Chapter Text
Flowers had their own language and Joyce Byers always knew she wanted to learn it.
But being a florist in the small town of Hawkins wasn’t going to pay the bills, especially with a drunk husband spending half of his time at the local bar and the other half crashing on the couch, reeking cheap whisky. She decided to act sensibly and worked as a retail clerk for over a decade to provide for her two sons. However, anyone who was friends with Joyce knew that she wasn’t one to easily let go of her dreams and goals, which is why she tried to ally her love for nature with her busy daily life. Even when Lonnie lost his job. Even when they divorced and she became a single mother. She would come home late at night and either draw or work on her portfolio after tucking her children in bed.
Her mother was her only moral support in these hard times, picking up the boys after school, helping them with the homework, cooking them dinner and reading them a story before bedtime. Although Joyce never confronted her about it, she also suspected her to buy her family some supplies, the fridge sometimes being fuller than it was when she left in the morning. Elaine Horowitz was an angel on earth, a loving mother and grandmother, always willing to help and to make life easier for her relatives. But as Wordsworth wrote it in one of Joyce’s favorite poems, ‘the good die first’.
Elaine passed away on November 9th, 1978 and left a void in the household.
Will, who was five at the time, did not quite grasp the concept of death and kept questioning his mother about it. “When is Mima coming home, Mom?”
Every single time, Joyce had to hold back the tears. She was supposed to be a strong mother figure, just like her own mother had been. She couldn’t allow herself to fall apart, not now, not in the daylight. Too busy trying to stick her broken pieces together, she didn’t notice how Jonathan led his brother to the living room, sitting him on the couch before kneeling in front of him.
“Mima is dead, Will. It means that she’s not coming back,” the eleven-year old explained with an impressive sense of calmness.
Will remained silent for a few seconds, scratching his hair before answering with teary eyes.
“Never ever?”
Joyce stood up and walked towards her sons, feeling the urge to hug them both. She knelt down and opened her arms for them to take refuge in. Will instantly threw himself into the embrace, tears falling down his cheeks, and Jonathan gave him some time before slipping into the hug. Joyce held them as close as possible, their tiny hearts beating against her own. She only let them go to give her youngest son a more precise explanation.
“Will, you remember when Mima was coughing, right?” she said with a very soft voice, stroking his cheek. “She was sick, baby. She was very sick and very tired, but it’s not your fault, okay?” She met Jonathan’s eyes and immediately felt his need for reassurance. “It’s nobody’s fault. Sometimes, people get sick and there is no remedy. That’s what happened. But Mima wanted both of you to know that loved you very much, more than words can explain.”
“I love Mima to the moon and back,” Jonathan whispered.
“I know, baby. I love her to the moon and back too.”
At that moment, love hurt. Joyce had never felt that kind of pain: not when her father died when she was only four, or when she learned about her unfaithful husband and even not when they got a divorce. This feeling of being torn apart by sorrow was the worst she had ever experienced. Black chrysanthemums deployed in her body, but she made the solemn promise to herself to preserve her sons from it by keeping the memory of their grandmother alive.
And little by little, smiles would replace tears on each of their faces at the mention of Elaine.
***
On a cold December evening, Joyce came back from work. Jonathan and Will now took the bus to come back home after school, which got her out of a tight spot. She couldn’t afford a baby-sitter, so instead, she would leave their snack on the kitchen table and she rearranged her work schedule to get home earlier than before. That day, as soon as her left foot got out of her Pinto, she thought about how expensive the gas bills would be with such low temperatures. Jonathan also needed a new coat, but thankfully, she wouldn’t have to buy winter clothes to Will since he would use his older brother’s former ones. She was shivering on her way to the mailbox and just grabbed the envelopes before rushing inside.
Both of her kids looked up when she appeared on the threshold.
“Hi, sweethearts!”
Will rushed into her arms, a huge smile on the face. She let go of the mail to hug him and to kiss all over his tiny face.
“How was school today?” she asked him.
“T’was good, Mommy. I drew a donozor.”
