and prodded like a lab rat. She'd be glad to be rid of the town's shadowy grip.
The following weekend, El drove to Indianapolis. She met Mike at his dorm, and she'd barely knocked when Mike opened the door and ushered her out, closing it behind him.
"Danny's girlfriend's in there." He explained, making a face. "They're sitting on his bed watching bad rom-coms and eating popcorn out each other's hands."
She wrinkled her nose.
"Gross."
"I know. Let's get the hell out of here before they ask us if we want to have a foursome."
They took the stairs two at a time. She climbed into the passenger seat of his car, and he pulled out of the driveway. He reached over, opened the glove compartment, and withdrew a folded newspaper.
"There's some local housing listings in there. I figured we'd check out this one first." He said, pointing at the ad. "It's a quarter-mile from campus, so you can't beat the location."
"Rent?"
"Manageable."
El nodded.
They parked in the guest lot. The landlord greeted them, introducing himself John Rivera. He shook their hands. He was tall and gangling, with glasses that kept slipping down his nose. He ushered them into the elevator and went up to the second floor, showing them an empty apartment.
El glanced around. It was nice and spacious, with a kitchen and living area, one bathroom and two, small bedrooms. There was a closet for storage, and a balcony, overlooking the street, below.
"The kitchen's complete with a refrigerator, oven, stove, and microwave. Each bedroom has a closet, and you'll find an extra storage closet down the hall, on your left. Each floor is equipped with a communal laundry facility. We have a gymnasium and a swimming pool, open for use." Rivera explained.
As Mike discussed rent and facilities with him, El walked down the hall, exploring the bedrooms. Apart from the kitchen appliances, the apartment was unfurnished. She thought about the old sofa in Mike's basement. The boys found it at a garage sale, in the summer of '86—it was squashy and unreasonably comfortable, after so many years of use. But it was neglected, as of late. It would be put to better use here. Hop's grandfather's cabin had become a storage space for all their discarded junk after he'd bought the house they currently lived in, and El was sure they had a few chairs or a coffee table or a lamp lying around somewhere. She imagined all their old, mix-matched furniture filling up the room, making this place feel a bit more like home.
The bedrooms were spacious enough. El walked into the smaller of the two, pausing in the middle of the room. They'd put a crib along that wall, a changing table on the other . . .
She swallowed, hard, rubbing her belly.
"What d'you think, baby?" She asked. "This is where you'll sleep, where I'll read you bedtime stories." The corners of her mouth twitched. "This'll be your home." El smiled, imagining all the firsts. First Christmas. First birthday. First steps, first words, everything.
They returned to the first floor, and Rivera handed them an application and a business card.
"Fill this out. If you have any questions, you can reach me at this number." He said, tapping the card. "We look forward to hearing from you."
"What d'you think?" Mike asked, as they walked hand in hand down the steps.
"It's nice." She remarked.
The second complex they visited was located across the city—a ten-minute commute to school, for Mike. Twenty, with traffic. But it featured a lower rent and more square footage, and there was a daycare center within walking distance—a necessity, with a baby on the way.
They'd visited three other apartment buildings by the time they called it quits and got lunch downtown, at a burger joint Mike swore by. El snuck onion rings off his plate, ravenous.
"Which one's your favorite?" El asked him, eyes flicking over the apartment listings in the newspaper. Mike considered her, a moment.
"The second one. It was nice, and it had a good rent. Lots of space." He nodded. "Plus, there was that daycare on the corner."
El nodding, thumbing through the pages.
"What about the commute?"
"It's not that bad." Mike said, waving a hand. "If the choice comes down to it, I'll take the cheap rent over a ten-minute drive, any day."
"You have to factor in gas money." El pointed out. Mike shrugged.
"The lower rent more than makes up for it, if you run the numbers."
"I liked the first one." She said. "With the balcony."
"The rent is high." He said, with a sigh.
"I think some of the apartments in that second building, what's the name . . . the one on Costello Avenue. . . I think some of those places had balconies."
"Probably costs more." El said, making a face.
"If you want a balcony, we'll find a place with a balcony." Mike said, mouth twitching. "Only ze best, for my fiancé."
