ONE-SHOT: Fireworks
New York, July 2, 1992 — Thursday
Will Byers closed the door of the SoHo gallery at six-fifteen, his hands still stained with a stubborn streak of acrylic blue he hadn’t managed to scrub off completely. He was twenty-one, yet on certain summer afternoons he still felt like the kid from Hawkins who used to hide drawings inside Castle Byers. This time, though, he had sold two prints. The gallerist had told him his sea landscape series was gaining traction. “Looks like you’ve finally found the light,” he’d said. Will had smiled and said nothing.
The Line 1 subway was a furnace, as always in summer. The old cars without air conditioning turned every ride into a sauna. He gripped a pole, his thin t-shirt stuck to his back, and thought about Carlton. They had fought about two weeks earlier—not about monsters or the past (Will had never really told him about that). He had only mentioned once that he had suffered a lot when he was younger, that some things were better left sealed in a box. Carlton, twenty-four and a literature student, wanted more: a trip together in the fall, concrete plans, total openness. “You never fully open up, Will. It’s like you’re always waiting for something to take you away again.” The words still burned. Will hadn’t answered. He had just grabbed his jacket and left.
His apartment in the Village was a small sanctuary on the third floor of a red-brick building. Warm, cozy, entirely his. The cream-colored walls were covered with canvases: waves breaking under a golden sky, patches of light that no longer resembled the shadows of the Upside Down. An old wool blanket on the couch, stacks of art books and comics, a thriving monstera Joyce had given him the year before. Will kicked off his shoes, took a long shower, letting the hot water wash away the exhaustion and the knot in his stomach.
Wrapped in a towel, he sat on the floor with his palette. He was mixing a warm violet when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Will! Sweetheart, it’s Mom.” Joyce’s voice came through bright as ever. “Have you eaten? Are you still painting?”
He smiled. “I’m good. I was just finishing the colors on a new canvas. I want to show it to the gallery next week.”
“Wonderful! Listen… Jim and I are organizing a barbecue for the Fourth of July. Nothing too big, just family and the kids. They already said they’re coming and staying the whole weekend. I know it’s last minute, but… will you and Jonathan come? I miss seeing all of you together. Plus, there’s the ocean here. You could go for a swim… it would do you good to breathe some sea air instead of staying in that city of steel and concrete. You deserve it…”
She paused for a moment, then added more softly, almost carefully:
“Maybe you want to spend it with Carlton? If you’d rather be alone with him, I understand. Or he can come here too, if he wants.”
Will looked out the window at the rooftops glowing in the New York sunset. Joyce had always had a sixth sense for when something was wrong between him and Carlton. The thought of the Montauk beach, the smell of salt, and the seagulls loosened something inside him. After all, it didn’t happen often that everyone—really everyone—got together.
“No, it’s fine, Mom. I’d love to come. Just… I don’t think Carlton will be joining.”
Joyce was quiet at first, then laughed, touched. “Alright. Then…” she didn’t quite know what to say without hurting him, “given the situation… one more reason not to spend it alone. It’s right that we’re all together again for a normal holiday.”
“Normal,” Will repeated softly. They both knew that word carried a different weight for them. Eleven was gone. She had died in the explosion of November 1987, sacrificing herself to bring everything down. The group still sometimes hoped she was alive somewhere, but Will knew. She was gone. And he had learned to live with it. He missed her terribly. They all did.
After Joyce and Hopper got married in Hawkins two years earlier (Jonathan had walked Joyce down the aisle and Will had been Hopper’s best man), they had moved to Montauk, at the tip of Long Island, to a lovely house near the beach.
Will ended the call with a smile.
The next day, Will picked up Jonathan in front of NYU with his second-hand station wagon—an old Volvo with rust on the bumpers that he had bought with his first gallery earnings.
They loaded the bags into the trunk and set off under a perfect blue sky. Montauk was nearly three hours away, about 190 kilometers.
“Ready for Byers-Hopper chaos?” Jonathan asked, adjusting his sunglasses as they merged onto the highway to the sound of The Clash’s *Should I Stay or Should I Go*.
Will laughed. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
They talked the entire drive: the new short film Jonathan was editing, Will’s paintings, the latest exhibitions at the MoMA. It felt good. In New York they saw each other often—coffee in the Village, evening walks, comfortable silences—and every time Will remembered how lucky he was to have a brother who had never stopped protecting him, even when the world had fallen apart.
They arrived in Montauk in the late afternoon. The house near the beach looked exactly the same: light wood, a veranda overlooking the sea.
