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Getting high feels the opposite of how people describe it in the movies. It makes the bright blinding colors of being alive a little more tolerable, the rush to his head soothing him, like riding a wave.
When they chill out together, it always reminds him of the first time Dennis ever got really high. It was with the two of them, after Mac had ratted out the other dealers. The uptight nerd got high as a kite laying under the bleachers (soon to be known as their spot), and kept giggling and repeating I'm so relaxed. Oh my god! much to Mac and his delight. Unfortunately for him now, Dennis isn't here to be a buffer, and Charlie wants to talk.
Charlie takes another huff in before speaking. Usually he's the one listening as Mac had bounced questions off him. This had been the routine for years, before his dad went to prison, before he came out. It feels weird to be the one talking the most, but they're both laid-back enough currently that it doesn't feel as nerve wracking.
“I mean Dee said somethin’. About feeling like a woman. I mean what does that even mean, man! Do you feel like a man?”
Mac raises an eyebrow in the way he does when Charlie says something dumb. Mac would never tell him this, because he smiles and doesn't judge him the way everyone else does, but Charlie knows Mac just as well. He can tell.
“Yeah, of course bro. That's why I'm so- so awesome and badass. Total dude energy.”
Those aren't exactly the words Charlie would use, but he doesn't say as much. Mac takes his turn breathing in the potent chemicals, as Charlie spirals in his thoughts. Charlie's never got all that social norms stuff, so maybe gender is just a part of that package he was never taught. Never knew exactly what to say, when to say it, maybe this goes along with those sorts of issues. The idea of feeling like a man makes Charlie feel slimy, and not in a fun way. It makes his skin crawl in the same way it does thinking about sex, a sort of sense of wrongness, a feeling of spiders crawling across his arms making the hair stand on its end.
Charlie doesn't say any of this. He hums an affirmative, that he's still listening and comprehending.
“But I mean, all that gender stuff is such bullshit. What I was saying back at the vet forever ago? We don't really see gender at the bar anymore. So I think it's all chill if you don't. Yknow. Feel the same way.”
Charlie leans back on the old couch, leg touching Mac's. He's glad Mac finally got all his gay stuff figured out, it's much preferred to the things a younger version of the man would tell him.
He vividly remembers hanging out at the Reynolds, late into the day as neither of the parents were around. They were putting on a performance, Dennis’ idea naturally, when Charlie had grabbed onto the fluffy material of one of Sweet Dee's frilly skirt, or dress, or something of the sort. Mac had slapped his hand away from it, a scared look on his face, before entering a long rambling lecture about how those are only for girls and Charlie shouldn't touch it. Looking back, a lot of the shit Mac would say was clearly copy pasted from Luther with no real malice, but as a little kid he just remembered that it hurt.
He takes another long huff as Mac continues to talk in the background.
“What's this about, man? Is this like, the crossdressing thing?”
Charlie feels his hackles rise and understands why cats hiss when they feel threatened. Mac says it casually, nonjudgmentally, but it ticks something wrong in his brain anyways.
“It's not-!”
Mac turns to fully face him now, and if it was anyone else he'd jump back. Charlie and Mac are bound together by something like fate, and there's a comfort in their strange drug induced rituals. Just the two of them and the secrets they thought they'd take to the grave. Mac's sincerity cuts through Charlie's defenses, and they fall silent for a second just looking at each other. He hears a tune suspiciously like the Dayman’s song in his head.
“I'm not saying it's weird, dude. I… I know I did before, but I don't have the- the space to judge you for that crap. I'm here if it's, y'know, more than just messin’ around with dresses.”
Charlie does not in fact y'know. But something in his chest warms significantly and he bumps his leg softly against Mac's anyways.
“Thanks, man.” His reply is quieter, it drifts out of his mouth as he gets lost in the haze of his own mind. He's too fucking high for this.
-
Charlie does a lot of thinking to himself the next few days. It's a sort of confusing mess, laying awake and staring at the ceiling, squinting occasionally when really deep in concentration.
He had thought in defiance that it can't be crossdressing if he isn't a man, a gotcha to Mac's comments. Then he sat up, wide awake all night, contemplating the meaning of his own thoughts.
In the morning he goes to Dee's apartment, early enough that she won't have already left for whatever she does before work. It'll annoy her for sure, but Charlie doesn't particularly care. He's antsy waiting outside the door. Charlie knocks once more. One, two, three times the charm.