"It's not a deal-breaker." She said. "If we're together, that's all that matters. Right?"
He leaned forward, kissing her.
"Right."
Over the next week, she and Mike hashed out the logistics over the phone. He submitted an application for the complex near the daycare. Meanwhile, El brainstormed the best way to break the news to Hopper. Part of her wanted to put it off as long as possible. Until move-in day, preferably, she thought, with a sigh. The other part of her knew, from experience, that it was always better to rip off the band-aid and give him time to process. So, she cornered him as he was clearing away the dishes after dinner.
"Can I talk to you, for a minute?"
Hop turned off the faucet, throwing a dishtowel over his shoulders.
"Okay." He said. He glared at her, suspiciously. "You're not pregnant, are you?"
"Har har."
"Seriously, what's up?"
"I'm, uh . . ." She swallowed, inspecting her shoes. "Mike and I are thinking of moving in together."
Hop looked at her. She caught a flicker of warring emotion cross his face, before he put up his walls and his face hardened—stoic and unreadable, as ever. She knew him, though. She knew the nature of the thoughts that ran through his head. Fear and paranoia battled his resolve to support her, to give her space, to let her make her own decisions . . .
Maybe it was intuition. Maybe it was telepathy. Or maybe she just knew him like kids know their parents.
"Okay." He said.
"Um, we're getting an apartment in Indianapolis, close to the campus. The long-distance thing is hard, and it's only going to get harder once the baby's born, and we just think it's best, you know . . ." She trailed off.
Hop nodded. He took a seat at the kitchen table. She dropped into the chair, beside him.
"I mean, nothing's set in stone, but Mike and I think it's a good plan. It's only logical, I mean, we want the baby to grow up with a proper family. One where her parents don't live in separate places. We're getting married. I guess it just makes sense that we live together."
Hop nodded.
"Makes sense."
Relief flooded her.
"So, you think it's a good idea?"
He searched her face.
"It doesn't matter what I think." He told her. "I just want you to be happy, El. If this is what you want, then I'm all for it."
El nodded.
"Yes." She said. "Yes, it's what I want."
"You're old enough to make your own decisions. Part of being a parent is knowing what's best for your family." He took her hand, running a thumb over her knuckles. "If this is what's best for your family, then there's no reason it shouldn't happen."
She smiled.
"Thank you." She whispered, swallowing the lump in her throat.
"It's gonna be hard watching you leave the nest." He said, with a smile. "But I always knew this day would come. I guess I just hoped it wouldn't come so soon."
"You're not losing me for good, you know." She reminded him. "I'll find plenty of excuses to visit. Plus, little girl's gonna want to spend lots of time with her favorite grandpa." She said, massaging her belly.
Hop laughed.
"She better. It's gonna get real lonely without a little brat hanging around."
El shoved him, playfully.
She helped him with the dishes, then rushed upstairs to call Mike, telling him the good news. He one-upped her with something even better.
"I just got a call from the landlord." He said, excitedly. "We got the apartment."
"Shut up!" El cried, clutching the phone. "We got it?"
"We got it."
The were scheduled to move in to the apartment in two weeks. She spent the remainder of the weekend packing. She tucked all of her belongings in cardboard boxes labeled with a sharpie. She combed through her extensive collection of books, boxing her favorites and resolving to donate the rest to the library. She packed away her turntable and vinyl, thumbing through albums by Fleetwood Mac, Madonna, and Bruce Springsteen. She went through her drawers and sorted her clothes, packing the vast majority in the suitcase at the foot of her bed. She stuffed the rest (several, old t-shirts that didn't fit her anymore; a pair of sneakers falling apart at the soles; a hoodie with a mustard stain) into a trash bag. She sorted through piles of stuff, setting aside several Star Wars action figures, board games, and comics she didn't want. She designated a large, cardboard box for all the baby stuff she'd accumulated, thus far. She folded the onesies and baby clothes and tucked them away, safely, along with the kangaroo Steve had given her and the little bear amongst all of Mrs. Wheeler's stuff. She found the other, one-eyed stuffed bear that had once belonged to Sara and, after a moment's hesitation, packed that away, as well. One could never have too many stuffed animals. She stared at the contents of the box, stomach sinking to the floor.