Hopper’s car and another unfamiliar vehicle were parked in the driveway. Joyce ran out to hug them, squeezing as only she could.
“My boys!” she exclaimed, hugging Jonathan first and then Will. Hopper appeared in the doorway with his trademark half-smile and gave them both a firm pat on the shoulder.
But when they stepped into the kitchen, Will froze for a second.
Mike was there. Standing next to Nancy, who was laughing at something Hopper had said. Mike, with a grown-out beard, looked up and their eyes met. For a moment, something ancient and familiar passed between them.
“Will,” Mike said, his tone a little too casual. “Good to see you.”
Nancy hugged them both. Will and Jonathan returned the embrace. “We got here this morning. Lucas and Max are on their way, and Dustin’s coming with Robin and Steve.”
Will nodded, trying to ignore the small knot in his stomach. He hadn’t expected Mike and Nancy to already be there.
He went upstairs to the room Joyce had prepared for them. He set his bag on the bed and, while unpacking, glanced at the walls covered in photos: Jonathan and Will as kids, the wedding with Hopper, the whole group in Hawkins… and pictures of Eleven too—smiling, with short hair, playing in the garden, or eating a waffle. They still hurt, but no one wanted to take them down.
When he came back downstairs, the others had arrived: Lucas and Max hand in hand, tanned and relaxed; Dustin with his worn-out baseball cap; Robin with shorter hair and a huge smile; Steve, complaining about the traffic as he walked in.
Joyce clapped her hands. “Kids, we’re missing a few things for tomorrow’s barbecue: ice, corn, a couple more bottles. Could you run to the store in town? Emily’s working—she’ll help you out.”
Will and Jonathan exchanged an amused look. Emily was a twenty-three-year-old girl who worked part-time with Joyce at the little café-bookshop in town. Joyce had taken a liking to her months ago and had privately confessed to Will that she thought she’d be perfect for Jonathan.
At the store, Emily was behind the counter: wavy brown hair, bright smile, a simple t-shirt under her apron. Will and Jonathan greeted her warmly—they had already met the previous summer.
“Will! Jonathan! So nice to see you again,” she said, blushing slightly.
Will introduced her to everyone.
While they were loading the groceries, Steve stood frozen in the doorway, staring at Emily with wide eyes and his mouth slightly open.
Robin gave him an affectionate elbow. “Earth to Harrington. Did you lose your tongue?”
Steve swallowed. “Do they… by any chance need more staff at this store?” he whispered so she wouldn’t hear. “I could seriously consider moving here.”
“Sorry,” Will replied, amused. “She already works with Mom.”
Emily looked up and smiled at them all. “Joyce told me you’re all coming to the barbecue tomorrow. She invited me too—I can’t wait!”
Steve turned red to the tips of his ears. Robin laughed softly. “Oh my God, he’s gone. Look at him—he looks like a puppy.”
Will smiled to himself. It was strange and beautiful to see Steve—the former King of Hawkins, everyone’s old babysitter—lose his head like that over a normal girl in a normal place.
They returned home with bags full of groceries. The sun was setting over the sea and, for the first time in days, Will felt like this Fourth of July might actually be a real celebration.
But while they were unloading, Mike’s gaze found him again.
As they settled in for the night, the house filled with familiar chaos. Lucas and Max took one of the single beds in the guest room, Dustin and Steve ended up on the pull-out couch in the living room with sleeping bags, Robin and Nancy shared the other room with the second fold-out bed. Will and Jonathan shared the smallest room, with a pull-out cot for Will.
For dinner, Hopper had insisted on cooking. The result was… questionable. Charred burgers, half-raw corn, and overly salty potato salad. Everyone ate anyway, laughing and joking.
“It’s the taste of love,” Joyce said, kissing Hopper on the cheek. Will laughed out loud when he saw Hopper grumble.
“Next time I’m ordering pizza.”
“Hopper, admit it,” Nancy said with a smirk, “your cooking skills have been stuck in 1983. At least this time you didn’t try to use the flamethrower to light the grill.”
Hopper grunted, but there was a half-smile on his face. “Hey, Wheeler, if you don’t like it you can cook. Joyce says you make a mean sauce.”
Dustin, mouth full, raised his fork. “I say it’s still better than those army rations we had in ’86. Remember? They tasted like boiled socks!”
Max laughed, elbowing Lucas. “Says the guy who once tried to make pancakes with Coca-Cola because ‘it was a scientific experiment.’”