The door swings open in a rush, slamming half hazardously into the drywall.
“What is it you dickbag- Oh! Charlie.” She stares at him for a moment, like she has to process his presence. He fidgets with his hands uncomfortably. She glances back and forth down the hallway, checking twice as if she's crossing the road and not looking for someone else to talk to.
“Is everything okay?” Her eyebrows are scrunched, assuming something dramatic and over the top. Like the only time Charlie could come visit was if something bad happened. He feels a little guilty trying to recount a recent instance of anything that doesn't prove her point on the matter.
“Yeah no- it's. Everything's fine. Just had a question ‘s all.”
She's quiet for a moment, and then pushes the door open in a more friendly way this time around.
“Come on in, then.”
Dee's almost more hesitant than Charlie is, a game of chicken with two people who really don't want to play any games together.
She shuts the door behind him, and he doesn't sit down anywhere despite her hospitality.
“Shouldn't take long. Just was wondering if you still had Carmen's number?”
If possible Dee looked more lost, face squinty. Charlie understands Dennis' morbid humor more in this moment than his entire life.
“Carmen? Y'know? You had the whole, pregnancy thing-”
“Jesus, Charlie, I know who Carmen is. I just have no idea why you're asking. Or asking me for that matter, didn't she and Mac have a thing?”
Charlie's hands suddenly feel disgustingly sweaty, and he palms them onto his hoodie. He knows this is just how Dee operates and on a normal day would be incredibly amused by it. Now is not that time.
“I think she blocked Mac forever ago, dude. He was real weird for a while there.” He's deflecting. Charlie is really good at it, in fact. Dee's eyebrows are still creased and he's starting to feel actually deranged. Maybe he has worms again.
“Mac has always been weird, Charlie. That's sort of been you two’s constant. Doesn't answer my question, though.” She starts to go about her kitchen, pouring herself a coffee. It clinks gently on the counter and he tries to focus on that instead of whatever is wrong with him. She's doing the same thing he's caught Dennis doing over the years, a practiced past down talent of acting casual, drawing the truth out of people like it's something loose in Charlie's throat and not wrapped tightly and knotted in the bottom of his stomach.
He has to lie, or maybe something drawn from the truth. Just to get out of this situation as fast as possible. Would pulling the cancer card work again? Probably not, now that his Mom did it too. Damn it.
“It's a- a sex thing.” His eye twitches and he tries to smile. “You know, I was really interested in learning abo-”
“Oh my God, shut up. Shut up! I don't want to hear about whatever it is. Nevermind.” She makes a show of putting her hands over her ears for a minute, knowing better than to put her hand over his mouth. He bites.
She clicks something on her phone a few times, and he gets a ding! as something pops up in his messages.
“There's her number. Don't cry to me if she blocks you, too.”
He grins and shoots her a thumbs up, and saves it special in his contacts. He's probably worked up over nothing, and she can help him figure it out real fast.
-
It was not, in fact, nothing.
It was a lot of things, but Charlie wouldn't call it nothing.
Charlie has started calling herself a she in her head. It was the end result of long extensive conversations over the phone with an incredibly patient Carmen.
Charlie had listened intently as she explained the complexities of gender, and then asked what's a pronoun? It had taken a bit more work, but she understood a lot more after a few talks with the woman than she had most of her life.
Her life, she thinks giddily. She's a girl, a woman, for real. It feels like a little high everytime she thinks about it. Charlie's really glad she had Carmen to talk to about next steps or she might've gone crazy. Or asked one of the gang for advice. The latter might be worse.
She shaves her beard, much to her friends' shock and dismay. It was a bitch to get off, but worth it. The razor nicked her a few times, so she wears a band-aid on her chin, but her face is smooth now. She marvels at herself in the mirror, trying to see herself in a more feminine light. Charlie probably won't shave for a while after this though, it sucked ass to get done. Some girls have some facial hair, it isn't that big of a deal, she muses to herself.
What she does stop cutting though, is her hair. It's only to the bottom of her neck, not nearly long enough for any woman-ly styles yet, but it makes her happy anyways.
Altogether, not much at all has changed. She's still Charlie, just a chick now.
What she worries will change is her relationship with the gang. Now she just has to figure out how the fuck to tell them.