She was still so unprepared. They still needed a crib and a changing table and all that baby stuff. El pinched the bridge of her nose, overwhelmed. She had little more than four months left. How was it that time went by so fast? She didn't know what she was doing. She'd scarcely even been around babies, let alone had any idea how to raise one. It wasn't like she had any choice in the matter. She laughed, to herself, staring at her bump, which was getting so big she had to crane to see her toes. She wasn't ready, and though Joyce would assure her that no one ever felt ready to become a parent, she wished she was at least going in with a little more knowledge. The book Mike bought her detailed the pregnancy in all its big, round, bloated glory, but she had no idea what to expect after the kid arrived. Being pregnant was a walk in the park compared to caring for a kicking, screaming infant. Who was she kidding, anyway? She wasn't equipped to be a mom. Not even close. And what if she screwed up? What if she did something wrong?
El blew out a breath, trying to fight her way out of the tightening thought-spiral.
Baby steps, she reminded herself, pushing those worries away.
Mike visited Hawkins the following weekend to pick up some things from his house. El went with him. Mr. Wheeler was at work, and Mrs. Wheeler was at book club, leaving them alone. Almost alone, if it weren't for . . .
"Hey, Holly." El said, as the youngest Wheeler rushed down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. Holly smiled, hugging her.
"Hi, Ellie." She chirped. "How's the baby?"
El wasn't quite sure exactly how she found out about the baby. Maybe Mike told her, or Karen and Ted, or maybe she just kind of knew, all along. El wasn't surprised. Kids were smart. They figured stuff out, eventually. And if Holly didn't know already, she absolutely knew now, because El was huge.
"She's good." El said, with a smile.
"Can I feel her?"
"Maybe." El said. "Put your hand here." She instructed, taking the girl's hand and placing it on her bump, over the soft, thin cotton of her shirt.
"I don't feel her." Holly pouted, with a frown.
"Be patient." El said. On cue, the baby kicked.
"Feel that?"
Holly nodded, eyes widening.
"She's saying 'hi'. She knows it's you." El said, with a laugh. Holly beamed. On Friday, Flo and everyone else at the staff held her a going-away party. She stuffed herself full of pizza and breadsticks, played card games with Cal and Powell, and chatted with Steve until darkness fell and it was time to leave.
She said her goodbyes, and Flo handed her a box, tied with ribbon. Inside, she found a booklet of knitting patterns, some yarn, and knitting needles. El smiled, hugging her.
El laughed. Flo handed her another, smaller package, which held the little, pink knitted hat she'd been working on. El's eyes filled with tears.
"Thank you." She said. "For everything."
"Keep in touch, sweetheart."
El promised she would.
She'd cleaned out her desk, earlier that morning, and Steve offered to carry her stuff out to her car. She let him, watching their feet as they trudged down the snowy walkway. He set the box in the passenger seat, then pulled her into a hug. He squeezed her shoulders, tightly.
"My offer still stands, you know." He said. "If you ever need a babysitter, I'm your man."
"Thanks, Steve."
"Bye, weirdo." He said, ruffling her hair. "Don't be a stranger."
It was one of the hardest goodbyes she'd ever had to say, even though she knew she'd see him again. Even though he was only a phone call away.
"Wouldn't dream of it, loser."
El watched the Welcome to Hawkins sign grow distant, in the rear-view mirror. She exhaled, slowly, a bittersweet taste on her tongue. Already, she could feel the town's shadowy grip loosening its hold on her. Already, it was easier to breathe. Yet, as she watched that sign disappear as they rounded a bend, she knew she'd miss it. It was her home, after all. It had put her through every kind of pain, every shade of happiness. It had given her scars, but it had given her a family, too.
She glanced at Hop, caught him looking at her with a stupid expression on his face. She knew he put on a brave face, most days. But beneath that façade, he was all fluff and sentimentality. She elbowed him, playfully.
"What?"
"What?" He echoed, mouth twitching.
"What're you thinking?"
"I'm thinking I can't believe my girl is leaving the nest."