Lucas shook his head, laughing. “And you, Mayfield, almost burned down the kitchen trying to ‘improve’ microwave popcorn. We’re even.”
Joyce laughed heartily, passing a plate to Will. “Enough, you two. Eat and be quiet. It’s nice having you all here fighting like you’re still twelve.”
Hopper nodded, looking at the group with gruff pride. “Yeah. No monsters, no running… just burnt burgers and stupid chatter. We needed this.”
On the morning of the Fourth of July, Will woke up before the sun had fully risen. The house was quiet, only the distant sound of waves. He got up quietly, pulled on a light hoodie, and went downstairs to the kitchen.
Joyce was already there, hair tied back and apron on, preparing pancake batter. The smell of coffee filled the air.
“Sweetheart,” she said, smiling when she saw him. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Will shook his head and walked over. “Can I help?”
“Of course. Stir this if you want.” She handed him the bowl and whisk. “So… tell me about New York. How’s life there really? The gallery, the paintings… and Carlton?”
Will stirred slowly, watching the batter turn smooth. “The gallery’s going well. I sold two prints this week. It feels… stable. For the first time I feel like I’m building something that’s mine.” He paused. “Things with Carlton are complicated. We fought two weeks ago. He wants me to open up more, to stop keeping everything locked inside. He’s right, I think. I’m trying, I really am, but it’s hard after everything that happened.”
Joyce nodded, pouring coffee into two mugs. “I know, honey. You’ve been through things no one should ever have to go through. But you deserve to be happy.”
Will hesitated for a second, then added quietly, “You know… when I finally said it out loud years ago, it felt like lifting a weight I’d been carrying since I was twelve. I didn’t realize how much it was crushing me until I let it out. For the first time I could really breathe. But some habits stay… keeping everything closed is still my first reaction.”
Joyce touched his arm with a soft, slightly teary smile. “And look how far you’ve come since that day. I’m so proud of you, Will. Carlton seems like a good boy. If he makes you happy… try. You don’t have to carry the weight of the past alone.”
They were finishing setting the table when Max walked into the kitchen, still in her pajamas, red hair messy from sleep. She rubbed her eyes, clearly half-asleep.
“Morning,” she muttered, voice hoarse. Then she saw Will and her expression softened. “Hey, Byers.”
Joyce smiled. “Already up, Max?”
Max yawned and walked over to the counter. “Hard to sleep well… Lucas snored like a chainsaw all night. Sounded like a construction site.”
Will and Joyce burst out laughing. Max joined them a second later, her laugh still sleepy.
She walked over to Will and hugged him tightly, saying nothing for a few seconds. Will hugged her back, breathing in the familiar strawberry shampoo scent.
“I missed you,” she murmured against his shoulder. “It’s good to see you like this… peaceful. New York air suits you.”
Will smiled, holding her a little tighter. “I missed you too. How are things with Lucas?”
“Good,” she said, pulling back but keeping a hand on his arm. “Really good. And you? You look… lighter than last summer.”
“I’m trying,” Will said softly. “One day at a time.”
Max gave him an affectionate nudge. “Good. And if Carlton acts like an asshole, tell me. I’ll handle him.”
Will laughed quietly. Joyce watched them with teary eyes, happy to see them still so close.
Late in the morning they all went to the beach. The sea was calm, the sun warm on their skin. Will pulled off his t-shirt and stood for a moment on the hot sand, letting the smell of salt and sunscreen fill his lungs.
‘It’s strange,’ he thought. ‘Once the sun scared me because it always came after days of endless darkness. Now it just feels like light.’
They swam, played ball, splashed each other. Lucas and Max chased the others with water guns, laughing. Dustin climbed onto a shocking pink unicorn inflatable and started clowning around. Nancy, with a devilish grin, flipped it over suddenly. Dustin went under screaming and came up with wet hair plastered to his face, looking offended.
“Betrayal!” he yelled as everyone laughed.
“Nancy Wheeler, you’re a public menace!” Dustin sputtered. “I’m reporting you to the Council of Mad Scientists!”
Nancy laughed, swimming toward him. “The council you invented back in middle school, Henderson. And admit it—you deserved it for calling me ‘Ice Queen’ earlier.”
Max, clinging to Lucas’s shoulders, shouted: “Come on, Sinclair! Let’s avenge Dustin! Spray her!”
Lucas laughed, aiming the water gun at Nancy. “Sorry, Nance. Orders from my girlfriend. Beach law!”
