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September 1957.
"Happy birthday, Joyce," Karen said, failing to stop herself from shaking as she handed over the gift. For some reason that she couldn’t explain, this felt like it might be the most important thing she had ever done. If Joyce didn’t like the gift, well... Karen might as well have gone ahead and dug herself an early grave.
"You didn't have to get me anything," Joyce insisted.
Karen shrugged. "I know I didn't have to. I wanted to."
Joyce smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Karen had gotten used to this recently. Just a few months ago, Joyce's smile had seemed genuine and bright in a way that made it impossible not to smile back. But lately, there had been a hint of sadness shrouding everything Joyce did around Karen.
And maybe that's why this gift felt so important. It was the last attempt to stop her from pulling away completely, to fix their friendship, even though Karen didn’t know what went wrong with it.
She watched as Joyce carefully attempted to open the box, paying mind to the diligent wrapping job. And Karen had to stop herself from laughing because Joyce Maldonado was anything but careful, so watching her try to be was like watching a baby deer learn how to walk.
When Joyce finally looked inside, her mouth fell open. She hesitantly reached in, pulling out the silver necklace Karen bought for her. It was stunning, new and pristine with a little lavender charm attached. Karen had spotted it in a shop window a few months ago, and she knew it was something Joyce had to have.
"I... I can't accept this, Karen," Joyce breathed, and Karen felt her heart sink in her chest. "It must've cost you... I can't accept this."
The corners of Karen's lips turned upward. "Of course you can," she said, gently taking the necklace from Joyce's grasp and motioning for the brunette to let her put it on. "It's your birthday, and you deserve something nice. Besides, it didn't cost that much."
Joyce didn’t seem to buy that lie, but Karen didn’t notice. She was far too focused on the way her fingertips felt like they were on fire as she touched Joyce's skin, and the way her heart ached as she pulled away.
"Thank you," Joyce said softly.
Karen nodded, unable to say anything more. It suddenly occurred to her that Joyce was the most beautiful person she's ever met, and her smile faltered at the realization.
November 1958.
Karen shouldn't have been there. In fact, no one should have been at Hawkins High at six-thirty on a Friday evening, but she had forgotten her chemistry textbook and there was a big test on Monday, and now? Now, none of that mattered because she was standing in the doorway of Mr. Cooper's classroom, and she had just witnessed Joyce kissing another girl.
The three of them stared at each other, wide-eyed.
"Shit," the girl mumbled. She was new to school, and Karen didn't even know her name.
"Karen--" Joyce stuttered.
But Karen was already turning and running away as fast as her legs would allow. Her vision felt blurry, and her heart thumped loudly in her chest. She only stopped when she got outside, desperate to catch her breath, the door to the school slamming shut behind her.
Her mother had warned her about like that--girls who kiss girls and boys who kiss boys. The pastor at church had listed the reasons why it was bad, why you should never do it, and why you should never be around people that do.
Karen felt like she as going to throw up.
"Karen," Joyce said. Karen jumped.
"Get away from me, Joyce." The hostility in her voice caused Joyce to recoil. Karen wanted to keep running, to end this conversation and never see Joyce again, but her legs felt weak beneath her, and every time she tried to walk, she nearly fell where she stood.
Joyce was trembling. "Karen please, I--"
"Please go away." Karen tried to remember how to breathe. She failed.
"No! We need to talk about this!"
Karen finally spun around. Joyce had tears falling down her cheeks, and Karen hated herself because a small part of her really wanted to wipe them away.
"What's there to talk about? What you were just doing... it's... it's wrong, Joyce. Girls don't kiss other girls. That's not how this works!" Her eyes burned. "You're sick, Joyce. That's what this is, and I--I don't want to be near you. I don't want... I don't... please, just leave me alone."
Joyce shrank, backing up as if Karen just stabbed her in the chest. Karen took a deep breath, gathered all the courage she could, and turned away to walk home, her chemistry textbook once again forgotten.
March 1959.
Karen sat by the edge of Lake Jordan, watching the motionless water and listening to the quiet sounds of birds flying up and through the trees, thinking about just how much she hated Hawkins, Indiana.
