Hopper just can't cook, that's the thing. When Sara had been around, Diane had done most of the cooking because that was just how things were done. She was home with Sara anyway and he'd been out, first a beat cop, then riding around in a squad car, and he'd never been one of those men who expected dinner to be on the table when he'd come in the door, but he'd just never gotten the practice cooking it himself either.

The sandwiches don't look like much, but he slaps another one together and figures they're better than nothing. The carrots are just kind of shoved haphazardly into a bowl, he doesn't know a thing about presentation and probably figures they don't care much either.

"C'mon, table," he says, nodding toward the little kitchen table he's got. Normally he doesn't mind eating in front of the TV, sitting on the couch, but when Beverly stays over, he figures he's got to have some semblance of rules. It's different than it was with Eleven, he doesn't have to outline rules to save her life, but if she's staying here, she's not going to be running wild all over the place either.