The One || Steve Harrington

Goodbye

She'd gotten her wish, after all. In three months, Hawkins had returned to normal like nothing ever happened. The gate was closed, the machine destroyed, the Mind Flayer gone, and the Mall, one half destroyed, now set to be demolished.

The first month brought press and conspiracy theories. News station spun story after story. At one point, it covered every station in the States. Thirty dead, with the hero, the Chief of Police, dying tragically in the fire. The reporters were relentless, never-ending like they would never leave, never stop hounding the survivors of the tragedy at Starcourt Mall, never stop crowding her for stories of her father like they owned the right to tell his story.

The three months that passed were the longest and most miserable of her life. She'd felt loss before. She was no stranger to grief. With Sara, it had been slow; there was time, and it was expected, as expected as something like that could be. Just because she knew it would happen did not mean it hurt any less. She was prepared as much as one could be to lose their younger sister far too young.

She had a support system. Her friends, her mother for a short time, but her father, when he was sober, he was the biggest and brightest comfort beyond anyone. He was a constant. The one person she could count on no matter how shitty or hard it got, he was there in the morning waiting for her to say 'I love you" back so he could go to work. He'd done it every day for the past seventeen years.

Without fail, without hesitation, if they fought and didn't want to speak to each other. She didn't have to grow up wondering if her father loved her. He made sure she knew even at his worst.

She knew even now, in death, that he loved her.

What was a father's love if not eternal?

The day her mom left stands out now more than ever. Her attempt to re-enter Georgia's life following Hopper's death was not met with pleasantries, not from herself, Steve, the kids, and especially not by Joyce Byers.

Of course, she came back. Legally, she was Georgia Hopper's mother, her sole parental guardian upon Jim Hopper's death. She didn't come back because she missed her daughter.

Georgia could brush it off, pretend she didn't care that she hadn't truly had a mom since she was eleven until the woman who deserted their family stood on Joyce's porch the day of Hopper's funeral, hours after the will had been read. She could pretend it didn't bother her that money was Diane returned, not because she felt guilty, not because she realized her mistakes or missed her daughter. Money was why.

She knew about Hopper's large and very secretive life insurance policy, the military pension, and the social security Georgia was entitled to until she was of legal age, even if she only had months until it stopped. The trust she should have been the trustee of.

She knew her father always felt cursed after Vietnam from the few times he'd drunkenly spoken of it, of the friends he lost and the atrocities he'd seen in the name of protecting liberty. She knew he felt haunted. He didn't just drink because of Sara or because he lost his mother far too young.

To learn of it, of the sum of money left to Georgia at the age of eighteen, was indescribable. Hopper's affairs had been in order since Thanksgiving of 1983, shortly after Will Byers was found, and they'd taken in Eleven. He took out the policy after dealing with the lab. They paid for it; they set it up.

A safety net, a payoff for his silence he never mentioned to her. At forty-three, he was prepared for his death, and it infuriated her. He knew, and every day, he pretended he wouldn't put his life on the line. He supplied her with empty promise after promise.

"Georgia," Max knocked on the half-closed door. "Can this box go?"

Her makeshift room at the Byers' residence was basically empty except for three boxes, some with clothes, most with pictures, and the knickknacks that once took space on her desk.