It was far too still here, much like the water. Everyone knew everyone, and you'd think that would make for warm greetings and friendly welcomes, but really, it's just suffocating. Karen has often wondered what it would be like to run away, to leave Hawkins behind and never look back. If only she had money, a car, and a place to go.
"Hey," Joyce said, tearing Karen away from her inner monologue. She looked up at the brunette, at the girl who used to call her best friend. They hadn't talked since November, and Karen was pretty sure Joyce hated her now.
Still, she asked her to meet here at the lake they used to play at when they were kids, where they could talk with no prying eyes watching their every move and every word.
"Hi," Karen attempted to smile. She pointed to the spot on the ground next to her. "Care to join me?"
Joyce hesitated, looking from Karen to the grass and then back again. Finally, she sat down with her arms around her knees.
"I thought you didn't want me to get you sick," she said, and there was a bitterness to her tone that Karen had never heard before.
"I... you won't get me sick." Karen's shoulders dropped. She had it all planned out, everything she was going to say, but now that she was here with Joyce, she couldn't remember any of it. "I missed you," she said at last.
Joyce's defenses dropped a little. "Yeah, I missed you too."
"And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... I should never have said those things to you. I was just--" She took a deep breath. "Scared."
"Scared?" Joyce's brows furrowed.
Karen wrapped her arms around herself. "Can I ask you something?" Joyce nodded. "Are you a... lesbian?"
It was the first time she had said the word out loud, and it felt both foreign and familiar all at once, like meeting someone new but feeling as if you've known them your whole life.
"No," Joyce smiled softly, and it was as if she was peering into Karen's soul. "I like boys too."
"Oh." Karen turned to face the water, her throat tightening. "I don't... I don't think I like boys at all," she whispered.
Her fingernails dug into her palm at the confession, and she suddenly wished she were at the bottom of the lake instead of here. Life would be so much easier if she didn't have to play a part in it, or if she had even a tiny bit of control over what role she had to preform.
Joyce leaned forward. "Karen," she said, and Karen looked at her, suddenly unable to hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill. "It's okay to feel that way."
Karen shook her head. "No, it's not, Joyce," she choked out. "It's not." She loved Joyce. She loved her so fucking much it hurt, and it was wrong, it was so wrong--
"Why? Because some assholes decided that people like us are going to hell?" Joyce scoffed. "Karen, those people don't know anything about how the world really works. They only say that stuff because they're afraid of anyone that's even a little bit different than them. But there's nothing wrong with loving who you wanna love."
"How... how are you so okay with this?"
Joyce shrugged and looked up at the sun slowly fading beneath the trees, a faint smile playing at her lips. "I wasn't at first. I mean, when I started to figure it out, I was terrified, and a lot of the time, I still am, but... I've always been different, you know?"
And Karen did know. It was why Joyce was her favorite person in all of Hawkins, maybe even in the whole world.
"I'm scared," she admitted, her voice so small it was a miracle Joyce could even hear her.
Joyce reached out, gently took Karen's hand within her own, and Karen wanted to curl up in a ball and cry for hours because she was convinced there was no better feeling than their hands intertwined.
"Me too," Joyce said. "But I have a feeling it'll all work out in the end."
Karen blinked away her tears. She wasn't sure if Joyce was right, but she was suddenly too exhausted to argue, so instead, they sat like that for a while, hand in hand, watching the water before them move slowly until the sun eventually set.
May 1959.
Almost three months had gone by since Karen's life-altering revelation, and Joyce had been by her side through it all, holding her when things tough, answering her questions, being there when the rest of the world wasn't.
When Karen left church feeling more empty than before, Joyce would take her to Melvald's and make her a milkshake. When Karen's mother would fume about the "queers threatening to ruin lives," Karen would call Joyce and the brunette would show up at her window fifteen minutes later, ready to be a shoulder to cry on.
It wasn't easy finding out everything you thought you knew about yourself wasn't true, but Karen felt like she could keep trying so long as she got to try with Joyce.
That is, until one day, they were sitting on Joyce's bed, and their lips were suddenly inches apart, and it felt like life would never be the same again.
