CXXV
The ceremony takes place in Joyce's backyard, under a warm spring sun and in front of a table decorated for the occasion with a white tablecloth, flowers, and garlands. Although it is brief—Eleven assumes it was at Hopper's request, considering how restless he seems—all the key moments are present. And if the bride and groom argue seconds before saying yes—without anyone knowing how they manage to find a reason in that context—at least they do it with smiles on their faces.
"Thank you for coming, honey," Joyce thanks her later, when Eleven congratulates her and comments on how beautiful she looks.
"It's good to see you, kid," Hopper grumbles, giving her an affectionate hug that surprises her a little, but doesn't displease her.
They are both a little more guarded when accepting Henry's good wishes—possibly due to Hopper's unfamiliarity with him—but she notices no hostility when the officer shakes his hand.
The party, although not more ostentatious than the ceremony, is much livelier. A DJ whom Eleven recognizes as a colleague of the sheriff—as she has seen him in uniform before—is in charge of setting the scene with calm music while the guests enjoy some simple snacks, and the bride and groom pose in front of a concentrated Jonathan in every corner of their backyard.
Are you bored?
The thought surprises her. Eleven turns to face Henry, who is sitting at a table with the Wheelers, the Sinclairs—minus Mike, Nancy, and Lucas, who share a table with her, Max, Will, Jonathan (whenever he comes back from the photoshoot), and Dustin—and Mrs. Henderson, enduring a full stare of suspicion—although she does not know what it may be due to—from Lucas's younger sister.
No, she replies, plastering a casual smile on her face. Are you?
Impossible to get bored next to the demon that is your friend Sinclair's sister. A pause. Do you know what she just told me?
Eleven has overheard comments from Max and Lucas about Erica's brutal honesty.
Oh no. What did she say?
Henry lifts the glass of water that has been served to him and brings it to his mouth, casting a glance at the girl next to him as he responds without hesitation: That she doesn't believe we are cousins; that we don't look alike at all.
Eleven presses a fist against her mouth to try to calm her laughter. Beside her, Max frowns, then straightens slightly in her seat to look over her head at Henry.
"Are you guys doing that again?" she whispers. "Can't you just leave each other alone for an afternoon?"
"… Sorry," she stammers, pretending to wipe her lips with a napkin.
She tries her best to ignore Mike's longing gaze in front of her without being rude.
At first, the atmosphere at the table is somewhat awkward. Lunchtime offers her a brief respite: in front of the buffet, Eleven pretends to hesitate between the four available options much longer than necessary. When she finally prepares to return to her table with a portion of chicken and pasta salad in hand, she notices a familiar presence next to her.
"Is everything alright?"
Her shoulders tense, but she forces herself to respond: "Yeah."
Even though Henry doesn't seem very convinced, he returns his gaze to the buffet. Eleven stops and takes the opportunity to observe his profile: his beauty is enough to leave anyone breathless, but it would be a lie to say that her feelings are limited to superficial appearances.
After all, if that were the case, what nests deep in her chest would not be the calamity it really is.
"I'm serious," she insists.
He looks back at her then. His cerulean, blue eyes scrutinize her carefully, but without the calculating coldness that—she knows—he usually wields towards the rest of the people.
Whatever he finds in her seems to satisfy him, as he offers her a relaxed smile: "I have no reason to doubt you, have I?"
"Never," she assures him, also smiling.
…
She tries with all her might to ignore the heat that takes over her cheeks as she walks back to her table.
Eleven has a particular fear today: Mike asking her to dance. For this reason, she does her best to get up from the table and disappear as soon as the couple's second dance is over, and the DJ declares the dance floor open.
Little by little—and after the sun sets, to a greater extent—both groups of friends and couples take over the dancefloor. Eleven watches them from behind a tree, rejoicing in the joy of friends and strangers alike.
"One would think you want to leave the party early."
She takes a deep breath to control herself in front of Henry: with the secret she carries, the last thing she wants is to show nervousness where there's always been familiarity and trust.
"If you want to, we can go," she says without taking her eyes off the floor.
He lets out a chuckle, and she finally feels safe enough to look up at his face: "What?"
"You can't expect me to believe that when you're looking at the dance floor like that. You haven't even danced with Max."
No, she can't risk Mike approaching her, not even in a casual way. Even though they are no longer together, Eleven knows that the best thing for him—and for a future friendship, which she would really like if possible—is some distance.
And if he's not going to make it happen, it's her duty to do so.
"I didn't feel like it… And they're already playing slow songs. I don't want to get between her and Lucas."
Oh, no.