-
After days of trying and failing to plan something of substance, Charlie comes to the conclusion she needs an expert on this stuff. Really, there was no one else Charlie would tell first besides Mac. It's always been Mac and Charlie, and she has no right to change that now.
She thinks of leaving a voicemail, but figures this is one of those things you should say in person.
So she sends a text, telling him to come over as quickly as possible.
Com 2 🏠. Emergncy
She struggles with the small buttons, but figures that's good enough. Mac can decipher her texts just fine. Logically, she knows it'll be fine but Charlie feels vaguely sick. She had placed out an outfit to put on for the special occasion, but she ends up pacing around for ten minutes instead of changing.
Half an hour later, her door slams open revealing an incredibly sweaty, wide eyed Mac. He breathes in and out quickly, like he had run all the way here.
Charlie sits up casually and waves at him.
“Jesus Christ! I swear to God, Charlie I thought you were dying!”
He leans against the wall dramatically, dragging in long gasps of air. Charlie is starting to think he might've actually run all the way over.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because you said it was an emergency, Charlie! Do you know what the word emergency means?!”
“Yes, Mac! I have something important I wanted to talk about!”
He runs hands down his face in exasperation, before finally closing the apartment door behind himself.
“Okay, Charlie. Okay.” Mac is able to sense she's serious, that this really is important to her, and chills out a little. He moves to sit down next to her, not touching because he knows Charlie's rules about that, but close enough to feel his breathing.
It's a calming feeling, the two of them existing together. She thinks maybe the little kids they used to be still exist as some kind of ghoul or banshee that calms down when they're together. Charlie doesn't really know about all the God stuff Mac believes in, but she sends a thank you to whoever's up there, that they're best friends.
Telling Mac things is easy. It's natural. She's still a little nervous, seeing him look at her in a weird combination of concern and curiosity. She thinks this might be how ants under a magnifying glass feel.
“Well, I wanted to ask you, how to come out to people? Because you did that awesome dance for your dad but I can't really do that, should I make a cake or something? You're the only one I know who's really done it before.”
Mac pauses, mouth open looking at her. She imagines the computer boot up noise, as he filters through at least five different emotions in quick succession.
“Wait, what?”
She turns towards him, frowning. “Are you mad I can't do the dance? Is that a part of it?”
“Oh my God. Charlie. No, I'm- that's not. Coming out? What are you coming out about?” His voice gets tender as he asks the question.
Oh! She reboots her thought process, calmer now that she knows he isn't mad about anything.
“Well, I thought you knew, dude. Anyways, I think I'm a girl. Or well, I know I am, but it's all weird. Gender’s crazy.”
He looks strangely emotional, before smiling at her.
“Cool. Thanks for telling me.” It's spoken softly, but there's a firmness to it. A serious pride in his tone.
Mac pauses for a second, knocking their ankles together. “I'm assuming you wanna change up your pronouns,” she hums an affirmative, waiting for him to continue. “D’ya want to change your name too? It's chill if not, Charlie's a cool girl name. Just figured I need to ask.”
She inhales nervously. It's easier to stay Charlie, the same way it's been easier to stay a boy. She has a name in mind, truthfully she's had one since her first talk with Carmen. But if she says it outloud she thinks she won't ever be able to go back to Just Charlie, and it scares her.
“I mean, I guess but it doesn't… it's not super important.”
There's a longer pause this time, a lingering silence.
“It's important to me. You don't gotta tell me anything you don't want to. But I'd like to know my best friend’s name.”
Her lip wobbles a little, embarrassingly, and she forces it straight against her face.
“Joyce.”
She doesn't dare look back up at his face until he speaks again.
“It's a pretty name.”
It's said without a second thought, an immediate affirmation after she spits the name out. He likes it, he supports her, and he thinks it's pretty. Joyce doesn't think anyones said that about her before. She grins like an idiot.
“Are you planning on like, a proper full transition?”
She leans her head against his shoulder, and sighs slightly, like one of those dogs in the commercials, it comes out sad.
“I mean I want to, but it'd be expensive, so…”
“Joyce, if Frank was aware of any of this he'd pay for everything. If nothing else, I can steal one of his cards again.” He points it out casually, and it makes her snort. “Oh, does anyone else know? I guess I just assumed.”
