Work Text:
December 24, 1986
Karen perpetually smelled like the sugar cookies that she always baked around Christmas time.
Those sugar cookies that were shaped like Christmas trees and had green icing on them, that she claimed were “for the kids” even though Joyce was watching her from the living room, sneaking a few now that the kids had gone to bed.
“Joyce. Would you like one?” she asked from the kitchen, her voice gentle. Karen was like that. Always so considerate.
“No, sweetheart. You enjoy them,” Joyce replied, unable to hold back a smile. As Karen walked into the living room with three cookies in one hand and a glass of white wine in the other, she looked down, as if embarrassed.
Joyce figured that it was because of the cookies. The cookies that were supposed to be for the kids.
“Now, where were we?” Karen asked, sighing contentedly as she sat down on the couch.
It was cold in the living room, as if the windows had been left open even though they were all closed and locked. Joyce seemed to read Karen’s mind, and with a small, gentle motion of her hand toward the fluffy pink blanket draped over the arm of the couch, she silently offered it to her.
“We were talking about… fucking Lonnie,” Joyce murmured.
“Oh. Oh! Right,” Karen replied, her voice a little too quick. She gave Joyce a commiserating glance.
Joyce was quiet for a moment. Karen probably assumed she was thinking about her horrific ex husband, but the dozens of secrets she kept from her best friend had suddenly flooded her mind instead.
It was something about that little thing Karen did when she said something she was embarrassed about. She would soften her words with this nervous laugh. She had done this twice tonight: once when she was admitting how many of the kids’ cookies she’d eaten, and once just now, when she realized she’d forgotten what they’d been talking about.
We have to find Vecna, Joyce thought. We have to kill him or she won’t survive this.
And if Karen even were to get seriously injured, Joyce knew she’d be lighting up a cigarette that same day, despite the fact that she’d quit smoking months ago. She wouldn’t be able to handle it.
Karen was gentle, soft, polite, and painfully sensitive. Joyce remembered that she had been that way since she met her. That little brunette girl in her first grade class at Hawkins Elementary School who wore pink fluffy sweaters and cried very easily. She cared so much about everyone: her toys as if they were real beings that felt things, any kid on the playground that seemed a little lonely, her pet birds. Now, at 45, every interaction with her made Joyce feel like she was wrapping herself in a warm blanket on a cold wet day.
“I feel… terrible,” Karen muttered, taking Joyce’s hand. Her hands were warm and soft and her nails were painted as always, a shade of pale pink.
“Why? It’s not your fault my ex is an asshole.”
“I should have been there for you more. Before the divorce. Well, I know I’d check in a lot. Bring you stuff I cooked, because that’s my way of showing love, apparently.” Karen sighed. “But I feel like Mike was there for Will more than I was there for you. He was five years old, inviting him over all the time to try and give him a safe place to stay. Sometimes he’d hear Ted and I fight while Will was over, and he’d get so upset. I could never forgive myself for that, Joyce.”
“Well, you should,” Joyce replied. “Don’t you see? You were going through your own thing. You still are.”
“My thing… is nothing compared to what you’ve been through. I’ve never been like you. You were able to leave someone who’s definitely much worse than Ted’s ever been. Ted’s just…”
She couldn’t quite finish the thought. Instead, she let go of Joyce’s hand, gave her this bitter little smile, and took a large gulp of her wine before rather aggressively setting the glass back down on the coffee table.
“Ted and I aren’t in love. That’s all it is. It’s partly my fault because I didn’t know what love was… or how I loved when I married him. But,” she said, her voice dropping to its softest tone, “he’s really not that bad.”
Joyce couldn’t bring herself to look at her. She knew her best friend, and she knew that tone. It was the tone that Karen would use when she was on the verge of tears. If Joyce looked at her now and saw the pink in her cheeks and the glassiness in her eyes, her protest to Karen’s words would be so loud that she would wake up the five kids who were asleep in the house.
“Really not that bad?” Joyce whispered, exasperated. She fixed her gaze on the white string of Christmas lights hanging above the couch instead of looking at Karen, which probably wasn’t the best idea. Christmas lights always made Joyce uneasy. “I’ve lived with you long enough to know exactly what Ted Wheeler is like.”
She said his name with such open disdain that it made Karen giggle, which only irritated Joyce further. “Karen, he’s mean. He makes these snarky comments about your appearance, your personality, your clothes, the things you love. He’s annoyed by everything about you,” Joyce went on, her voice tightening. “He’s such a condescending asshole. I-I could give you a million examples, but I won’t, because I don’t want to upset you.”
Karen’s drinking was something Joyce didn’t want to mention.
Not tonight. Even though she worried about it constantly.
How it seemed to be getting worse, how Karen’s loneliness and anxiety so obviously started this issue in the first place. Joyce knew what that kind of coping did to someone’s health over time, and she was terrified of the effects it could have on her heart, her liver.
The only time Ted ever seemed to care was when Karen went up a single skirt size in November. To Joyce, it was no big deal at all: Thanksgiving was one of Karen’s favorite holidays, and then all those Christmas baking opportunities would come up shortly after. It was natural. Still, he’d erroneously blamed the wine and made some snarky remark about her letting herself go. For some odd reason, the comment completely stopped bothering her once Joyce had said something positive to counteract it. She seemed to care more about Joyce’s opinion than his, and Joyce didn’t blame her. It was the same as it had been when they met: he only ever cared about her body.