"Is it okay if I kiss you?" Joyce asked, her voice so soft and understanding. Karen knew she could say "no" and Joyce would simply nod and go back to talking about school and the shitty town they had to call home.
But she didn't want to say no.
She nodded, and Joyce smiled. "I'm gonna need you to use words, Karen."
"Yes, it's okay," Karen breathed.
Joyce's hand reached up and gently brushed against Karen's face, and Karen's mind was working about a hundred miles per minute. Should she put her hand on Joyce's cheek? When was the last time she brushed her teeth? How do you kiss someone again?
Before she knew it, their lips were touching, and every thought and worry flew away for a moment as Karen took in just how soft Joyce's lips were. Karen had kissed guys before, but none of them compared to this. Joyce was soft, gentle, and considerate in ways those guys never were.
But then, like a storm coming in out of nowhere, Karen remembered her pastor's sermons and her mother's tirades, and she was suddenly asking herself if she really wanted to spend forever in a fiery pit. If they both went to hell for this, would it be okay so long as they had each other?
She pushed Joyce away, much more forcefully than she intended. "I'm sorry, I have to--I have to go," she stuttered, tripping over objects as she quickly fled the room.
"Karen, wait!" Joyce called, but Karen was already gone.
June 1959.
Three weeks went by before Karen had the nerve to see Joyce again. Still, she was shaking as she knocked on the door to the Maldonado house. It felt like returning to the scene of the crime.
Joyce's dad answered, and Karen had to stop herself from flinching. Everyone in Hawkins seemed to love him, but Karen didn't, not after hours of Joyce telling her how much he yelled, how he didn't care, and how he blamed Joyce for just about everything that had ever gone wrong in his life.
"Karen." Oh, and his breath reeked of alcohol.
She plastered on a smile. "Hi, Mr. Maldonado. Is Joyce home?"
He grunted, and then opened the door to let her enter. "In her room."
Karen nodded her thanks, grateful to get as far away from him as possible.
She walked to Joyce's bedroom. The door was opened just a crack, and Karen couldn't stop herself from looking in, watching for just a moment as the brunette drew on some pad of paper. She knew that what she had to do today would likely end their friendship, and taking a moment to appreciate the person she cared more about than anyone in the world felt like it was only fair.
"You can come in, you know," Joyce said.
Karen's cheeks reddened at being caught. She pushed the door open and then quietly shut it behind her. Mr. Maldonado didn't need to hear this conversation. Not that he cared about what was going on in Joyce's personal life anyway.
She had expected Joyce to tell her that she never wanted to see her again, but instead, Joyce was looking at her like she were the most treasured thing in the room.
"Are you okay?" Joyce asked softly, and Karen wanted to cry.
She nodded, taking a seat on Joyce's bed. "I'm okay. Are... are you?"
"Yeah," Joyce said, putting her pen and paper down. "I'm sorry if I took things too far. I really thought that you wanted to... you know."
"I did," Karen admitted, "and you did nothing wrong. I just--I don't think it's a good idea for me to... indulge this anymore."
Joyce frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Joyce, this..." She gestured between them. "This could never work. You've said it yourself. The world doesn't like people like us."
"Yeah, but just because they don't like us, doesn't mean we can't make it work--"
"Yes, it does, Joyce," Karen said, her voice sharp. Joyce winced. "We still have to live our lives, and we can't do that if we're... together. It just... it'll never work. The world will always be against us, and we'll never be happy. We'll lose everything."
Joyce looked down at their hands, which were somehow close together even though Karen had been trying to keep them far apart. "We won't lose each other."
Karen's lips turned upward just a bit at that, but she shook her head anyway, tearing her hands away from Joyce's and placing them carefully in her own lap.
"I have a date with Ted Wheeler tomorrow night," she said, and Joyce pulled away. The words felt heavy between them. "I'm not here to argue, Joyce. I'm here to tell you that... this is... this is what I have to do."
Joyce shut her eyes, and wiped at the tears that had fallen without her permission.
