Chapter Text
Joyce didn’t actually need to give him the phone number of the store, and she felt ridiculous afterwards. She even mentioned she lived across the street, she could just go out of the store for a few minutes and bring his Thermos back to him, right? But Hopper didn’t say a thing. He just took the book, checked the first page and left with his daughter after waving at her.
But he eventually called from the police station on a Wednesday afternoon and said that he would stop by after work. Joyce ended her shift at six and while she waited for him, she decided to make the most of the opportunity to clean the store so that she wouldn’t have to do it the next morning. With the boys at home, she didn’t feel the need to hurry so she grabbed an old rag and she scrubbed at the stains on the parquet floor and on the windows. The sun was reflecting in the room, warming her bare skin and at that moment, she felt at peace. Although she never particularly enjoyed doing the housework in general, it was different in here: she was always making sure the store was and looked clean before the opening and she couldn’t stand leaving a mess behind her. It wasn’t the part of the job she loved the most, but it came with the package.
Too busy scrubbing on a stubborn stain, she didn’t realize the front door of the store opened and two feet were now in her field of vision. She looked up and frowned.
“Bob! I thought you were on late shift, this week?”
He held out his hand to help her stand up, but she didn’t see it, or at least, she didn’t grab it.
“My boss let me go earlier since we hired that new intern, said he wants him to take charge of the closings for the summer” he declared, getting closer to her. “I thought we could go out tonight, I could take you to that place on Christopher Street.”
His hands were now on her hips and her discomfort was showing. She wanted to have a talk with him in order to express her thoughts about their relationship and her desire for them to take their time and not rush things, but she didn’t have a minute to herself, lately. A sheepish smile on the face, she put a hand on his chest, took a step back and made her way behind the counter.
“I have to go home, Jonathan and Will have been waiting so long for their “mac’n’cheese Wednesday,” she said.
“But a mac’n’chess Thursday would do no harm, right?” Bob answered, approaching her.
He circled her waist from behind and started peppering her neck with wet kisses. Joyce felt her body tense, but she bit her bottom lip and tried to relax. Her eyes shut.
“Bob…”
His mouth reached her pulse point and he nipped.
“We could sleep at my place. I’d have you all to myself.”
His grip around her belly tightened as he spoke, and suddenly, she felt oppressed. She brought her hands on top of his, trying to put an end to the embrace, and the doorbell rang at that precise moment. Hopper entered the store, but remained frozen on the threshold at the sight of the two lovers fondling. Joyce made eye contact and pushed Bob aside. She looked down, rapidly replaced her hair correctly and cleared her throat.
“Hopper, hi,” she said in a fake cheerful tone, her hands gripping at the counter. “I didn’t forget about your Thermos, this time.”
The tension was palpable. The two men had engaged in a staring contest, Bob looking at Hopper up and down without a word. His arm found its way back around his girlfriend’s waist, and Joyce hated it. She despised that feeling of being his property, of him feeling like he had to protect her from any potential menace. Hopper was not a threat, thus she didn't need to be protected. She could defend herself and did so successfully before Bob even entered her life. Visibly irritated, she clicked her tongue and squirmed away from him. She seized the Thermos and walked towards Hopper.
“Here,” she breathed, holding it out to him.
He grasped the container and Joyce noticed how he pinched his lips together. Why was she even staring at his mouth?
“Thanks,” Hopper said in a whisper before turning around and walking away without any further word.
The door closed, and Joyce felt an unexplainable anger rising. Her fists clenched, nails almost piercing the skin of her palms. She tried to calm down before facing Bob. “Breathe in, and breathe out”, that recognizable voice in her head said. She inhaled, exhaled and turned around. Bob was leaned against the wall, arms crossed against his chest, an annoyed expression over his face. He raised a brow at her.
“Who was he?”
“He’s— he’s a regular. Why did you act this way?”
“And you know his name?” Bob answered jealously, purposefully ignoring the last part of her sentence.