She rolled her eyes.
"You sure this is a good idea?" Hopper went on. "I might have a heart attack, or something. I might die of loneliness."
El snorted, derisively. "Bullshit."
"Hey, watch the language." Hopper said, half-joking.
El grinned, looking out the window. Hopper stole another glance at her, unable to believe it. That this woman, sitting beside him, head full of dark curls that fell past her shoulders, pushing a wad of bubble-gum around her mouth, singing along to the radio, eyes and nails painted black . . . this woman was once the starving little girl he found in the woods, one Christmas Eve. Starving in more ways than one. Thin and cold and lost.
When she announced her intentions to move in with Mike, Hopper hadn't been surprised.
He knew she wouldn't stay forever, that she'd eventually move on to bigger, better things. But nothing could've prepared him for it. Not really. Despite everything he told himself, letting her go was just as difficult as he thought it would be. He was happy and terrified for her all at once.
Here they were, his Blazer loaded down with boxes of her stuff, and the moving van trailing them, carrying some furniture. She and Mike had been working it out over the phone, and it was hard to miss the joy in her voice. If she was happy, that was all that mattered, he tried to remind himself. Hell, she was a legal adult. She was having a kid. She could make her own decisions.
He'd spent the last couple weeks helping her pack, making sure she had everything she'd need. He'd made himself crazy over it, trying to be supportive and enthusiastic. But nothing kept him from going over it in his head, lying awake at night, his mind racing with all the possibilities, all the unthinkable what ifs. That someone might see her use her powers. That Brenner's goons might show up at her doorstep. But that was ridiculous, he told himself. The lab had shut down years ago, and he hadn't seen hide nor hair of any mysterious government activity in Hawkins. Good fucking riddance.
"You hungry?" Hop asked.
"Always."
He turned off the highway, stopping at a diner.
He ordered two cheeseburgers and some french fries, a milkshake for El. They grabbed a table by the window. El sat across from him, methodically dipping the fries in her milkshake, chewing them slowly. She fiddled with the bracelet around her wrist. The blue one, that once belonged to Sara. Which she still wore, after all these years. His chest constricted, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.
Hopper sighed, pointedly.
"Oh, get over yourself." El snapped, rolling her eyes.
"Just yesterday, we were reading Anne and setting up a tripwire, outside the cabin. Jesus, where does the time go?"
"Make it stop . . ." El groaned.
"What? An old man can't reminisce?" Hopper said, leaning back, gazing at her over his tented fingers. His eyes were overbright.
"That first summer you were allowed outside, I hardly ever saw you. You ran around with those boys every hour of every day. You wanted to be outside. You wanted to be a part of things."
El laughed, softly. Hopper went on.
"Flo's gonna miss you. When I told her you'd be leaving, I swear she teared up a little. She loves you." Hop said. "Don't tell her I told you."
El smiled, touched.
"Joyce is going to miss you the most. She thinks of you as her daughter, you know."
"I know."
Hopper sighed. "All our lives changed, when you came into the picture."
"I still remember that first Christmas, with everyone. I remember cutting down that tree, and stuffing your stocking with a box of Eggos." Hopper chuckled. "Those were the good old days."
"No." El reached across the table, took his hand in hers. "These are the good old days."
El gazed at him, noting the deep lines around his eyes and his smile, the hints of gray hair at his temples. The stamps time and pain had worn into his face and features. Suddenly, she found it hard to breathe for the lump in her throat.
Hop squeezed her hand, echoing her words.
"These are the good old days."
Hopper pulled the Blazer into the parking lot of the complex, where Mike was waiting for them. The toes of his Chuck Taylor's hung off the edge of the walk as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, hands shoved in his pockets. He'd moved out of the dorms the day before, as was their plan. He rushed to open El's door, pulling her into a hug the moment she undid her seatbelt. She threw her arms around his neck, pressing a peck to his cheek, grinning broadly. Hopper cleared his throat, and Mike smiled, sheepishly, shaking the older man's hand.
"Chief."
"We talked about this, kid." Hopper said. "I'm your future father-in-law and the grandfather of your child. You can call me Jim."
