"Hey guys, remember that time when my ex-boyfriend knocked me up and left me to raise a baby on my own."

Her laughter made for a convincing cover story. Maybe not enough to fool herself but the painstaking stares from her friends let her know that they were none the wiser. Especially Pacey, whose eyes seemed to bare a distinct kind of pain that dangerously resembled pity. Jen hung her head to avoid catching his line of vision, a behavior he seemed to mimic with a floating glance. Even in her present state, drunk and carelessly draped over the shoulder of her best friend, Jack, she did not have the heart to share an unspoken truth, not even with the one person who needed to know. Not here; not yet. And one shared look would have given her away.

She had intense blue eyes.
A tiny dimple appeared just to the right of her mouth when she smiled.

Jack noticed it when he ran his finger over the line of Amy's apple cheek, the softness of his loving touch soothing her tears, but thought little of the slight imperfection. He was too enamored with her smile; her sweet, adoring coo rendering him incapable of suspicion. Like anything beautiful about her, he assumed, she had inherited it from her mother.

Jen watched, mesmerized by the ease with which they seemed to fit into one another's lives. An indiscriminate love that seemed to mirror, and in its own way rival, her own bond with him. She felt a twinge of jealousy. Amy would belong to Jack, Jack to Amy. She would not be promised a share in their fortune, being swept into the comfort of their love. All she would have is the absence. Her heart darkened more by the notion that her lies, and inevitable truths, could tear them apart.

"What's this?" Jack asked.

His words broke her absent stare, her eyes snapping towards him, almost violently, her face remained composed, serene. Much to her mixed relief and disappointment, she saw him holding a bottle of pills. "Oh, they're Grams'. I just keep it on hand in case she forgets it."

His face was puzzled. "I didn't know she was still on painkillers. She looks like she's in good health."

"Looks can be deceiving that way." Her smile was ironic, almost impossibly so, the corners of her mouth spilling secrets to her daughter who seemed to understand. As she took Amy back in her arms, her chest quaked with pain. No matter how advanced, technology could not create miracles or absolve responsibilities. At least not in her case.

The throbbing beat in her ears, against the inside of her head, and muddled the conversation taking place between Jack and her more capable half. He voiced the observation of a great change in her; wisdom in motherhood. That Amy was the light of her life, giving her an unusual purpose. The conversation shifted to him, to how desperately he wished that Doug was ready to be his. He could talk about Doug forever, so it seemed, but none of it sounded positive to her. She responded to his persistent chatter with what was more common sense than sage advice, though she did not think much about his words or her own. Her mind settled peacefully in the past. If she moved through it slowly, maybe the non-existent future would never step forward.

The lukewarm dishwater felt cool against her skin, the sweat sliding down her neck having the opposite effect. As she dragged her forearm across her brow she caught a glimpse of messy brown waves through the dingy kitchen window. So many like it passed over that same sidewalk daily, no one more interesting than the next. In a city of 8 million, the intrigue of one had been lost on her long ago. Until the face tilted upward and, looking for a godsend, seemed to find her peering face. Her excited reaction was almost immediate and it took great will power for her not to run through the hallway, launching herself into his arms. Instead, she carefully set down the dish in the drying rack and walked, almost as if on tiptoe, to the door. She raked the sweaty tangles from her hair before she rested a hand on the door knob, her mind considering that she may be unrecognizable to him. That she would no longer stand out in a crowd of faces the way he did. Could she even open that door or would his unknowing presence on the other side make her retreat back into the doldrums of her life? She could not bear to hear the knock and remain still, rendered immobile.

Slowly, it appeared. The smile with the right-sided dimple she had grown to love more than any other all those years ago.

"Witter."
"Lindley." A telling smile comparable to his own escaped her lips. One single word. His true show of affection.

In that doorway, they embraced for the first time in years. Her heart pounding against her chest; against his.

He slumped over the counter, the sharp pain of inhalation slowly subsiding. As he regained his composure he slowly made his way to the freezer and found a raw cut to press against his swollen eye.

"What a stupid waste of meat," he remarked scornfully. And berating yourself is an equal waste of time, he thought to himself. No matter how often he did so, the end result was always the same. When he showed up at Gail's wedding so battered, compliments of the disgruntled husband to his latest mistress, the glances would shift to his face and speculation would run rampant. All the conclusions would be the same. Pacey had done something ill-advised. "Just Pacey being Pacey," they would think, possibly even whisper to one another. Strangers and friends alike thinking little of him; him thinking it was no less than he deserved.

He sat down behind his desk, face still throbbing. Pulling the side drawer open, he retrieved a small strip of photographs. Funny faces, Eskimo kisses, and the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Every time he had looked at the photos in the 2 years since they had been taken all he could think about was the smell of her sweet perfume on that hot summer night in New York. How the fine dew of the city's humin air stuck to her exposed shoulders and back making it appear iridescent. Her perfectly small mouth, sticky with a shared Mr. Softee cone, smiling at him in a way that made his heart heave with her admiration. Her eyes telling him that no one could love a boy such as him the way a girl like her could. The way a girl like her had since the day he'd kissed her in a church, on little more than a dare.

Remembering helped him forget. Everyday he had spent with her was a day in which he was more than just a calamity. More than just Pacey. With her, he became capable of more because her love understood that he was more.

Even though it was agonizing, he grinned at the thought of such amazing days. They made the prospect of the judging eyes and hushed accusations disappear. Her eyes, her lips, her everything. That was all he would be able to see.