Author's Note: This story is told entirely from Pacey's point of view.
I hope you like it.
My father and I weren't on good speaking terms during that time in my life. Joey and I had gotten married a year earlier, and hadn't heard from him since. My mother was fine. She would call us about once a week to catch up on things and just to chat. She never once mentioned my father wanting to talk to us or wanting to know what was going on.
We were only in Boston, a whole two hours away from Capeside. I don't think it would matter if we were five hours away, he still wouldn't want to talk to us.
Then there was last Thanksgiving, our one weak attempt to reconcile. Joey and I had decided to invite my parents to our place for dinner, which was a mistake from the beginning.
Thanksgiving, by definition, is supposed to be time to give thanks and celebrate being together as a family. But to my father, who decided to have too many drinks, it was an open invitation to bash the meal my wife had spent the entire day slaving over to make perfect.
My father's stupid smart-ass remark about the food blew me over the top and well; it didn't end happily ever after. I ended up kicking him out, while ignoring the pleads from my mother.
We drove down to Capeside on Christmas to go to the Leery's Christmas Eve Party. It was great, everyone came and it was nice to catch up on the events in our friends' lives. I managed to steer clear of my childhood house and the occupants inside it.
My mother did call us the next day to wish us a Merry Christmas and to somewhat apologize for my father's behavior a month before, (we hadn't spoken since the incident.) As almost expected, there were no gifts from my father, and I didn't get him anything either.
The first months of the year ran slow. I started a new job as a chef in Cambridge, which took some getting used to.
This is where I begin my story of the most stressful, painstaking, and powerful time period of my life. It all started on that windy night in March, when I was hit with the news that would change my life forever.
My father and I weren't on good speaking terms during that time in my life. Joey and I had gotten married a year earlier, and hadn't heard from him since. My mother was fine. She would call us about once a week to catch up on things and just to chat. She never once mentioned my father wanting to talk to us or wanting to know what was going on.
We were only in Boston, a whole two hours away from Capeside. I don't think it would matter if we were five hours away, he still wouldn't want to talk to us.
Then there was last Thanksgiving, our one weak attempt to reconcile. Joey and I had decided to invite my parents to our place for dinner, which was a mistake from the beginning.
Thanksgiving, by definition, is supposed to be time to give thanks and celebrate being together as a family. But to my father, who decided to have too many drinks, it was an open invitation to bash the meal my wife had spent the entire day slaving over to make perfect.
My father's stupid smart-ass remark about the food blew me over the top and well; it didn't end happily ever after. I ended up kicking him out, while ignoring the pleads from my mother.
We drove down to Capeside on Christmas to go to the Leery's Christmas Eve Party. It was great, everyone came and it was nice to catch up on the events in our friends' lives. I managed to steer clear of my childhood house and the occupants inside it.
My mother did call us the next day to wish us a Merry Christmas and to somewhat apologize for my father's behavior a month before, (we hadn't spoken since the incident.) As almost expected, there were no gifts from my father, and I didn't get him anything either.
The first months of the year ran slow. I started a new job as a chef in Cambridge, which took some getting used to.
This is where I begin my story of the most stressful, painstaking, and powerful time period of my life. It all started on that windy night in March, when I was hit with the news that would change my life forever.