"Jim." Mike corrected, cheeks flushing.
They began unloading El's belongings.
El paused, in the doorway, shoulders sagging as she glanced at the place, overwhelmed. Because it was all theirs. Because just yesterday they were just stupid kids with stupid plans stupidly in love. Mike caught her hand in his own.
"What do you think?"
El looked at him, eyes shining with tears.
"It's perfect." She breathed. And it was.
A million pictures reeled through her mind's eye, like freeze frames on a roll of film—sunlight filtering through windows; potted plants on the balcony; a toddler, galloping around the kitchen on fat little legs; a Christmas tree lit with fairy lights.
Mike set the box he was carrying on the kitchen table and went to her, pushing her hair back from her face, cupping her cheek in his palm. And he was kissing her, fingers running through her hair. She kissed him back, hands curled against his chest, smiling against his lips. Hopper brushed past them, dropping a box on the floor with a loud thud, clearing his throat. El rolled her eyes, breaking the kiss.
Hopper grinned, impishly.
When all the boxes had been brought up to the apartment, Mike suggested they get dinner. Hopper smiled, shaking his head.
"I've gotta get back." He said. "I'll leave you kids to get settled in." El looked at him, reluctant to let him go.
"I'll walk you down."
El walked alongside him, down a flight of stairs and out of the building. Mike trailed. They paused in the parking lot.
"Ellie," Hopper began. She rushed toward him, throwing her arms around his middle. His arms encircled her, held tight.
"I love you." She said, voice trembling. She wanted to say more, wanted to say thank you, for giving her a place to stay, a home, a family. For giving her a second chance.
"I love you too, kid." Hopper said, Tears glittered in his eyes and cut tracks down his face. He sniffed, loudly, breaking the hug.
El wiped a tear from his cheek, begging to cry.
"Don't be stupid." She choked, voice trembling.
"Me? Stupid?" He asked, incredulous. "Never."
She laughed, through her tears. He mussed her hair playfully and hugged her again, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Mike offered his hand. Hopper took it, clapping Mike on the back.
"Be good." He said, climbing into the Blazer. He started the engine, rolled down his window. "Both of you."
El watched the Blazer pull out of the parking lot, down the road, and around the corner, feeling both happy and sad and wondering how that could be.
They ordered take-out Chinese food and settled on the couch, amidst the boxes and random furniture, to watch a movie. The boxes and unpacking could wait, one night.
Her body molded into his, and she felt her eyes growing heavy. His hand rested over her bump, rubbing small, circular patterns over her skin with the pad of his thumb. She let her eyes drift closed, completely content to just lie there, in his embrace. The boy who'd stood by her, protected her, who'd loved her, since the beginning.
Mike switched the T.V. off as the credits began to roll. He climbed to his feet, bent over, and lifted her in his arms. She slung her arms around his neck. He carried her down the hall and laid her on the bed, which was big and comfy and all theirs.
She grinned at him, wiggling her eyebrows.
"What d'ya think? Should we christen the place?"
Mike smirked. He kissed her, sealing his mouth to hers. His hands slipped under her shirt, tracing the length of her back. He undid her bra.
"My thoughts, exactly."
After, she lay beside him, knotting their hands. Mike rolled on his stomach, gazing into her face.
"El?" He asked, softly.
"Hmm?"
"I love you."
"I love you, too." She said, softly. He leaned over, kissing the tip of her nose, the space between her brows, the corner of her mouth. She sighed, closing her eyes. He was warmth and belonging and everything familiar.
He was her home, in every sense of the phrase.
El and Mike spent the weekend unpacking. She unpacked boxes in the bedrooms while Mike arranged the furniture in the living room. She heard a large thud, followed by a string of curses. She found Mike struggling to move the couch. El gave it a nudge with her mind. He turned, frowning at her.
"Don't." He warned. "You shouldn't tire yourself out, El."
"I'm fine." She insisted. She could tell he didn't buy it, but he didn't press her. She wiped at the blood that dripped down her upper lip just as he turned his back, hoping he didn't notice.
She unboxed a lamp and set it on the little stand beside the couch, then hunted for an electrical outlet. In a separate box, she found a bunch of pictures in frames and arranged them on top of the bookcase.