Thinking about it for a second, she scrunches up her nose. “Nah man, I was always planning on telling you first.” It's a simple fact, like the sky being blue. She doesn't dare stroke his ego more than she already is, but she needs him to know. He preens under the small praise and it makes her scoff.
“I have no idea how any of this stuff works, like… What if Frank isn't cool with it? What if none of the gang is?”
He leans his head on top of hers comfortingly. “They'll be fine, dude! No one said anything weird when I came out.”
Joyce rolls her eyes, huffing a little. “Yeah, but we all kinda knew you were already. And bein’ gay and being transgender are different things.”
“Yeah, and no one really cares about either! I think it'll be okay, and if it's not, I can kick someone's ass. Call me up, and I'll bring out my karate skills all up on ‘em!”
It makes her slap her leg giggling, which wasn't his intention she's sure, but he's smiling anyways. He's probably right, and in that moment she feels like everything will work itself out.
-
The gang doesn't do therapists. They also don't do talks. What they do do is getting fucking drunk.
Joyce and Dennis are the last ones in the bar for tonight, as both Dee and Mac had dates out much to Dennis' clear displeasure, as seen by his current ranting.
Joyce downs the rest of her beer for courage. There isn't going to be a better time than now, but she could just sneak out anyways.
“I mean- Charlie, are you even listening to me?”
Or not. She thinks she should slam her head into the bar counter a few times and it would be easier than this next conversation. Not because Dennis is a bigot or anything, but because he's Dennis. Maybe she can start the ball rolling with something easier. Something to get him less, well, deranged.
She opens and closes her mouth a few times, not really helping his frustration at her lack of care for his plight. He raises his eyebrows offendedly.
“You wear makeup, and stuff. Right?” Smooth, Joyce. Really smooth. “I mean like. Not like fancy makeup, but the uh the wand eye thingy, and powder and whatever? Do you think you could show me how to do that?”
He pauses, reboots, and then smiles, and something like prey animal fear churns in her gut. Maybe she should've indulged in his conversation about her best friend instead. He looks smug, expectant. It's the kind of look she mocks him for when he turns his back. She doesn't enjoy it being directed towards her instead of Mac's puppy eyes.
“I keep some in the back office for emergencies. Come with me.” He taps her forehead with a manicured finger, sauntering off towards the room. She blinks, unsteadily getting to her feet and following.
Dennis sits her down on the spinny office chair, pulling out a bag of brushes and compact boxes of things she's never heard of. She highly doubts she's going to wear this crap daily like Carmen did, but it's a fun activity to try and it's something Dennis can help her with for once.
She starts feeling cagey about ten minutes into the apparently long process of applying makeup, and he sits directly in front of her eyes as she fidgets. Joyce feels like he's staring into the depths of her soul and she wants to bite his fingers for it.
She might have to just bite the bullet instead, because she might start losing it otherwise.
He picks up what must be the third kind of powdery substance to apply to her face and something in her snaps.
“I'm a girl.”
Dennis almost drops the entire bag of makeup on the floor. His eyes are wide but he doesn't look like he's about to kick her out of the bar forever, or anything out of her worst case scenarios of this moment, so she stays as calm and collected as she ever can be.
“Huh.” He places the brush in hand down on the desk, tilting his head slightly. “Yeah, no, that makes a lot of sense.”
“Huh?”
In typical fashion, he does not in fact elaborate on that statement. He waves a hand about casually. “Should I call you something else?”
She considers lying, but it would backfire pretty much immediately with Mac and Dennis both calling her something different. The fight might be fun to watch, but not fun to deal with the fallout of.
“Yeah, going by Joyce now.”
He nods, pulling back open his absurdly full bag of makeup. “Cool, cool.” He sounds genuine, for once, and it touches her. He's casual, but he's onboard, he's still Dennis, but he cares.
“Thanks. For y'know. Being a good friend.”
It's about as heartfelt a conversation they've ever had in recent years, and it's stilted and awkward, but she means it. Dennis looks scared, frightened really, and she feels the urge to laugh. His eyebrows are raised in a startled expression, and instead of trying to say something kind back he picks the brush back up.
“Your standards of friendship are fucking awful, Joyce.”
He's deflecting, as the Reynold's are known to do. She sticks out her tongue at him, making him wave his hands about, fussing about ruining up her lip liner or whatever.