Joyce smiled and corrected him.
“That’s a ‘dinosaur’, Will.”
“Di-no-saur”, he repeated. “I still have to colour it, though.”
“That’s alright. Take your time, there’s no rush baby,” she said, kissing the top of his head.
She headed to the living room where Jonathan was reading. She brushed his hair to annoy him. It was their ritual: he wasn’t very tactile and didn’t need to be hugged like his brother, so she would try to find some ways to show him here presence in every sense of the word.
“You had a good day too, Jon?”
“It was fine. P.E sucks, but my history course was great,” he declared, turning the TV off. “Do you need help for dinner?”
Joyce shook her head.
“I’m handling it, young boy. Take a shower and I bet it’ll be ready once you’re in your pajamas.”
A timid smile appeared on his face.
“Not if I turn into Barry Allen.”
“Who’s Barry Allen?” Joyce asked genuinely.
“Mom, c’mon, I bet even Will has heard of Barry Allen. Right Will? You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”
The young boy shrugged, bored by the conversation. Jonathan rolled his eyes before explaining his reference to his family.
“Barry Allen is Flash, you know, the superhero who has a superhuman speed power. He’s wearing a…”
“Red suit! With a bolt of lightning on it, right?” Joyce exclaimed, proud to remember such a detail.
“Exactly, Mom! See, you’re not that old yet,” Jonathan shouted before running to the bathroom, fleeing his mother’s reaction.
Joyce held back a laugh, not so shocked by her son’s repartee. She then headed to the kitchen, collecting the pile of mail she had dropped on the floor earlier. Electricity bill, water bill and a white letter with no further indication. She frowned and opened it first, proceeding to read it seated in the kitchen.
And God, she did the right thing sitting down.
Donald Melvald, a florist in New York, wanted to meet her after having received her portfolio. What? But it was written in plain English, she couldn’t have made this up. But how? She ran to her bedroom, opened the drawer she had been hiding her portfolio in for the last few years, but it was gone. She started to shake and tried to focus on her breathing. Was it a fraud? But then, why would that man have written his contact details on the top left-corner of the letter? There was a name, a phone number and even his personal address. And why would her folder of sketches would have disappeared if that man didn’t have it in his possession? Too many question, so little answers.
“I’m done, Mom. Told you I was the new Barry Allen,” Jonathan said on the threshold of her bedroom with a proud tone, noticing that dinner wasn’t ready yet.
Joyce got out of her little bubble, carefully folding the mail and putting it on her nightstand. She headed to the kitchen, silently cooking a canned meal for her sons. She poured a generous portion to both of them and ate the rest of it, a worried look on the face. Dinner went by quietly, all of the household exhausted. Joyce showed Will how to wash his hair since he didn’t quite differentiate shower gel and shampoo yet, “but now I know” he said for the third time of the week. Once both of them were in bed, she kissed their foreheads and turned off the lights before heading to her own bedroom.
The letter was still there. It was real.
She sat on the bed and read it four times more. Although the enthusiasm of the writer wasn’t extreme, he paid some compliments on her portfolio, defining it as “astounding for someone who has never worked in the field”. He asked her to call him as soon as she would get this letter.
She did so the next day. The store was empty, so she decided to make the most of the opportunity to change her life. Donald Melvald answered after the second ringing. His voice was monotonous but he showed a great interest in Joyce’s profile. She still didn’t understand how he could have known about her, giving the thousands of kilometers that separated both of their lives.
“Your mother, she’s the one who wrote me first. She told me about, erm, her disease and all that stuff. ‘Said you were really motivated and that you needed something to start over after… Yeah. My thoughts are with you.”
Joyce got quiet, her hand sweating on the phone and emotion invading her whole body. Her mother worked wonders, even from heaven.
“Thank you, Mr Melvald. But, there’s something I don’t understand— why do you need me to work at your store?”
He laughed and coughed a little. “I’m getting old, and retirement is not an option as long as I haven’t found someone to take over the business. For the first few weeks, I’ll be at the shop with you, while you find your feet. But then, I’ll leave you some space to express your creativity, if it suits you, of course.”