A cheap, fold-up table served as their dining area until they could get something a little more permanent. El found a place in the kitchen for their coffee pot and toaster and assorted pots and pans.
She unpacked her books, filling the shelves, and Mike set his Yoda figurine on the mantelshelf—a running joke, between them. She grinned.
The baby's room was bare, save for one box. She unpacked the stuffed animals and arranged them on the windowsill, side by side. She hugged her arms to her chest, staring at the stark walls and absence of furniture, feeling the space begin to close in on her.
"We'll go shopping." Mike assured her, from the doorway, as if he'd read her thoughts. He crossed the room, wrapping his arms around her from behind, putting his hands on her belly. He pressed kisses along her neck, her shoulder. "We'll get a crib and one of those little spinning mobile things babies always have." He said. "We'll be ready, I promise."
El believed him.
She accompanied Mike to the grocery store, to buy milk and eggs and other necessities. For lunch, they ate PB&J sandwiches.
Mike reached across the table, taking her hand.
"Have you thought about any names, yet?"
El shook her head. With all the chaos and uncertainty, the holidays and the move, a name for their baby had been the farthest from her mind. Apparently, the same couldn't be said for Mike.
"I like Olivia or Amelia." Mike said, thoughtfully.
El nodded. "I like those."
"What about Elise?"
She shook her head. "There was a girl in high school named Elise who always talked shit about me, so . . ." She shrugged. Mike nodded.
"Elise is a no, then." He took a bite of his sandwich. "Maddison?"
"Maybe."
"Iris?"
"No."
"Julia?"
El shrugged.
"What about Alexis? I like that." Then, in true Mike fashion, he said, "we'll call her Alex for short."
"Maybe."
"Brianna?"
"No."
Mike rolled his eyes. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"Hey!" She said. "This is an important choice. As the mother of your child, I have the right to veto."
"Charlotte?"
"Never."
"I give up." Mike said, solemnly.
"Claire?" She suggested.
Mike frowned.
"Veto."
"Olivia is good. I like Alexis, too." She said, hurriedly. "I just think it's a little early."
"Fine." Mike said. "I'm just tired of calling her 'baby girl' all the time."
"What's wrong with that?"
Mike shrugged.
"I'll just call her 'Avocado' from now on." He said.
El laughed.
"Oh, that's better than 'baby girl', huh?"
"Definitely."
El rolled her eyes. She rubbed her stomach. The baby had begun to kick. El could feel the distinct poke of an elbow, a tiny foot. She let out a soft groan.
"She hates being called Avocado." El said, wincing in discomfort. "She's kicking me."
Mike's eyes widened. "Really?"
El nodded, lifting her shirt.
"Right here." She guided Mike's hand to the place where she felt the baby pushing and prodding. Mike laughed.
"Hey, Avocado." He crooned, rubbing his thumb over her skin, where the baby's foot pressed against her uterine wall. In the past few weeks, the baby's movements had transitioned from little flutters to distinct pokes and jabs. Proof that their baby girl was growing. Equal parts magical and irritating.
"She's bigger than an avocado, now. What does your book say?"
Mike got up, digging around in some of the boxes they hadn't yet unpacked, and retrieved the book. He opened it, thumbing through the pages.
"At week twenty-three, your baby is the size of a grapefruit." He read, aloud.
"Grapefruit it is." El joked, tapping her nose.
"What about Jean?" Mike suggested, mouth quirking into a smile. "Like Jean Grey?"
"It's too much like Jane." El said.
"So?" Mike asked. "She'll be named after two absolute badasses."
El frowned.
"That name's never really felt like mine." She said. "It was stolen from me, you know? I don't want to name our child after the person I could've been."
"Okay." Mike conceded, with a sigh. "Jean's a no."
"We have time." El said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "We'll think of something."
El groaned in frustration, chewing on the end of her pen. She sat amidst a pile of papers—job applications for positions as hostess at a fancy, Chinese fusion restaurant, secretary at a pharmacy, off Park street, an associate at Nordstrom—anything offering a part-time gig.