Will had fun like a kid. As he swam and let the waves carry him, he felt the usual weight slip from his shoulders. ‘Here we’re just kids on a beach,’ he told himself as he spiked the ball toward Mike. ‘And for once it actually feels real.’
Then Emily arrived, a colorful towel over her shoulder and a familiar smile on her face. “Hey, there you are! You looked like a circus at the store yesterday—today it’s official.”
Max laughed and sprayed her lightly with the water gun. “See? I told you it would be worse. Want to join? We’re destroying Dustin.”
Emily smiled, sitting on the sand near Steve. “Maybe later. For now I’m enjoying the show. Steve, you didn’t tell me yesterday you were such a good lifeguard.”
Steve, who was just coming out of the water, froze again and blushed. “I… well, I try not to let anyone drown. Especially when Dustin acts like an idiot on his unicorn.”
Emily laughed softly, looking at the group with affection. “You’re all so… alive. It’s beautiful. Joyce told me so many stories, but seeing it in person is something else.”
Dustin, still on the inflatable, raised an arm. “Welcome to the official club, Emily! Rule number one: never trust Steve when he makes puppy eyes.”
“Too late, he’s already gone,” Robin said.
Will watched Steve stutter something incoherent and smiled to himself.
‘It’s nice to see him like this,’ he thought. ‘The King of Hawkins blushing over a normal girl in a normal place. Maybe this is what winning looks like: being able to be awkward and happy without the world ending.’
Joyce and Hopper, sitting a little further away under the umbrella, watched the scene with soft smiles. Hopper put an arm around Joyce’s shoulders. “Look at the beautiful kids we have,” he murmured. She nodded, eyes misty with happiness.
“They grew up so fast,” Joyce said quietly. “Remember when you used to chase them around the yard with a flashlight?”
Hopper huffed affectionately. “Yeah. And you always covered for them. ‘Jim, leave them alone, they’re just playing.’ Now look at them… they’re adults. Makes me feel old.”
Will watched them from afar and felt a sweet ache in his chest.
‘Mom’s right. We grew up. And we’re still here.’
Toward evening, before the grill, Joyce pulled out the Polaroid Spirit 600 CL that Jonathan and Will had given her for Christmas with their savings.
“Everyone together! A memory for this summer.” She gathered them on the veranda: Will between Jonathan and Mike, Lucas and Max hugging, Dustin with his cap crooked, Robin and Nancy laughing, Steve next to Emily, and Hopper and Joyce joining at the last second. The flash went off while everyone was smiling.
This time Steve was in charge of the barbecue (and he was definitely better than Hopper). With decent burgers, corn, roasted marshmallows, and cold drinks, the evening was full of jokes and laughter. Dustin told exaggerated college stories, Max teased Lucas about his skateboarding, Robin and Nancy traded sharp remarks. Steve tried (awkwardly) to talk to Emily, who seemed amused by his nervousness.
As the smoke from the grill rose into the orange-tinted sky, Will found himself watching the group around the table, biting into a slightly burnt marshmallow.
‘We look like a normal family,’ he thought. ‘Laughing over stupid things, fighting over the last piece of corn, no one constantly looking over their shoulder for something to come out of the dark.’ Yet beneath that lightness, he could still feel the thin thread that bound them all: the silent awareness that they had paid dearly for this normality. Especially Eleven. The thought of her came suddenly, but this time it brought only a warm, almost sweet nostalgia.
After dinner they played cards on the veranda table late into the night: poker, Uno, and an old Magic deck Dustin had brought. Will won a round and Jonathan teased him for cheating with telekinesis. Everyone laughed. Will felt light in a way he hadn’t in a long time.
‘Maybe this is the real miracle,’ he thought as he shuffled the cards for the next round. Not needing powers to survive anymore. Just normal hands, normal friends, and a summer evening that didn’t end in tragedy.
Later, though, he couldn’t sleep. The house was quiet, only the distant sound of waves. He got up, grabbed a can of soda from the fridge, and went out onto the pier. The air was cool, the sky full of stars.
He thought about Carlton. He wanted to make things right. Tomorrow, before leaving, he would call him from New York and say that when he got back he wanted to talk and make up. He couldn’t keep going like this.
He was taking a sip when he heard footsteps on the sand. He startled.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Mike said softly, approaching. “Is… everything okay?”
Will shook his head. Mike sat down beside him on the pier, legs dangling over the water. They stayed silent for a few minutes, only the sound of waves breaking below them.
