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El knew that it was impolite to run from the table so suddenly. Typically they ate dinner together every chance they got. Joyce, Will, Jonathan, and her. After they moved to Lenora Joyce had made sure to spend time with each of them, but was especially adamant that they always eat dinner together.
She hadn’t realized how personal and special that had become for her, and Mike just ruined it. She had a lot of bad days, she missed her dad, she hated school, she missed Hawkins, but she looked forward to dinner with her family even if they sat in silence the entire evening. Taking MIke to RInko-Mania was a mistake, she knew that the second they walked in that it would be a mistake. But she wanted him to see that she was happy, that she had friends, that she had moved on from Hawkins and the Upside Down.
She truly hadn’t. She still had nightmares multiple times a week that resulted in her climbing into Joyce’s bed, she missed the party, she missed riding on the back of Mike’s bike, sometimes she even missed fighting the demogorgon and the Upside Down just because it brought them all together, but mostly she missed her dad.
Mike seemed to have it all together, though. He was happy in Hawkins. He had new friends, he was enjoying going to high school, he still had his parents and his sister. He had everything she didn’t. El was new to feelings, but she knew that she didn’t want to ruin Mike’s happy ones just because she was having a hard time.
Now, even though she tried to make spring break perfect for Mike, even though she pretended, she still felt sad. She ran to her room, decorated with the help of Joyce, and planted herself onto her bed. She had a view of the diorama she made of the cabin she shared with Hopper broken on her desk. It was kind of ironic, the diorama was constructed with love and care just like the cabin she shared with Hopper had been and it was destroyed just as quickly as the cabin and her life in Hawkins had been last July.
A tear slid down her face. She didn’t even bother to wipe it away because she knew there were more coming. She reached her arm under her pillow as she sniffled and searched for the one thing that could make her smile in moments like these. She sat up, crossed her legs, and unfolded the letter. The letter that had been written by Joyce and Hopper for her. To her. She realized shortly after reading it for the first time that this is how he was meant to talk to her and Mike, not tell them his grandmother was ill. Originally it made her mad. Hopper had a chance to have a heart-to-heart with her, a chance to share his feelings, and he chickened out of it. Joyce told her that it was difficult for him. He was never good at feelings, even when it came to her and Joyce.
The letter, covered in tear stains, even some mascara from the time she tried Joyce’s makeup to look more pretty like Angela, now made her giggle. The letter that had originally filled her with grief and sadness now gave her joy. It truly captured Hopper and who he was. He cared about El so much that it scared him, he loved her so much that he was too scared to say it, he was scared to lose her, especially to Mike. She read his letter every night before she went to bed, every morning before she went to school, and sometimes Joyce would read it to her when she was sad.
“El, honey? Can I come in?” Joyce now stood in the threshold of El’s room, the door pushed open slightly further than its usual three inches. She was dressed in baggy jeans that were several sizes too big, El had noticed that Joyce preferred her clothes that way, a white T-shirt, and a flannel that she had recognized was Hopper’s. It was unspoken, something they did without really speaking about it, but Joyce and Eleven would both often wear Hopper’s old clothes. They were indeed several times larger than both girls and completely engulfed them, but it was comforting. At first, when the scent of Hopper was still present, it felt like a hug. Now, the scent has faded, but the comfort hasn’t depleted.
“Yeah, you can come in.” Joyce entered the room and closed the door with a soft click, something that didn’t happen often that indicated that Joyce probably wanted to talk about something serious. She walked over to El’s bed and sat on the edge of it near her knee.
Neither of them knew what to say or how to start the conversation. They sat together for a few moments, taking in the silence. El was grateful for Joyce and her presence, just as Joyce was grateful for hers. They grounded each other, they understood each other, they needed each other.
“Do you want to talk about what happened today?” Joyce reached a hand to El’s knee and held it there. Her thumb began to rub in small gentle circles against her kneecap and she immediately started crying.
Joyce drew El to her chest. She crawled with her to the other end of the mattress and rested her back to the wall. She tucked El’s head into her chest and wrapped her up into a hug so tight she thought she might crush her. She never shamed El for crying, in fact, she sometimes encouraged it. She had explained on several occasions how healthy it was and how normal it was, especially after what they’d been through. That didn’t mean that Joyce cried often though, at least not in front of El. She was shocked to look up and see that a few silent tears had gone down Joyce’s cheeks and were grazing her chin. She rolled up the end of her sleeve and wiped Joyce’s tears just as she had done for her on several occasions.
She leaned her head back against Joyce’s chest and wrapped her arm around her middle. “I miss my dad.” She hadn’t addressed him that way out loud before, especially around Joyce. She felt Joyce wince when she heard it.
“I miss your dad, too.” Joyce hugged her a little tighter, “He loved you very much, he did everything he did to protect you.” Both of them were crying again. There was no timeline for grief. They couldn’t count down the days until their sadness suddenly dissipated and they could live freely again. No matter how hard Joyce had wished for the both of them, she was afraid that the overwhelming grief would never end.
“I read his letter every day, I want him to come back.” El sighed, she still wasn’t good at feelings, they were still new and she was nervous about sharing them. “I made a diorama of our cabin for a school project. I was supposed to do a project about a hero. My dad was, so I made it for him, but-” she shuttered, Joyce was protective, really protective. She knew that sharing this story with Joyce would make her mad. She wouldn’t be mad at El, but she would be mad at Angela, she wouldn’t be surprised if she stormed up to the school and demanded to speak to her parents.
“What happened, El? You can tell me, honey.” Joyce had begun stroking the back of El’s head, slowly untangling the knots that had been created. She made El feel safe, even if she was nervous about sharing something so personal, she felt safe and cared for.
“Angela. She stopped my presentation and told the teacher that I was wrong. She said that Hopper wasn’t a hero because people didn’t know him, that I did it all wrong, but he was a hero, people did know him, my dad was my hero!” She was distraught. It had been eight months since she lost her dad and unless you count that fateful night on July fourth, she hadn’t had a breakdown this big.
Joyce teared up again. Hop was a hero, he was the hero of Hawkins. He was missed by so many people, he saved so many people. It made Joyce angry that someone would say such a thing, especially knowing that El’s father had passed away, what would bring them to say something so vile and cruel?
“He is a hero, El. He’s our hero. Angela was wrong to say that to you, especially in front of your classmates, she was also wrong. Your dad is a hero and will always be one. He saved you, he saved me, he saved Will, he saved everyone in Hawkins.” Joyce paused to wipe a few of El’s tears. She climbed out of bed to grab the box of tissues on the desk. She faltered when she saw the cabin. It was destroyed. The roof was caving in, the wiring was bent, the construction paper El had placed so strategically was ripped. She turned to El and climbed back into the bed with her.
“We’ll fix it together El.” She began to wipe her face with tissues. “We’ll both fix the cabin, we’ll replace all the paper and the wiring, I’ll repaint Mr.Pibley. We can put it in a very special place in the living room, or in here, wherever you want.”
El immediately climbed to Joyce, crushing her in a hug. “Thank you, Joyce. Thank you”
She looked up at Joyce, the last of her tears falling down her face. “You’re the best mom, you’re my hero, too.”
They both fell asleep in El’s bed that night wrapped in two of Hopper’s old flannels, the door propped open three inches, just in case he came home.