Joyce couldn’t believe it. She looked at him, eyes widening at his words.
“Yes, it happens Bob, you’re a sales assistant, you should know.”
He threw up his hands and raised his voice.
“I don’t know my customers’ names, Joyce, and they certainly don’t look at me the way he looked at you—”
She didn’t let him finish his sentence. “Will you stop, for fuck’s sake?”
She massaged her temples. Jealousy didn’t look good on him, and she wanted this quarrel to end. Nothing was going on between her and Hopper, at least, nothing Bob had to worry about, which is why his attitude appeared as odd to her. Her gaze met his, and she noticed how he shook his head and sighed, slowly becoming aware of the way he acted, which was nothing like him.
“I’m sorry, Joyce. I don’t know what got into me.”
She calmed down, too tired to keep on fighting.
“Please, don’t—never do it again. Please,” she pleaded, her small frame hunched up.
He looked at her, eyes full of regret.
“I won’t.”
She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance.
“Just go. Please.”
He left the store silently, leaving her on her own to deal with her conflicting emotions. He had shown her a new facet of his personality she didn’t like, he shouted at her about a ridiculous and meaningless interaction she had with a client and she felt utterly lost, so she did the only thing that could bring her comfort. She went home, she hugged her sons and cooked them the meal they had been craving for days.
Mac’n’cheese had always been a Wednesday dinner, and no one would ever change that.
***
The Wheeler kids returned to New York in the first days of August. Nancy had turned twelve during their vacations, and Joyce surprised Jonathan asking his little brother for some drawing tips a few days before their return. When a few knocks echoed in the Byers’ apartment, Jonathan immediately stood up from the couch. He faced his mother and asked:
“Does my hair look good?”
She smiled adorably at him and replaced a few strands correctly.
“My perfect boy,” she said, stroking his cheek. “Open the door, don’t make our guests wait!”
Karen’s parents owned a large property in Ohio, and Mike spent a great amount of time describing his first time riding a horse to Will, who listened attentively. Jonathan and Nancy, on the other hand, were sitting on the ground of the living room. Joyce, who had told Karen a few days earlier about her discovery and how she suspected her eldest son to fall in love with Nancy, observed from afar with a large grin on the face. Jonathan handed his friend his colorful drawing, blushing when she hugged him in return.
“I can’t believe you’re gonna be my daughter’s family-in-law,” Karen exclaimed.
“They’re barely twelve, K. Give them some time before you start to prepare the wedding,” Joyce said in a laugh.
Their elbows propped on the kitchen counter, they sipped some wine from their glasses. Karen’s parents brought her a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon from Ohio, and it was the best thing Joyce had ever tasted in her entire life.
“How is Bob?” Karen asked, out of politeness.
Joyce remained silent for a few seconds and took a large gulp of wine, and Karen looked at her in the eyes.
“Joyce? What has he done?”
“Nothing, it’s… we kind of had a fight a week ago and I haven’t heard from him since. I’m worried.”
“What did you fight about?” Karen asked, raising a brow at her friend.
“He made a scene at the store, got jealous and all,” she said, wincing.
Her friend let a loud laugh out and the kids all turned around for a second before eventually going back to their activities.
“Who would he even be jealous about? Donald?”
“Yuk, Karen, of course not!” Joyce answered with a disgusted expression on the face.
They made eye-contact and burst into laughter, imagining poor old Donald in ways they had never thought they would. Karen calmed down rapidly, wanting to know the long and the short of what happened between them.
“Then, who?”
Breathe in, and breathe out.
“You remember that unbearable customer I talked about a few months ago?”
“Joyce, sweetie, you’re gonna have to give me some more details, you’ve mentioned quite a lot of obnoxious clients.”
Joyce rolled her eyes.
“The one who told Donald he didn’t need, that he could handle the store on his own.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember him,” Karen answered, now rolling her eyes herself. “Darling, it seems you have a knack for attracting assholes into your life.”
Joyce answered louder than she meant to without skipping a beat.