They sit in silence, but it's less awkward than before, after clearing the air. It's almost comforting.
“I'm taking you shopping, sometime this week.” It isn't a question, he says it as fact. She furrows her eyebrows. Joyce starts to ask the question of huh? when he answers it himself.
“I mean, we can't have the only other girl in the gang have worse fashion sense than Dee.”
Girl. Girl! Girl!
It rings in Joyce's mind like a church bell, loud and strong, three times.
His immediate relaxed acceptance and support makes her chest feel tight and heart strangely full. Her eyes well up, and God this is humiliating. She sniffles, and immediately tries to hide it in a signature Weird Joyce Noise, but he catches it anyways, because of fucking course he did.
Dennis puts everything down, and holds his hands up in front of her. He looks deeply at a loss of what to do with his stiff limbs, more akin to someone about to be arrested than about to hug a friend. “Shit, what did I say wrong?”
“No its- Fuck! It's good, Den.” She scrabbles to rub the tears away, embarrassed. The conversation makes her feel small, like her brain expects to smell the awful cologne he sprayed his room with in grade school. It just smells like liquor and the chalk of makeup instead, a different, more adult kind of comforting.
He deflates, face going back to his stony facade of relaxation. As close to a verbal oh thank god, as Dennis Reynolds would give.
“I guess I'll have to add that to the list of women I've made so happy they cried, then.”
“Fuckin nasty, man.” Her nose scrunches up, but Joyce smiles as she says it.
“Yeah well, stop crying, you're messing up my work. That crap’s expensive.”
She barely resists the urge to fuck it up on purpose to spite him, but it would be screwing herself over too. Another time, then.
-
Joyce is getting ready for bed when she notices Frank surveying her from the bed. It's incredibly unnerving, his little beady eyes staring her down.
“You shooting up, Charlie?”
Well. Whatever she assumed she was going to be asked, that wasn't it.
“I mean if you needed somethin’ to keep ya going, you could've asked! I always got some coke on me.” It's said so casually, she feels her eyes bulge out a little. His drug habits have always been concerning, but usually she knew what he was talking about.
“What?”
He rolls his eyes, grabbing onto her arm and twisting it around, scrutiny on his face. Then, he grabs the other one upon not seeing anything.
She rips her arm away from him. “Jesus, Frank I'm not doing drugs! What are you talking about?”
“The money!” She thinks maybe Dennis is right and he's getting dementia. He could take up their PopPop’s place at the nursing home. “I got this call from my bank, Charlie! Fraudulent payments! I saw the receipts with my own eyes, you can't lie to me. A bunch o’ needles bought with my money.” They're still scrabbling at each other, and she shoves him off. At least she finally understands what the hell he was going on about.
“You're mad about me borrowing two hundred bucks? You're a millionaire, Frank!”
“I'm mad you got drugs and didn't share ‘em with me!”
He looks genuinely disappointed, and Joyce is too tired and too sober for this.
“I'm not doing any drugs! Even if I was, you definitely wouldn't want the one I got.”
“Charlie, I can't believe you! Not sharing with your old man.”
She makes a disbelieving noise, fighting the urge to just scream incoherently forever, because frankly it would be so much easier than this.
“You don't need my estrogen, Frank!”
He paused, mouth open and eyes squinted in accusation, before sitting up straighter. She inhales quickly, in case she needs to defend herself against whatever he says next. Maybe she should've bought a gun.
“Oh shit, you trans?”
What the fuck. What the fuck. There's an unbelieving silence in the apartment as she gawks at him. Frank ‘I Hate Women and Use the F Slur Liberally’ Reynolds stuns again.
“Yeah, I know what words mean! Don't look at me like that, I mean honestly Charlie you should’a just said something. Me and my brother's old bar gig was a hot spot for the dolls.”
“What is happening right now.” Her eyes couldn't possibly get any wider in shock.
“You're okay with this? This isn't a bit Dennis set up?”
He scoffs, as if he's never said anything offensive before and this is normal behavior. “I was in a drag show in my twenties; they probably still have the picture up at the place! You ever been down to that bar on Green?”
She can only shake her head no, to his disapproval. Joyce questions if she drank paint earlier today somehow.
“Well no wonder, it took you so long to figure out you're a transsexual, if you haven't been to a drag show, Charlie.”