She heard footsteps down the hall, and Mike padded into the room, buttoning his shirt.
"What's wrong?"
"No one's gonna hire me." She said, in despair. "I mean, who in their right mind would hire somebody who's five months pregnant? I mean, I can work for, what, three or four months and then they have to give me paid maternity leave? You'd be stupid to hire me." She sighed, rubbing her temples.
Mike frowned, fishing an application out of the pile.
"Chuck-E-Cheese's? Really?"
She snatched the paper out of his hands.
"What?" She snapped. "If it helps pay rent, I don't see the issue."
"I'm teasing." He said, hastily.
She sighed, burying her face in her hands.
"I know." She groaned. "I'm sorry. I'm just frustrated. I don't like being helpless."
"Helpless? You?" Mike asked. "Says the girl who can literally kill people with a glance. I think there's a chance you're being dramatic."
"Shit all over that, Wheeler. You know what I mean."
Mike touched her shoulder.
"Give it a chance, El." He said. "And if nobody hires you, fine. You should rest, save your strength. Don't stress yourself out over this."
She glared at him.
"If you think I'm gonna sit here on my butt and watch you suffer through two back-to-back classes and then an eight-hour shift at RadioShack, you're delusional. That's not how it works, Mike." She got to her feet, pressing her hands against his cheeks, forcing his eyes to meet hers. "We're a team. I'm not gonna let you do all the work."
"Oh, like growing an actual human being inside you isn't work?" Mike rolled his eyes. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin against her temple.
"Not when my boyfriend, er, fiancé," she corrected, "kisses the ground I walk on and feeds me pudding and rubs cocoa butter on my stretchmarks and looks at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen even though I'm gassy and bloated and I haven't brushed my hair in three days."
"Mmm, he sounds like a dream come true." Mike mumbled, against her hair.
"He is."
She fiddled with the buttons on his shirt. She lifted her head, reaching up to caress his face. Her thumb grazed the deep purple stains under his eyes, from lack of sleep. Her eyes searched his face, noting the deep creases between his brows, the way his shoulders seemed to be a few inches higher, the way his body was all points and jagged edges—tense and unyielding. Her brows knit with sudden concern for him.
"Are you getting enough sleep?" She asked, softly.
"Yes." He said.
"Promise?"
"Yes, I'm fine." He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Don't worry about me."
"Too late." She said. She ran a hand through his hair, resting their foreheads together. "Call your boss. Stay with me, today. We can take a nap."
Mike laughed. "Oh, yeah, and get myself fired while I'm at it?"
"They'd be crazy to fire you."
"And totally justified, if I keep playing hookie."
"Fine." She conceded, rolling her eyes. "I'll just stay here and make you jealous with all the napping I'll be doing." She flopped onto the sofa. Mike smiled. She patted the cushion, beside her, wiggling her eyebrows.
"C'mon. I know you want it."
"Are you trying to seduce me?"
"Maybe?"
"It's working." He went to the couch and lay down, beside her. She wrapped her arms around his waist, making him the little spoon and effectively trapping him.
"Ten minutes." He mumbled, closing his eyes. El pressed her face into his shirt, suppressing a laugh.
Mike had class, and El stayed home, lying on the sofa. She propped her feet up, on a cushion, wearing nothing but sweatpants and a bra, telekinetically switching the channels. baby had been kicking like crazy all day and her lower-back ached. In addition, she hadn't really been feeling like herself today, uncomfortable and exhausted, so she'd given up all plans for doing anything productive and lay down. One of the channels was airing a General Hospital rerun, one of her favorite episodes. She settled down to watch, reaching across the sofa to grab the nearest pillow in reach. Her attention remained divided, however, as the baby somersaulted in her womb.
"What're you up to in there?" El asked, rubbing a hand up and down her stomach in a futile attempt to calm her little energizer bunny. She stared in wonder as a foot poked against her skin, visible from the outside. She tickled it with her fingers, letting out a sigh as the baby stretched and tumbled around. As much as she adored feeling their little grapefruit move around, it could be uncomfortable at times.