"Then I hope your date goes well," she muttered. She looked back down at whatever it was she was doing on before Karen came in. "I have to work on this, so... I'll catch you at school?"
Karen's lips trembled. "Yeah," she nodded. "See you at school."
She went home moments later, but she felt as if a piece of her had stayed behind in Joyce's room.
October 1959.
Joyce, ever the theater geek, decided to put on a high school production of Dark of the Moon, and somehow, Karen found herself sitting, facing another student and doing a "trust exercise" that Joyce swore would help them on opening night.
Ted was in the room too, and Karen wasn't exactly sure how she had convinced him to be a part of this, but he was. She wondered if he ever caught her staring at Joyce, wishing she were with her instead of him, but then again, most of the time, she doubted whether Ted thought about anything other than making out.
Joyce seemed excited about the play, going on and on about the potential of a scholarship to Indianapolis, and Karen wished she could be excited too, but every smile she put on was now fake, and every laugh was far from genuine.
And how could she not want to scream when Joyce explained the play as "asking the question of whether or not love can defeat fear?"
It felt like a cruel joke, even though she knew Joyce would never do that to her. Joyce Maldonado was too good of a person, and the way she still lit up whenever Karen entered a room was proof enough that she didn't harbor any resentment.
Still, Karen felt like she had to run at every rehearsal, like the world was reminding her of what she didn't have and never would.
September 1976.
Karen hadn't heard from Joyce in over a decade, so when Mike made friends with Will, her entire world felt like it had been turned upside down. Suddenly, there was no more pretending like she didn't know who Joyce Byers was.
She knew what the town had been saying. Joyce had gone crazy after high school, she left Lonnie for no reason at all, she had probably been cheating on him--the list went on and on.
But Karen could still remember Lonnie back in the day, when he was twenty-five and Joyce was seventeen. He was poison then, and it wasn't that difficult to imagine that he was poison still.
She could tell Ted thought Mike and Will being friends was a bad idea, although he never really voiced his opinions aloud.
"Please," she said when she heard the doorbell ring. "Mike needs a friend."
He nodded. That was the last they spoke of it.
Mike ran down the stairs as fast as his little legs could carry him, and Karen was sure she had never seen him so excited.
"Will's here!" He shouted, racing for the door.
Karen got there right when he did. "Hold on, Michael."
She turned the knob, half-expecting to break down when she saw Joyce on the other side. They had seen each other around, of course. Hawkins was still a small town. But they hadn't been face to face in so long.
And even though Joyce looked like she hadn't aged a day, there was a sadness to her that Karen caught immediately, like whatever had been going on the last ten years had sucked a bit of her life away.
"Joyce," Karen breathed. Joyce was about to say something, but--
"Will!" Mike grabbed Will's arm, pulling him inside. "I have to show you something! Come on!"
A ghost of a smile appeared on Joyce's lips. "I'll pick him up at seven, if that's okay?"
"Sure--yes. Seven works."
Karen tried to smile at her, to reach for her, even in some small, silent way. But before she could say anything else, Joyce was retreating back to her car.
November 1983.
Karen sat in her car with Holly in the backseat. They were parked outside the Byers' residence, having just paid a visit to Joyce, and Karen was finding it difficult to start the engine and leave.
She had never seen Joyce so frantic. Her son was missing, and that would cause any mother to lose their mind a bit, but there was something else to the way Joyce was acting that Karen couldn't put her finger on.
Back in high school, she knew Joyce had anxiety problems. Joyce's life hadn't been easy since day one, so panic attacks and fear beyond fear were bound to happen.
But this? Karen wasn't sure.
A part of her was screaming at herself to go back in, to tell Joyce that she wasn't going to leave until she knew for certain that she would be okay, but that felt like it would be crossing a line, moving into a territory they hadn't been in for years.
So, instead, she turned the key and drove off, praying to a god she no longer believed in that Will Byers would turn up safe and sound.
July 1985.
The last place Karen expected to see Joyce was at the Fourth of July celebration. Public outings hadn't really been Joyce's thing since she married Lonnie, and it was strange to see her at one.