Joyce, who had always listened to reason in every situation of her life, got surprised when she felt how her heart was beating fast, as if it were trying to get out of her chest and take over rationality. Her lips parted:
“It suits me very well, Mr. Melvald.”
And with these seven words, her life and her boys’ was about to change indelibly.
***
Packing her life into cardboard boxes turned out to be a lot more emotional than Joyce expected. Jonathan and Will greeted the news of them moving to the Big Apple really well and rapidly selected the toys and books they wanted to bring with them. The apartment —provided with the job— was a lot smaller than their house in Hawkins: the boys would have to share a bedroom, the kitchen was not as equipped as their current one and obviously, there was no garden. However, on the bright side of things, the flower shop was across the street and the boys’ new school was less than a mile away.
Their Hawkins house was put on the realty market very quickly and although it didn’t found a buyer yet, some viewings were planned in the days following the family’s departure. Gary, one of their neighbours, agreed to deal with it, which relieved Joyce. So here they were, on a truck full with their belongings and memories, driving through America. Will was seated next to Jonathan and when he fell asleep, his head slid on his older brother’s shoulder. Joyce smiled at the view.
“Are we there yet, Mom?” her older son asked.
“No, you should get some sleep, sweetie.”
He quietly shifted, making sure he wouldn’t wake his brother with his change of position. Joyce stared at them for a second or two, brushing her hand through their hair. Her heart was bursting with love as she thought about how everything would be fine as long as they’d be together.
***
The new apartment wasn’t what dreams were made of, but after a few days, they managed to turn it into a cute little home. Photographs were framed and now hung on the walls, the boys’ books were gathered on one of the shelf in the living room and flowers from Joyce’s work were emitting a lovely scent that filled the main room with a natural aroma. It wasn’t the best home, but it was theirs and they couldn’t have asked for anything more.
The first week at the flower shop went smoothly. Donald was a sympathetic person, although he didn’t seem as passionate by his job as she expected, but then again, he was a tired old man who wanted to find someone to replace him after his retirement. And apparently, she was the only one on his list, which was pretty stress-inducing to Joyce. But when she brought her portfolio back home after her first day, she flipped through it and it occurred to her how lucky she was. Her mother was her own lucky star, even after her death.
She loved their new life a little bit more every day. Usually, she’d wake up a little before the ringing of her alarm clock. She had always been a morning person, and ever since they moved to New York, she had been enjoying getting up before the first sunbeams could even light up their apartment. A hot cup of coffee in her hands and a cigarette between her lips, she would settle next to the kitchen window with one of her poetry books and alternate between the reading of a few pages and observing the street, more and more crowded as minutes went by.
Then, the boys would get up, eyes half opened and scruffy hair. They would remain silent, eat their cereals and drink their glass of apple juice before hurrying up and get ready to go to school. God, she cherished these soft moments with them. This new life was a new opportunity for the three of them, and they seemed to adapt quite quickly.
“Come on, boys, we’re all going to be late if you don’t tie your shoe laces faster,” Joyce said, searching for her keys. “Oh, shoot, where are they?”
“You’re looking for these, Mom?” Jonathan said, the apartment keys in his hand.
Joyce’s face softened as she headed towards the door, Will’s schoolbag in her hand.
“What would I do without you?” she declared, smoothing the collar of his shirt.
The eleven-year old answered, a proud smile on the face. “You’d be even more late.”
***
The Bloom Room was a little flower shop located in Brooklyn. The large front windows looked out on the greenery of Prospect Park, where she would sometimes go sit at to enjoy her lunch meal. Donald was her only colleague, and he was a quiet old man. They did not share many words, but he already seemed to trust her enough to entrust her with the store openings. She would never admit it to him, but being in charge of another bunch of keys made her somewhat anxious, dreading their loss every single day.