“Hopper’s not an asshole.”
Once again, the kids turned around, shocked by the last word she used. They all looked at the swear jar that was put on display on the table, and Joyce sighed. She went through her jean pockets and grabbed a few pennies out of it, immediately putting them inside of the container. A satisfied smile replaced the upset faces of the children in the living room. Karen, who was looking at the whole scene from afar, swallowed some of her wine when Joyce returned next to her. Leaning forward, her lips parted.
“So, Hopper, it is?”
Joyce pinched the bridge of her nose. She already regretted mentioning his name to her inquisitive friend. Karen was gazing at her with focus, head tilted to the side and a grin on the face.
“He’s a regular,” Joyce said in a whisper. “He’s the one who helped me with my hand injury when it occurred. I know I told you—”
“You told me Donald took care of it!”
“I was so confused by the whole situation, Karen. He appeared out of nowhere and took care of it as if he had done this a million times.”
“The man may be a doctor, who knows?”
Joyce bit her lower lip.
“He’s a cop, actually, but he learned how to stitch during his draft.”
Karen’s hand hit her friend’s arm and she frowned.
“I can’t believe you. You’ve been talking to him?” she muttered more or less loudly.
Damn. Joyce knew what being judged felt like and she had gotten used to it, she simply didn’t expect it from Karen.
“You’ve been talking to him,” the blonde repeated, “without telling me? You little sneak!”
They made eye contact and Karen burst into laughter as she got up to put her empty glass in the sink. Joyce closed her eyes and exhaled in relief, knowing that her friend wasn't mad at her.
“Tell me everything. Why is Bob jealous of that man?”
She explained the whole thing: the irritation she felt at his sight after his mediocre and unconvincing speech to Donald, her clenched fists when he entered the store the next time, the relief she felt when he got at the right place at the right time, as if her bloody hand had been waiting for him. She talked about the banter, the anecdotes he shared with her and their similarities: he was a single father, and she’d even met his daughter. “Will gave her a guided tour of the flower shop,” she said proudly. She kept going, evoking that time she showed Hopper the flowers in the workshop, his smile when she offered him a flower to give to El, the Thermos he left her when she said she was desperately craving some.
She didn’t mention the thickness of the air every single time they found themselves in the same room.
She didn’t tell her about the electric shock she felt when their fingers collided.
She didn’t talk about the way her heart seemed to beat faster when the doorbell of the store rang with the hope of seeing him on the threshold.
She purposefully chose to avoid all of these details, at least for now. Still, Karen, who had remained dumbstruck during her tirade, opened her mouth and words flowed effortlessly.
“Oh, darling,” she said with a sympathetic smile. “It seems like you’ve been falling for the wrong man all along.”
***
Joyce knew she wasn’t good at singing, but she always found herself humming some tune she heard Jonathan crooning, and she knew damn well that the new radio Donald had brought to the store wouldn’t help her lose the habit. It had been a long and tiring day, customers had behaved as real pains in the ass and she couldn’t wait to close the store and go home to her sons. Heart of Glass by Blondie was coming out of the speakers when she put the sign on its “closed” face on the door. With a sigh of relief, she grabbed the broom and started sweeping the ground, gathering flower petals and dust.
The high pitch of the singer helped her body produce enough dopamine to dance. Her hips swung more or less rhythmically and her feet slid on the floor as she used the wooden stick of the broom as a mic. Her ponytail had turned into a messy hairstyle, her head moving from left to right as she turned into a backup singer for Debbie Harry and her little “ooh, oh” since she didn’t know any other lyrics. She let herself get carried away, not caring if her singing was out of tune. She swirled and swept. She threw her arms up in the air and swept. Her senses were on fire, but she kept sweeping until the end of the song. A new one was broadcast directly after, but she was short of breath and sweating, and as she turned around to head towards the counter and lower the volume, a long howl got out of her mouth and she dropped the broom.