Joyce found that living with both of them was a constant battle not to overstep and bite Ted’s head off for how he would talk to Karen. She knew he was bad, but she never would have guessed he was this bad. She wasn’t even a person to him, and to Joyce, she was one of the sweetest people in the entire world.
Joyce took a sharp breath and let her eyes meet Karen’s again. A single tear had fallen down her cheek, but oddly enough, she still had that tiny, bitter smile on her face.
“Thank you, Joyce.”
“For what?” Joyce wiped the tear from Karen’s face, which she realized was quite warm. Her face was flushed, for whatever reason.
“For understanding. He makes me feel like I’m crazy and… nasty because I can’t look at him sometimes. And you know what I realized the other day, after he made that comment about my makeup?” She shifted in her seat, letting out a heavy sigh. It was as if she were trying to build suspense.
“You realized he’s a disgusting jerk?”
Karen laughed and shook her head. “No… no. I’ve never been kissed by anyone who loves me.”
The words hung there, and they sat in silence until Karen forced some awkward laugh.
“It’s depressing,” she added quietly, “and a bit disgusting. I’m forty-five, I’m this pathetic old lady who’s never been loved by anyone. At least Ted has ex girlfriends. He was my first and only… everything.”
“Hey.” Without thinking, Joyce cupped Karen’s cheeks in her hands. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. Yeah, it’s sad, but it’s not your fault. You’re so lovable. I love you to bits.”
Karen’s eyes widened, and Joyce quickly moved her hands from her cheeks to her shoulders.
Joyce rushed on, panicking. “As-as a friend,” she clarified.
“Oh, of course!” Karen responded. She chuckled and looked down at the blanket, but there was this twinge of pain in her eyes that Joyce figured was because she wished there were some handsome man telling Karen he loved her instead.
This was followed by a stretch of awkward silence, made all the more eerie by the hour: two in the morning, with only the Christmas lights left on.
Then Joyce said, half-joking, half not, “I could kiss you.”
This seemed to startle Karen. “What?”
Joyce shrugged. For whatever reason, her heart was starting to race. “I mean, just to prove a point,” she explained quickly. “You can be kissed by someone who cares about you. Doesn’t want you for your body. Likes being around you. Loves you. As a friend.”
They both burst out laughing, and Karen covered her mouth. “Joyce, that’s insane.”
“I know, I know. Just- forget I said it.”
When they stopped giggling, however, Karen’s face was completely serious. She tilted her head and looked at Joyce, her caramel eyes full of so much admiration and warmth.
“If you wanted to, just for fun,” Joyce said, “I would do it. Do you want to? Would you feel comfortable with it?”
Karen let out a shaky breath. “I…”
“Okay, you’re not comfortable. That’s okay. Maybe we can watch… what’s that movie you like… I know I don’t like romantic comedies but I don’t mind if—”
“No, I… I want to. I want to. I’m sorry.” Joyce knew she was serious, because she said the phrase I want to twice.
Karen had done that since she was little. I’m doing my part, Joyce, I am doing my part, she had said one time when Joyce was trying to micro-manage a group project.
“Karen? Karen, you hesitated.”
“I didn’t mean to. Joyce,” Karen said, putting her hands on her shoulders, “I want to.”
“Okay.”
“And Joyce, maybe I should say… maybe it’s best if I told you that…” She sounded panicked to talk about it, so Joyce immediately assumed she knew what her best friend was referring to. Joyce gave her the most gentle smile.
“Shhh. You don’t have to talk about it, sweetie. I already know.”
Karen’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I know all the things that prick’s done to you. He’s not here right now. And I’m not him, baby. And I’m going to make sure I never make you feel one bit of how he’s made you feel.”
Baby had slipped out randomly. Joyce would have questioned if that was odd, but it made Karen smile.
For a moment, Joyce could have sworn Karen looked like she was about to cry, but then she chuckled. “Oh. I know you know all that. Uh, thank you.”
She was so shy sometimes.
“You’re okay?”
She nodded with all the certainty in the world. “I’m okay.”
So, Joyce leaned forward. She gave Karen a moment to pull back, but she didn’t. Not when her hands settled on Karen’s waist. Not when her thumb brushed against the soft curve of her middle, and it gave Joyce this warm feeling in her chest that she couldn’t completely understand. So precious, just like those messy blonde curls. Everything about her is so precious.
The feeling was sudden and disorienting, but Joyce didn’t have time to ponder on it. Karen laughed, this quiet, breathy sound, and then unexpectedly pressed her lips against Joyce’s.
The kiss was gentle and brief. When Joyce pulled back, she kissed both of Karen’s cheeks, just because it felt right.
When they met eyes again, Joyce noticed that Karen’s eyes were full of tears again. But she smiled at her and chuckled a bit.
“I love you, too,” she murmured.
Joyce shook her head. “Not as much as I love you, sweet girl.”
Karen just laughed again. “Oh, no. I love you more. I know that for sure.”
Joyce couldn’t understand why Karen was so emotional. She also couldn’t understand why the kiss, something that had been meant as a joke, felt the exact same as it did when she’d kissed men she’d loved. Bob. Hopper. The realization made her stomach twist. It felt like a betrayal of Hopper somehow, even though the kiss had been platonic and playful. Even though it had been with another woman.
So, she didn’t question it. And this night was never mentioned again.