But once she would enter the workshop, her apron on top of her casual clothes and her hair somehow pulled back into a bun, she would forget about the rest of the world. The air was chilly on this second week of January, but snow had melted a few days ago. Her sons’ eyes had been filled with wonder when they witnessed the first snowflakes falling from the sky a few weeks earlier, and she couldn’t help smiling at the thought of the many winters and all of the other seasons to come in New York.
The doorbell rang, forcing her to come out of her shell. She let go of the floral arrangement she was working on to head to the shop, where a tall man was standing.
“Hi, can I help you?” she asked the newcomer.
He stared at her and raised an eyebrow. “Is Donald there yet?”
“Nope, just me until ten thirty.”
He seemed annoyed, his left hand reaching for the back of his neck. “Tell him I’ll pop by again in the late afternoon, then.”
“Got it,” she answered politely as he was about to leave the shop. “On behalf of… ?”
He turned around, meeting her eyes. “Hopper. Jim Hopper.”
And just like that, he disappeared. Joyce frowned as she scribbled his name on an old receipt. Sure, she had only been working there for a week, but she was willing to help any customer and do her very best to meet their demands. She took a big breath and returned to work, putting this event aside. The rest of the morning went smoothly and people bought all of the arrangements of roses, lisanthius and dahlia she had been working on earlier.
***
Joyce decided to go home and have her lunch there instead of going to the park, the air way too cold on that day. As she looked for her keys in her purse, a gloved hand opened the entrance hall door, startling her.
“Oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the feminine voice said genuinely. “Are you okay?”
Joyce let a laugh out.
“It’s alright, I’m just fine. Just looking for…” She sighed as her hand finally managed to grab her keys. “These.”
Joyce wasn't a very sociable person, but this time, she decided to seize the opportunity to get to know more people and she introduced herself. “I’m Joyce Byers, by the way.”
“Oh, you’re the new neighbor, right? So you must be the new florist too, then? It’s nice to meet you, Joyce. I’m Karen.”
The two women shared a smile, both of them good at hiding their delight at the idea of meeting a potential friend.
“I moved here after my divorce and even though my kids were sulking at first, I think the two of them love it here, now. I love it too, but to be completely honest, I think I would’ve loved being anywhere as long as my ex-husband was hundreds of mile away. Oh God, I should stop oversharing. Am I oversharing?” Karen asked with a worried look.
Joyce was speechless. She didn’t feel uncomfortable, not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. When she divorced her husband, she had gotten used to the idea of being the talk of the town. People who got married stayed married. “For better or for worse”, Lonnie’s mother had reminded her after one of his too-many affairs. But here, in New York, she would get to meet people like her: single mothers coping with the consequences of a divorce and trying their damn best to offer the life they deserve to their kids. And Karen seemed to be one of them.
“You’re not. I have two kids, too. They definitely should meet, right?” Joyce offered, hoping for a positive response so that not only Jonathan and Will could make new friends, but it would allow her to get to know more about her neighbor.
Karen’s face brightened as she responded enthusiastically. “Definitely. Let’s have an after-school snack together this week! When are you all available?”
“I leave work at three thirty tomorrow, would it be—”
“Perfect! Let’s meet tomorrow at four, then. We live on the second floor, and Mike has a lot of toys I’m sure he would be happy to share with…”
“Jonathan and Will,” Joyce answered, her heart full of joy at the thought of her sons developing friendships.
“These are some lovely names. I’m sorry—I’ve gotta go now, but I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“Noted!”
As she looked at her neighbor running down the street, Joyce felt a surge of happiness invading her body. This new life was going to be stimulating and she could already feel it.
***
Once her mac and cheese leftovers swallowed, she went back to the store although her lunch break wasn’t officially over. Donald was there, busy organizing the forthcoming orders. Families often called on The Bloom Room to decorate churches for weddings, but these days, it was mostly funerals. Both of them spent their afternoon working on sprays and printing condolences messages, paying great attention not to swap them. Joyce cut herself a few times because of the thorns of the plants, but she thought of it as a mere occupational hazard.
At five o’clock, Donald looked up from his working surface.
“Joyce, you go home, your sons are waiting for you,” he said, adding a movement of hand that pointed the front door, commanding her to clock out.