What wasn't strange, though, was seeing her with Jim Hopper. Karen had heard they were spending more time together lately, and even though a part of her really wishes it was her spending time with Joyce instead of him, she was glad Joyce was no longer alone.
(Especially after what happened to Bob. Tragedy seemed to follow Joyce wherever she went.)
Still, it was weird to see Joyce and Hopper running away like something was chasing them.
"They make an odd couple, don't they?" Karen said, barely recognizing Ted's hand on her shoulder.
"Well, it's like they say, someone for everyone."
Karen sighed. She wished that were true, and maybe for some people it was. But for Karen? No matter how much she tried, her skin still crawled when she thought about kissing a man, and she still felt like she was trapped in a prison cell every night when she closed her eyes.
April 1986.
"And I'd go back to California, but with the military quarantine and--"
"Joyce, it's fine," Karen interrupted.
A week had gone by since an earthquake split Hawkins in four and caused some snow-like substance to fall from the sky. Men in uniforms were roaming the town square, kids still hadn't returned to school after spring break, and the air felt much colder than it should, even in the middle of March.
But Karen didn't question it. There were too many mouths to feed, clothes to wash, and dishes to clean. So Hawkins was going through another crisis... what else was new?
"I know it's a lot to ask," Joyce tried again.
Karen smiled softly. She didn't know exactly how Joyce had wound up back in Hawkins, or for that matter, why Will, Jonathan, and Mike had shown up in a pizza truck of all things, but she knew the answer to Joyce's request was simple.
She'd run across the world for Joyce, even if she had to do it in secret.
"Joyce, really," she said, "it's okay."
She was probably going to have to explain this to Ted, and he would likely not be happy about it, but the thankful expression on Joyce's face is enough to make any argument with him worth it.
June 1986.
Only a month went by before Karen realized Joyce didn't spend every night at the house. She caught her sneaking out once, and then twice, and then again a few days later. And she was never sure where Joyce went, only that when she came back in the morning, she always seemed a little lighter than she did the night before.
She decided to leave it alone, to not butt into Joyce's personal life, because that's not what their friendship was these days.
That is, until one night, she saw Joyce putting on her shoes, and she had a little too much wine, and--
"Where are you going, Joyce?"
The brunette jumped where she stood. "Geez, Karen. You scared me."
"Sorry," Karen said, although she was way more curious than she was apologetic. "Where are you going?"
Joyce must've been able to tell that Karen was wasted, because she paused like she was debating whether to leave or not. She looked at the door and said, "For a walk. I just need to... clear my head. I'll be back in a bit."
Karen scoffed and headed back into the kitchen.
In the morning, she added Joyce's night-time disappearances to the list of things they don't talk about.
November 1987.
Karen had been in the hospital for two weeks, and even through the pain, she was starting to go stir crazy. Mike and Nancy had stopped by every day, usually telling her stories about what had really been happening during the last five years, and if she didn't have so much practice putting on a carefully polished facade, she would have screamed and cried at the way the stories never seemed to stop.
She heard the door to the hospital room creak open, and she knew who it was before anyone even entered. Nancy had told her Joyce was planning on stopping by, and Joyce Byers was usually the one person in the entire world Karen wanted to be next to, but right now, all she felt was the lie that had been living between them.
"I can go," Joyce said, her voice barely loud enough to hear, and for the first time since watching her go that morning after breakfast, Karen looked at the brunette. Really looked at her.
She saw the dark circles under her eyes, and the way her shoulders slumped. Her voice was shaky, and she looked much smaller than she actually was. At first, Karen wondered if Joyce had looked like this since the day Will went missing and she just hadn't noticed, or if it was a heavy calm after a storm, the relief that the fighting was over downplayed by the fear that it really wasn't.
But then she remembered--El. Joyce's daughter. The little girl who had been raised in a lab and then taken in by Joyce and Hopper. The girl whom they had called their own, now gone when she should have been here.
Karen almost lost her own daughter, and despite her anger, her heart ached for Joyce.
"You can stay," she managed, her voice still not quite all there thanks to the... what did the kids keep calling it? The Demogorgon?