"How 'bout a trip to the kitchen, huh?" She asked. She hunted around in the cabinets for a snack and settled on a bag of potato chips. She shut off the T.V. with a flick of her head and ventured down the hall on stocking feet. She went into the baby's room, where they had stashed the boxes that had yet to be unpacked. She knelt on the floor, opening the box that contained a bunch of kids' books and puzzles Hop had given her, when she was younger and still in hiding. They had been stashed in the darkest reaches of her closet, and she'd kept them for their daughter, when she was old enough to read and solve word puzzles. El dug around until she found Sara's old copy of Anne of the Green Gables and returned to the sofa. She opened it, running her fingers over the binding—the book had begun to fall apart, after the many, many years of usage. The pages were crinkled and dog-eared, the cover was coated in a layer of dust.
El began to read aloud, and the baby's kicking and movements calmed, somewhat, at the lullaby of her mother's voice. El continued to read, allowing herself a few hours inside the story—one of her favorites. Hopper said it was one of the things she and Sara had in common: they both loved this book. This book, about an orphan girl sent by mistake. A girl with an imagination, who broke rules and pushed boundaries.
El read until afternoon bled into evening and darkness fell. A series of thudding footsteps and the jingle of keys interrupted her, and Mike walked in. He smiled, leaning over to kiss her lips, gently and sweetly.
"Hey." He said. "Whatcha doing?"
"Reading."
He dropped onto the sofa, beside her, leaning his forehead against her temple.
"Reading?"
"I was reading Anne to the baby. I thought she might like it."
"How is she?" He asked.
"Good. She was kicking like crazy. I just got her to settle down."
Mike smiled, putting his hands on her belly. El flinched, making a face.
"Cold." She remarked.
"Sorry." Mike cupped his hands over his mouth and breathed on them, warming them up. El shifted, sitting up. Mike stroked his fingers up and down her skin, tracing the dark line that began at her belly button and ran the length of her navel.
"Hey, little girl." Mike said. His breath tickled her skin. "How're you doing?" He kissed her belly. "I missed you, today."
Just then, the baby began to stir. A foot pushed up against El's uterine wall as their little girl stretched. El groaned.
"Dammnit, Mike." El snapped. "You woke her up. She's gonna be kicking me all night."
"Sorry."
El rolled her eyes. Mike pressed the pad of his finger against the place where their little girl poked.
"She's gonna be a gymnast." El said.
"Or a soccer player."
"A dancer, maybe."
Mike continued to press kisses to her belly, lips slowly traveling until he was kissing her neck and god, she was sensitive there. She giggled and squirmed under his attentions. His mouth found hers and she caught his bottom lip in her teeth, teasing him. He leaned forward, asking for more, and she pulled away, withholding the very thing he desired. A noise erupted in the back of his throat, something halfway between a sigh and a groan of frustration, and it made her shiver. There was fire in his eyes, something hidden in the depths of him. Something she liked. She liked it when he looked at her like that, like she was the one thing in the world he wanted. She liked it when he looked at her with love in the eyes.
She gave in, and they were kissing, slowly and deeply, again and again and again. Mike pulled away, taking her face in his hands, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. He eased off the couch.
El, flushed and breathless, watched him retrieve the radio they kept on a shelf by the sink. He brought it into the living room and set it on the coffee table, fiddling with the dials. He smiled, eyes searching her face, as Van Morrison's voice floated out of the radio. He stood.
"May I have this dance?" He asked, offering his hand.
She nodded, taking it, and got to her feet. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He put his hand on her hip, on the small of her back, holding her close. They swayed, listening as Van Morrison sang, "hark now hear the sailor's cry. Smell the sea and feel the sky. Let your soul and spirit fly into the mystic . . ."
He lifted her arms above her head, spinning her in a slow circle, and she laughed, leaning her forehead against his own. His hands moved so they were resting on her belly. They swayed and swayed, noses brushing, breathing the same air. El lost herself along the way, in Van Morrison's voice and the thrumming of the bass, wrapped in static; in Mike's hands resting on her hips, holding her close; in his presence, strong and steady and constant and all hers.
"And I wanna rock your gypsy soul
Just like way back in the days of old
And together we will float
Into the mystic
Come on, girl . . ."