She notices the opening she's given him instantly: after all, if she doesn't want to bother her friend and her boyfriend, why wouldn't she dance with her own…?
I should have left it at 'I didn't feel like it'...
"Then…"
She digs her fingers into the fabric that covers her thighs, mentally preparing himself for an interrogation that never comes.
No; what does come is Henry's hand, extended in front of her in invitation. As if this were not enough—as if his countenance were not already dazzling, as if he were not Henry and everything Henry is—the man in front of her tilts his head so that a strand of his hair rebels against his meticulous hairstyle and falls to the side of his forehead.
"Would you like to dance with me?"
If she was smart—and she knows she is, maybe not like Henry, but definitely smarter than her teachers think—she should excuse herself somehow.
However…
"Yes."
However, this is Henry.
Next time, she will be strong. Next time, she will keep her excuse, no matter how incoherent he finds it.
I took my love, I took it down
Yes, she will, even if he finds her lie obvious after having discovered her watching others have fun and be happy under the spotlight of the dance floor with longing painted on her face.
Climbed a mountain and I turned around
Next time—whenever that is—she will shy away from Henry's closeness, his hand on her waist, hers on his shoulder.
And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills
Their hands holding each other; hers with firmness, his with his real gentleness, that which goes beyond convenience.
'Til the landslide brought me down
"Eleven." Even though she seems to hear the voice in her head, she knows he's said it out loud: she has distinguished the syllables on his lips, as close as they are.
Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?
"Yes?"
Can the child within my heart rise above?
"Why didn't you tell me you and Mike had broken up?"
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?
She gulps. She should have assumed he would easily connect the dots. She should have foreseen it. She should have…
Can I handle the seasons of my life?
"I…" The words get stuck in her throat. What is she supposed to do? Lie to him?
Well, I've been afraid of changing
Tell him the truth, when this is more dangerous than any uncovered lie?
'Cause I've built my life around you
"If you can't tell me the reason, that's fine," he assures her, and she, even though it sounds stupid, can't help but linger on the thickness of his blonde eyelashes. "Just answer me one thing."
But time makes you bolder
She bites her tongue and simply nods, lowering her head and pretending to pay attention to the movement of their feet—as if they were going to hurt each other after years of living a harmony known only to the two of them; as if they didn't know each other inside out.
Even children get older
"Did he hurt you?"
And I'm getting older, too
That question disarms her. Even though she knows she should deny it outright—it's not true, after all, and the wrong impression could result in serious danger to Mike—she takes a moment to consider what's behind his words…
Well, I've been afraid of changing
Worry.
Affection.
Fondness, even.
'Cause I've built my life around you
This is Henry. This is his dedication, his camaraderie.
But time makes you bolder
"No," she finally admits.
"If you expect me to believe you, you must look me in the eyes when you say it."
She doesn't need an invitation for that—Mike doesn't deserve it, either; she looks up, and…
"No." And she smiles. "It was nice. And it was sad to break up. But no, he didn't hurt me."
Even children get older
Henry exhales, then, with a feeling that seems to be made of both relief and frustration.
"Alright." And the slightly sulky tone with which he says is so, so adorable, that Eleven can't contain herself (she is unable to) and…
And I'm getting older, too
"Eleven?" For a moment, Henry's voice seems to waver due to the surprise of feeling her forehead pressed against his shoulder; his fingers dig into her waist, as if he was afraid she would move away from him. "Did I… upset you?"
"No," she confesses. "You didn't."
I'm getting older, too
Everything is too much and, at the same time, insufficient: his scent of jasmine and lavender, his hand wrapping hers…
Ah, take my love, take it down
"Then… are you sad?" he asks. "Because of Mike?"
Oh, climb a mountain and turn around
"No, I'm not." It's but a half-truth: yes, she is sad, but it has nothing to do with Mike.
And if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills
She is sad because tomorrow, wherever she and Henry are, this song will remind her of this moment and make her cry with a hope that will never come true.
Well, the landslide will bring it down
"Good. It would be a tragedy if breaking up with a loser like Mike Wheeler made you sad."
And if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills
Despite his words—and despite Eleven giggling softly at a comment so inherently him—Henry rests his chin on her head and moves his hand from her waist to her back in a comforting gesture.
"Hey, Eleven?" he calls to her again.
Well, the landslide will bring it down
"Hm?"
"You look beautiful."
Oh, the landslide will bring it down
Eleven smiles sadly, closes her eyes, and follows the coming and going of his body on an instinctive level, the same primitive coming and going—and no less beautiful, no less captivating because of that—of the waves before the Moon they venerate.