Joyce nodded, walked in and sat down in the seat next to Karen's bed. Her hands were shaking, and she was looking anywhere but at Karen.
"How... how are you?" She asked, and Karen wanted to laugh.
"I've been better," she said. "The doctor said I can go home soon, so that's good. What about you? I... I'm sorry about El."
"Thanks." Joyce took a deep breath. "I've been better too, but it's okay. We'll--we'll be okay." A moment passed with nothing but that stupid clock ticking up on the wall. "I'm sorry too. I know that all of this... it's a lot to take in."
"That's an understatement." She didn't mean for it to sound so cold, but every time she thought of Joyce and this... Upside Down, she thought of how the one person she trusted more than anyone lied to her for the last five years.
Joyce bit her lip. "Yeah, it is."
"I want to be so mad at you right now," Karen said, and she didn't know why she did, only that the words were out there and she couldn't take them back now. Their eyes met for the first time since Joyce walked in the room. "But I can't."
Joyce looked at her, confused.
"You know what Nancy told me?" Karen asked, turning her gaze back to the ceiling because, god, seeing that pain in Joyce's eyes was too much right now. "That you and Jim were there for them when they needed it, that when things got hard, they knew they could count on the two of you. And more than anything, that makes me angry, because I should've known, Joyce. I should've known, and I should've been there for them, but I was too busy drinking my life away because of my loveless marriage to look around me and see that my kids were in pain."
"Karen," Joyce said, her voice so small, yet so sure. "You were there for them. In all the ways that mattered, you were. And you couldn't have known about all of this--"
"But I should have, Joyce," Karen interrupted, her voice much louder than she intended. "I know about the NDAs, and I get that none of you could just tell me, but there were signs. There were so many signs. That guy, I don't remember his name, the one who used to run Hawkins Lab--"
Joyce swallowed. "Brenner."
Karen almost flinched at the venom in that one word, and a small part of her knew she should backtrack. She should let sleeping dogs lie and just pretend that everything was fine, but spending the last two weeks in the hospital had given her a lot of time to think, and she couldn't stop now.
"Brenner," she confirmed. "He came to my house, showed me a picture of El, and told me that Mike had been hiding her in our basement and that he was in trouble. Then, I got a call that something happened at the middle school, and I found my son sobbing because this girl was gone. We got questioned, our house got searched, and then a year later, El showed back up. Did I ask questions? Did I ask how any of this had happened? No. Or what about the time Mike was gone for an entire week? He told me the truth about that one a few days ago, about how Will was in the hospital and Bob—”
She stopped, looked at Joyce, and a wave of guilt washed over her.
"It's okay," Joyce said, but she inhaled like she was trying to gather the courage not to just run out of the room that instant. “You’re right. There were a lot of things going on that were…obvious. But Karen, none of that matters anymore. Mike and Nancy, and Holly, are alive. They survived. And yeah, maybe you weren’t able to be there for them when it came to the Upside Down and,” she shut her eyes and wiped at the tears that had gathered in the corners of them, “and all of that shit, but at the end of the day, they still knew that you loved them and that you’d be a shoulder to cry on when things got bad. And that matters, Karen. It matters a lot.”
Karen shook her head. A moment passed. She wanted to argue, to tell Joyce that she was wrong and that the occasional hug doesn't make up for years of not knowing your kids were out there fighting actual monsters, but it suddenly occurred to her that this was the most she and Joyce had talked in over thirty years, and a new pain settled deep within her at the thought.
"You remember high school? She asked, and it was so out of the blue that Joyce's head snapped up, her brows furrowed. Karen took a deep breath. "I loved you then, Joyce. And I still do."
Joyce's mouth fell open slightly, and the air felt like it had been sucked out of the room. This was something they had silently agreed to never talk about again, but Karen had just broken that rule, and the weight of the confession felt heavy between them.
"Karen, I--"
"No, I know," Karen chuckled in spite of herself. “You’re with Jim, and I’m happy for you. I really am. But I just—I’ve spent so long hiding, pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not. And I just found out that my kids have been doing exactly that for the last five years.” She choked back a sob. “I should’ve known.”