“I have bad moments too,” Mike confessed eventually, his voice low. “After Eleven left… I felt emotionally stuck, like part of me stopped in November ’87. Everyone else moved on, moved away, built new lives. I wrote, but the stories felt like just a way to avoid the emptiness.”
He paused, then added more quietly, “And then I saw you here, Will. Seeing you again lit up something old and confusing. I thought it was just nostalgia for our old friendship, but tonight… I don’t know. It feels like part of me never really closed that chapter.”
Will turned his head, surprised. His heart was beating a little too fast.
Mike hesitated, his voice cracking. “I still have your painting in my room, you know? The one with the three-headed red dragon. It’s hanging above my desk. Every time I look at it I think of that day you gave it to me. You said I was the heart… but now I’m not so sure anymore.”
The silence returned, thicker this time. Mike leaned in slowly. He brushed Will’s hand with his own, a light, almost shy touch. Will didn’t pull away immediately. He felt the warmth of those fingers, the memory of a thousand other gestures from years ago. Mike looked up, eyes full of everything they had never said, dark under the moonlight, and moved closer. Their lips almost touched, a breath suspended between past and present.
Will felt a knot tighten in his stomach—a mix of fear, old tenderness, and something that felt dangerously like desire. For one brief instant, the world narrowed to that almost-contact, to Mike’s familiar scent, to the heartbeat thundering in his ears.
Then he pulled back, slowly but firmly. Not jerking away, but like someone who knows he has to for his own sake.
“Mike…” he murmured, voice uncertain. “We… we can’t.”
Mike pulled back immediately, mortified, his face flushing even in the dark. “I thought… Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
Will looked down at the dark water. “It took me years to sort myself out. To convince myself you were just my best friend. I have a boyfriend. We’ve been together for almost two years. I’m moving forward.” He paused, his voice lower. “And you show up here and… you make me remember how much it hurt. You’re not helping. You’re just hurting me.”
The last words came out softer than he intended, almost like a plea. Will stood up. “Eleven died so we could have this life. Let’s not ruin it.”
He walked back into the house without another word, leaving Mike alone on the pier with the sound of the waves.
The next morning, while they were packing, Steve found him sitting alone on the veranda. He sat down beside him and handed him a cold beer.
“Here. You’re old enough to drink legally now,” he said with a grin. “Even if Hopper would probably kill you if he saw.”
Will laughed softly, accepting the bottle. “Thanks, Steve.”
Steve took a sip from his own, then grew more serious. “I don’t know exactly what happened last night—I was too drunk to notice most of it—but this morning you’ve been quiet. If you need to talk… I’m here. We’ve never been big on heart-to-hearts, you and me. But you’re Jonathan’s little brother. And you’re one of us.”
Will stared at the beer for a few seconds, then nodded. “It’s complicated. Sometimes it feels like I’ve spent half my life trying to forget certain things… and the other half realizing they’ll never completely disappear.”
Steve gave him a clumsy but affectionate pat on the shoulder. “I know. I mean, not exactly like you, but… I’ve got my own mess too. I thought after everything we went through we’d be invincible, but we’re just… human. And that’s okay.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the others laugh and play on the beach one last time. Dustin was trying to get Max onto the inflatable, Lucas and Nancy were spraying each other with water guns, Jonathan and Emily were talking under the umbrella while she applied sunscreen. The sun shone high, the sea sparkled.
Steve sighed. “Whatever it is, it’ll be alright. Look at that… we made it this far.”
Will smiled weakly. “Yeah. We made it.”
A little after lunch, while they were cleaning the veranda, an unexpected taxi arrived. Joyce smiled with a knowing look: only she knew about the fight between Will and Carlton, and she had invited the boy as a surprise to help them reconcile.
Carlton stepped out of the car, bag over his shoulder and a slightly nervous smile. He was tall and pale, with dark hair and kind eyes. He hugged Joyce and introduced himself to everyone politely. When he reached Mike, the other boy shook his hand a little too firmly, knuckles white for a second. Inside, Mike felt an unexpected pang of jealousy.
“Nice to meet you,” Mike said, voice tight.
“Nice to meet you too,” Carlton replied, oblivious.
Will noticed but pretended not to. He greeted Carlton with a slightly awkward hug.
“What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
Later, while helping Joyce tidy up the last things before departure—folding towels, collecting empty bottles—Carlton and Will found themselves alone in the laundry room.
Will took a breath, finding the courage to speak first. “I’m really sorry for shutting down lately. I was going to call you today before leaving to apologize and try to fix things. I didn’t expect you to come… especially in front of everyone. My mom insisted, I bet, right? But… thank you. It means a lot.”