“Hopper, for fuck’s sake,” she whispered, her hand trying to calm her racing heart. “We’ve gotta stop doing this.”
Leaning against the counter, the bastard was smirking.
“Stop doing what?”
Joyce’s hands started moving nervously, pointing at him and then at the door.
“Doing that,” she said, “you coming in and startling me every single time. How long have you even been there?”
He inhaled and shrugged, his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.
“Couple of minutes.”
Joyce pinched the bridge of her nose embarrassingly as she realized he might have been observing her making a spectacle of herself. A deep chuckle escaped his mouth and his grin made the dimple on his left cheek even more visible. Why was she even noticing this kind of detail? He scratched his beard and avoided her pleading look. She felt herself turning as red as a beet at the idea of Hopper telling the story of how he entered the store only to find the florist dancing to a Blondie song to Donald, so she tried her best to regain composure and tentatively asked:
“What happens in here stays in here, right?”
He locked eyes with her and butterflies invaded her belly. She felt like a giddy teenager, cheeks turning pink and teeth biting her lower lip. She looked down, trying to think of the last time the two of them found themselves in the same room, but then, she wished she didn’t remember.
“Listen, I’m sorry about the other day, my boyfr—Bob, he didn’t tell me he was coming.”
Hopper winced for half a second, hoping she wouldn’t notice it. She did. But then, a superficial smile appeared on his face and he started acting out.
“Nah, it’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be, eh?”
“So, we’re— we’re fine, right?” Joyce asked, somehow troubled.
Hopper nodded. “Yeah, Joyce, we’re fine.”
Those damn butterflies.
She timidly smiled at him as she untied her hair. He gazed at her the whole time, lips parted, and maybe she enjoyed it. She picked the broom from the ground and cleaned the pile of dust she had gathered a few minutes before Hopper’s intrusion inside of the store. She frowned at the thought.
“The store is supposed to be closed, I even put on the sign,” she said as she opened the trash can, pouring the dirtiness inside. “Why did you even enter?”
She was squinting, and he suddenly seemed more embarrassed than her, shifting weight from side to side and fidgeting with the seams of his shirt.
“Last minute emergency,” he voiced, avoiding eye contact.
“Oh yeah? Let me guess,” Joyce asked with a smile as she sat on the stool. “You had a fight with El and you’re trying to make it up to her?”
“Not quite—”
“Is this her birthday?”
Hopper gulped. “Joyce, it’s not—”
“Unless you’re visiting someone else? Why am I assuming every bunch you buy in here has to be for your daughter,” she said, shaking her head, her brunette curls landing over her shoulders.
“I have a date, Joyce.”
Her breath hitched.
“Oh,” she managed to say.
Why was she feeling this way? She had absolutely no right to, but she felt tears clouding her eyes and suddenly, she couldn’t stand his look. She headed towards the bunches of flowers she hadn’t put away yet, delicately caressing the petals like he used to do every time he would wander around the store. Breathe in, and breathe out. She grabbed the bouquet of red roses and headed back towards the counter.
“I only have roses left, I’m sorry,” she said, although she didn’t feel sorry at all.
“It’s fine, she’s not a florist,” Hopper said, shrugging.
“What do you mean?” Joyce asked, looking hard at him now that tears had disappeared from her eyes.
“Some people enjoy red roses. Or at least, Melissa does, but some others would find them too…”
“Basic,” she whispered, finishing his sentence.
“Yeah,” he breathed, leaning over the counter, a few inches separating their faces. “Red roses are too basic for people like you.”
His eyes plunged into hers and at that moment, she felt powerless and completely at his mercy, but she still managed to grip the wooden counter and steady herself on it. After a few seconds, she looked away, put a strand of hair back behind her ear and muttered:
“That’ll be sixteen dollars.”
As usual, he offered her to keep the change but this time, she refused. “You'll give it to the waiter,” she said. The rest of her day was already wasted, and no amount of tipping could wipe away the fact that the man she was falling for was probably going to fall for another woman.