Joyce looked at her hands resting in her lap. “We all make mistakes, Karen. That’s part of the deal of being a parent. You know, you can try and try and try, but…” She trailed off and shook her head like she was willing away a bad memory. “Look, you can’t change the last five years. None of us can, and that really fucking sucks because now? Now, the war’s over, and we’ve gotta deal with the aftermath. Maybe you should have known then, but Karen, all that really matters is that you know now.”
Karen shut her eyes. She didn't tell Joyce that a part of her has been wondering if it would’ve been better for her never to have found out. If she could have taken Holly and not been there the night the demogorgon attacked, if her kids would’ve been safe, if life had worked out just a little bit differently.
And she was suddenly so tired, her mind feeling like it had been running a marathon the last two weeks and it just passed the finish line. She and Joyce sat there for a while, listening to the clock on the wall, words between them silent again.
June 1990.
Karen stood on the beach in Montauk, watching as seagulls flew up ahead and waves gently crashed against the sand. It was so peaceful here, so unlike Hawkins in every which way. The air was cleaner, the people friendlier, and there was no secret threatening to split the town in half at any given moment.
"Just wait 'til sunset," Joyce said from behind, causing Karen to jump a bit. The brunette shot her a sympathetic smile. "Sorry. I thought you heard me coming."
"It's okay. I was just... in my own little world." The corners of Karen's lips turn upward as Joyce took the place next to her.
Since arriving in Montauk that morning, Karen noticed how happy Joyce was now. Her smile was brighter; her eyes shone more. It was like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.
And maybe it had. Maybe Hawkins was the ball and chain in Joyce's life, dragging behind her, tugging her back, forcing her to stay in one place every time she came close to escaping, and then demanding she fight in a never-ending war, whether the battle be with a low-paying job, an abusive husband, or monsters from another world.
But here? Here was peace and calm, and everything Joyce Maldonado had been denied since the day she was born.
"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Karen asked, because in less than twenty-four hours, Joyce would be walking down the aisle and saying yes to spending the rest of her life with Jim Hopper.
She knew the answer before she got one. Even back in high school, during those few months when she and Joyce were more than just friends but less than lovers, she knew a universe where Joyce didn't wind up with Jim Hopper probably didn't exist.
"I am," Joyce smiled. She put her hands in her pockets and looked down at the sand beneath their feet. A beat passed them by. "How are things in Hawkins?"
Oh, right. Because while, for the last year, Joyce had been free from the prison that was Hawkins, Indiana, Karen was still stuck there, cleaning dishes, doing laundry, and pretending to smile even as her own personal hell raged on. Except--
"I'm leaving Ted."
Joyce's head snapped toward Karen, grinning with eyes that looked almost proud. "Really?"
Karen nodded, releasing a breath she didn't know she was holding. Saying it out loud somehow made it feel real, and a wave of relief washed over her.
"Really," she confirmed. "It's not official yet. I mean, I haven't worked out all the details. I haven't even told Ted, and the kids don't know, but... it's time. I'm going to ask him for a divorce."
"Wow. What made you decide to do it now?"
"Honestly? You." Karen met Joyce's eyes. "I see how happy you are now, how... free you seem, and I... I want that for myself. Plus, almost being mauled to death by a freakin' monster really puts things in perspective. I don't want to spend the rest of my life wondering, and I definitely don't want to spend it pretending."
Joyce looked back down at the sand with a soft smile. "I want to show you something," she said before reaching into her pocket.
Karen gasped, and her eyes widened. "Is that...?"
"The necklace you gave me on my fifteenth birthday," Joyce nodded, looking at it in her grasp. "I found it when we were unpacking. Somehow, it's managed to survive through... well, everything."
Karen stared down at the necklace, memories rushing back of how nervous she had been to give it to Joyce, how her heart raced in a way she didn't understand at the time. She wished she could go back and tell her younger self to not be so afraid, that it would all work out, even if it did take a while.
Gently, Joyce grabbed Karen's hand and placed the necklace on her palm.
"I'm proud of you, Karen."
Tears collected in the corners of Karen's eyes, and for the first time in a very long time, she felt free.