Carlton took his hands. “It’s okay, Will. I know it’s hard for you to open up after everything you’ve been through. I’m not asking you to tell me everything if you’re not ready. I just want to be there when you feel ready.” He paused and smiled. “And yes, your mom insisted a lot… but I would have come anyway. I love you, Will Byers. And when we get back to New York I’ll make you those chocolate pancakes that always make you laugh, even if they always come out a little burnt.”
The words melted into a long, tender hug full of relief and affection. Will finally felt at home.
At that exact moment, Mike walked past the open door carrying a half-full trash bag. He saw them. He froze, stammering: “Oh, shit, sorry. I… I’ll go.” He disappeared quickly, face red.
Throughout the afternoon Mike watched Will and Carlton from a distance: the way they laughed together, how Will touched his arm while talking, the peaceful look on Will’s face when they were close. He realized how much Will loved Carlton and how happy he was with him. That awareness left a bitter taste, but also a strange peace.
A few hours before departure, while the others were loading the cars, Mike found Will on the pier. Will was collecting pebbles and tossing them gently into the water. The wind moved his brown hair.
“Will… can I talk to you?”
Will nodded.
Mike let out a long, tense sigh. “Last night you said it took you a long time to get over me… and you were right. I knew it. I knew you felt something for me in the past, but we never talked about it openly. I was scared and confused. After everything that happened, after Eleven, after everyone drifted away, I felt terribly alone. The letters we wrote and the calls we made, like when you lived in Lenora, weren’t enough anymore. I started thinking about you more and more. And you’re right, I don’t want to ruin anything. I just missed you, Will…”
He sighed softly. “But now I see you with Carlton… and I understand that you’re happy. Really happy. I’m sorry about… the almost-kiss. I don’t know why I did it. It was stupid. I shouldn’t have.”
Will looked at him, eyes calm. “Thanks for saying that, Mike. And don’t worry. I care about you too… but as a friend. The past is the past.”
They hugged, a sincere and liberating embrace.
“The beard looks good on you, by the way,” Will said, nodding at it. “You look like a writer from another era.”
Mike laughed, touching the stubble on his chin. “You think?”
“Definitely.”
When it was time to say goodbye, as always, there was a touch of melancholy. Emily had stopped by briefly to say farewell too. “I really have to run now, but it was truly nice meeting all of you. Let’s not lose touch, okay?”
The group had promised to meet next time at Robin’s weird uncle’s house in Philadelphia, a more convenient meeting point for everyone, like they used to do every month in the early days after graduating in ’89.
Joyce handed Mike and Nancy a colorful Montauk postcard.
“When you see her, give this to your mom, and say hello from me. Tell Karen I’ll call her soon.”
“Will do,” Nancy replied with a smile.
“Thank you, Mrs. Byers,” Mike said, “for the hospitality and everything.”
“You don’t have to thank me. You can come here whenever you want. Jim and I would be happy.”
A little later, as Will, Jonathan, and Carlton were about to leave, Steve ran toward the car and leaned against Will’s window, extremely excited, holding a cherry popsicle.
“Hey, Jonathan! You won’t believe it! Before she left, Emily gave me a note with her number!” he said with a huge grin.
Jonathan laughed. “Nice one, Harrington.” Then he added with a half-smile, “I’m seeing someone too. I met her outside NYU.”
Will, behind the wheel and buckling his seatbelt, froze. Steve nearly choked on his popsicle. Nancy, climbing into the car with Mike, turned sharply.
“What?” they said almost in unison.
“It’s true,” Jonathan replied, amused. “Her name’s Ashley. She lives just outside New York.”
Steve burst out laughing. “And you just drop it like that, Byers? After years of us giving you the third degree?”
Jonathan shrugged with a smile. “Things happen when you least expect them, right?”
Will smiled to himself, waved goodbye to everyone, and started the engine.
Back in New York that Sunday evening, Will stepped into his apartment. He set his things down and pulled the Polaroid Joyce had taken out of his pocket. He looked at it for a long time: everyone together on the veranda, smiling, the sea in the background. His eyes lingered on Mike.
With a melancholic smile, he hung the photo on the bedroom wall, right next to one of his canvases. Below it, with a black marker, he wrote the date in small letters: July 4, 1992.
From the kitchen came Carlton’s warm voice. “Dinner’s ready!”
“Coming!”
Will took one last look at the photo, then turned off the light and joined Carlton.
The Polaroid stayed there, capturing all of them forever in that moment of peace.
End.