“Right. Well. Thank you. I think?” She has to take a minute to mentally start herself over on her coming out speech. “Not going by Charlie anymore.”
He makes a noise between an acknowledgement and a groan, as he stands up off the bed, knees popping.
“Alright, tell me about your girly crap while we make Grilled Charlie's, I'm starved. Do you want to change the name of those things too?”
It's about one in the morning, and Frank is asking for a radiator cooked sandwich. She rubs her eyes, and pulls the almost empty bread bag off the table top.
Joyce's weird roommate doesn't mind that she's trans, but wants to keep making their awful sandwiches at absurd times in the morning. At least some things never change.
“I don't care about the name of the sandwich, Frank. Put down the cheese you're not making it right!”
“Oh, please! One minute into being a woman and you're already buggin’ me!” She rolls her eyes, and smiles to herself. Yeah, they're gonna be fine.
-
Telling Dee last wasn't planned, Dennis was spur of the moment and Frank was well, Frank. Joyce is sure she'll be mad about it even if it's an accident.
They're having one of their smoke breaks together, in the back alley behind Paddy's. The air is frigid against her bare arms, but she waits patiently for Dee to finish taking in a drag before grabbing the cig from her fingers.
There's an awkward tension between them, worse in recent years, but she always takes the cigarette when Dee's nimble fingers hold it out to her. A sort of shitty olive branch. A tobacco tasting peace treaty.
She glances over at her when she thinks Joyce isn't looking, then away when she turns to look back. Even when they haven't talked in a while, Dee can always tell when something is up. A sort of evil sixth sense the twins were both born with. Probably a consequence of them being stuck behind together as kids, when Mac and Dennis ran upstairs in hushed tones and linked pinkies.
“I'm trans. In case you didn't put it together yet, with your whole psychology crap.” It's said with an ease of certainty after doing this a few times, and she smiles at the other woman to show she's not really expecting anything. The only person who could've really put it together, is probably Mac.
Dee leans over and snatches the cigarette, leaning back against the wall. She looks Joyce up and down one time, like she has to review the version of her she has in her mind versus who's standing next to her.
“Huh.” An accidental repeat of Dennis' initial reaction. Joyce doesn't dare point it out. “Good for you.” It isn't said in a sarcastic way, but she can never be sure with the twins.
“Yeah, I think it is.” She blows smoke into the chilly wind, watching it dissipate in the sky.
Dee nods stiffly, biting her lip between her teeth as smoke escapes her mouth. “My bad for uh… saying you weren't then, back with the bathroom stuff.” She keeps it vague, but it's a genuine apology and Joyce shrugs.
“Nah, man. I had no idea at that point. No foul, no harm, or whatever the saying is.”
She sees Dee start to grin despite herself, then reign it in a little, playing it off nonchalantly.
“No harm, no foul,” she corrects her but there's no heat to it.
She takes the almost used up cigarette from her hand, like a talking stick between two kids. “Goin’ by Joyce now.”
Dee tilts her head side to side, as if considering something.
“Kind of an old lady name, huh?”
Joyce gasps, mock offended. “You're one to talk, Deandra!”
She looks over at her, and they're both smiling genuinely now. Joyce drops the butt onto the broken concrete, and stomps it out with her shoe. The ash smudges against the ground, and the world feels a little warmer as they pull the bar door back open.
-
It isn't all perfect, of course not it's them, but they're trying and that's all she can ask for. And it gives her some pretty funny stories to hold over their heads later.
Mac was trying the hardest, and thus sometimes the least casual about it. It still made her happy that he cared so much, even if he didn't quite get it yet. Upon a customer misgendering her, he stood up in all his bodyguard glory, chest puffed out and got up in their face. Finger in the air, face serious he said, excuse you! His pronouns are she/her. Get it right next time. Everyone had just stared at him for a moment before she burst out laughing, to his confusion. God, she loves him.
Dennis had accidentally called her a man, and as Dee shouted at him, instead of saying anything else, he left the bar entirely. He came back with a hot drink from his favorite fancy cafe, an apology if she's ever seen one. Though he made sure no one saw him hand it to her, he has to keep up the looks of not caring (even if they all know he does).
Dee had called her a diversity hire, which at first she took offense to, and then realized they could use this in a scheme of some sort and high fived the other woman.
They're messy, and awful, and it's the happiest Joyce thinks she might've ever been.