“Alright, Mr. Melvald—”
“Already told you to call me Donald, didn’t I?”
Joyce felt herself flush, hoping that he didn’t consider it as a lack of respect. She was so thankful to this man for offering her a new beginning, although the wage was rather small. She didn’t complain, though: she had everything she needed, and these first weeks in New York turned out to be more exciting than she expected, even if the size of the city was sometimes giving her anxiety. At least, she would have a friend to discuss all of this with. She was hopping up and down with impatience at the idea of breaking the news to her sons: there were two other kids in the same building and they would get to spend some time together the following day.
For the umpteenth time of the day, the arrival of a customer snapped her out of her reverie. She looked up, and there he was. The tall man who left when he realized that she would be the one dealing with his order. As he greeted Donald, their eyes met and although she tried her best to remain impassive, her stoic face was quickly replaced by a frowning one. She turned around and went to the small checkroom to grab her purse. Once her apron was put back on its hanger, she let her hair down and put some chapstick on her lips.
As she left the staff room, she heard her some murmurs.
“So, you hired someone? Why?” the customer asked her boss.
“I’m gettin’ old, Hopper” he answered with a deep chuckle. “And that girl’s pretty good, y’know.”
“Maybe, but why? I mean, you’ve always managed the shop on your own, it’s not like you need a newbie…”
“I did handle it for years, but a wise man should know his limits, right? Besides, Margaret is growing tired of me working like a dog.”
“So she’s here to stay?”
“I hope so, but anyway, I doubt she’d leave. She glows when she works on arrangements. I might ask her to take care of your order within the end of the month, if that’s okay with you? You’ll see, she’s—”
And at that moment, Joyce dropped her keys on the floor. Those goddamn keys, always there when she didn't need them. The two men stared at her and she smiled nervously.
“I’m sorry, I’m leaving now,” she said, fidgeting with her keyring.
At that same moment, Jim Hopper took a bundle of bills from a pocket of his jacket and told Donald to keep the change before catching a floral arrangement on the counter and a bunch of Peruvian lilies. His arms were loaded as he headed towards the entrance, and Joyce overtook him.
“Thank you,” he whispered calmly as she held the door.
“See you tomorrow, Donald,” Joyce shouted, a vague sign of the hand in response.
She found herself outside of the shop, facing a rude and patronizing client, and now that she was off her working hours, she felt an urge to get some answers to her questions.
She asked him with a cold tone. “So, are you satisfied?”
He stared at her for a second, then at his flowers, and back at her. “Yeah, the flowers are great.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. What was that? Did I do something to offend you, this morning?”
He cleared his throat, gaining some precious seconds to think about his next sentence.
“Listen, uh, I’m sorry about what you might have heard inside—”
“No, no, I’m the one who’s supposed to talk,” she cut him off. “This job is a shot at normalcy not only for me, but for my two sons. I worked for it. I’ve earned it. And I’m fucking good at what I’m doing, so I won’t let you take it away from me. Have I made myself clear, Hopper?”
Her cheeks were red and anger had filled her stomach. She wasn’t the kind of woman to make a scene in the middle of the street with a man she knew nothing about. But ever since she divorced Lonnie, she couldn’t stand when a man stood in her way. She wouldn’t tolerate it anymore.
After what seemed like an eternity, he responded. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Joyce repeated incredulously.
“Okay.”
“Okay, then.”
Her brown pupils met his blue eyes, a silent staring contest settling. He squinted as she pulled on her red beanie, trying to protect her ears from the cold. When she decided to leave, he did the same, heading towards the opposite direction, which provoked a collision of their bodies. He almost dropped the floral arrangement to the floor, but she caught it in extremis. She put it back in his arms silently.
“I owe you one,” he declared before disappearing in the dusk.
She was left with many questions, but most importantly, a growing satisfaction at the idea of becoming the woman she’d always wanted to be: one that would never let herself be disrespected by a man. A woman who had been through much and who would stand for herself and her kids to set an example.