Chapter Four
Chapter Four
Even though he was only staying a week, Dawson took his time settling in at his old home, stopping every now and then to take in his surroundings. Each and every corner of the house was imbued with memories and the tiniest detail sent him again and again into prolonged bouts of nostalgia.
It was mid-afternoon before it finally dawned on him how he'd been so effectively ambushed.
He stormed downstairs and came to a halt in the middle of the living room, hands on hips, confronting the mastermind. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Can you give me a reason why I should have?"
The cool reply pricked his puffed-up indignation and he gaped in deflated astonishment. "What?"
Gale Leery, soon to be Bergman, tucked a strand of professionally highlighted hair behind her ear, not in the least bit ruffled by her son's incredulity. "What's the rationale behind your question? Is it idle curiosity, or are you looking for some fresh fodder for that show of yours?"
"I thought you liked my show."
"Well, I did. Initially. But then I noticed what it was you were really doing. You were using it as a vehicle for your revenge, to assassinate Pacey's character and make yourself out to be the hero of the story. I had never imagined that you could be so petty and I decided it was due time you had a taste of your own medicine. I didn't tell you about Pacey and Joey because if you didn't care enough to ask after them yourself, then you didn't have the right to know."
"Mom!"
"That's the unvarnished truth, Dawson. I watched you make both of their lives miserable before and I wasn't about to let it happen again." She shook her head. "I'm so ashamed that I allowed you do that. Regardless of whatever upheaval Mitch and I were struggling with at the time, we were your parents, and we failed to do our job. It was our responsibility to be less concerned with ourselves and more focused on you."
"But you were focused on me. You guys were so supportive then."
"We were weak. You threw a tantrum, and unlike when you were two-years-old, we didn't have the backbone to get involved, to intervene on Joey and Pacey's behalf before it all got so out of control. For some crazy reason, we stood back. We watched you wheedle and coerce, and try to twist circumstances to suit your own purposes. Worse still, we actively encouraged the ridiculous notion of Joey being your soul mate."
"I didn't…Ridiculous? It's not ridiculous."
"Yes. It is." She leant forward, holding his eyes. "There is no such thing, Dawson, at least not in the way that you believe. But there is love. True love, unselfish love. The kind that grows and adapts, but remains constant, unwavering during the good times and the bad. Despite what you may think, what you may try to convince yourself of through your repeated revisiting of the subject over the years, you have never, ever loved Joey like that--"
"That's not…"
"--and Pacey did." Gale's tone was final. "He still does. And she deserves that."
That quieted him for a moment. "She does deserve that," he acknowledged. "I just can't wrap my head around why she…"
"Dawson!" Gale made a frustrated sound. "Can't you see? That's precisely why you two never worked. Apart from the fact that you weren't physically attracted to each other in the slightest – don't try to deny it, honey. I was there, and I have two perfectly functioning eyes - there was always the fundamental problem of you both intellectualizing everything, analysing every tiny detail to death." Gale sat back against the arm of the settee, cradling her coffee cup in both hands. "In matters of the heart, there shouldn't be any thinking involved. And there certainly shouldn't be any caveats placed on a relationship, or ultimatums issued. You basically blackmailed her, Dawson. I still can't wrap my head around that."
"So essentially, because you believed you failed as a parent, I've been left out of the loop?"
"No, I believe I've failed as a parent because you kept yourself out of the loop. You preferred to stay on the other side of the country, locked up in your ivory tower because you felt safe there, untouched by outside forces. But that's not real life."
"It's my life, and it seems pretty real to me."
"Does it? Dawson, before today, when was the last time you saw Joey face to face?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "At her graduation, eight years ago."
"You want to tell me why that is, why you've chosen to not involve yourself in her life?"
"Mom, you're turning investigative reporter on me. I thought you gave that up."
His attempt at diversion merely earned him a disapproving look. "When I asked, Joey told me that she tried to stay in contact with you, but you stopped replying to her calls and e-mails."
He hunched his shoulders defensively. "I was busy."
"Alright, fine. I'll concede that point. Let me put it another way. When was the last time you personally opened the cards she sends for your birthday, or for Christmas? Do you even see them, or do they get relegated with the fan mail? You know that none of this would have come as a surprise if you'd only bothered to check for yourself, and not rely on some assistant or other to do it for you."
His defenses were becoming weaker, but he kept throwing them out in desperation. "When I'm working..."
"No. You don't work – you hide. You're more comfortable with the pretend versions of your friends than you are with the real ones."
Dawson found himself unable to form a coherent reply. She was right. She was absolutely right. He'd spent all this time playing God with fictional characters and expecting the real ones to have followed the same path. They'd had experiences in the meantime that had nothing to do with him – they knew their own minds and hearts better than he could ever hope to.
Maybe he should do something about that.
Morning hadn't brought any answers with it. And the dilemma was affecting the direction of the new script he was supposed to write. He didn't know these characters at all anymore, and altering their direction after all this time was going to throw a real spanner in the works. Did he really want to change everything he'd been building towards for the last five years – was he willing to take such a huge risk?
He deleted almost half of the paragraph he'd been struggling with, saved what was left, and firmly closed the lid on his laptop. He could deal with it later. After the wedding, when he was somewhere far, far away.
Sighing, he glanced over towards the open doorway as Lily appeared. Wearing jeans and a beat-up denim jacket that looked like one of his old rejects, she was the very antithesis of the bridesmaid she was to play the next day.
She leant against the jamb and twisted one of her long blonde braids around her fingers, checking for split ends. There was a long moment of silence.
"Do you think Trent would adopt me?" she asked suddenly.
Dawson frowned at her. He still didn't quite know how to take this older, bordering-on moody adolescent version of his baby sister. "Why?"
"'Cause I want use his last name." She tossed the braid back over her shoulder and wrinkled her nose. "Actually, can I do that without being adopted? Like, without all the official papers and stuff, I mean."
"You can. People do it all the time. It's called using a stage name, Lil."
"Cool."
He rocked back in his chair and regarded her steadily. "Isn't changing your name kind of disrespectful to Dad?"
Lily shrugged. "I don't know. I guess. It's not like I ever really knew the guy, though. Right?"
Dawson winced at the truth of that, feeling a twinge of guilt. It wasn't like he'd been around to help keep Mitch's memory alive either.
"Anyway, do you have any idea what it's like growing up with a name like 'Lily Leery'?" she demanded. "I mean, come on, what was Mom thinking?"
"It's not a bad name..." Dawson mused.
"Oh yeah? Try saying it three times fast without getting tongue twisted. And then try it with braces." She tapped the gleaming nickel-plated hardware on her teeth with one finger.
Dawson contemplated that, muttering the name over and over under his breath. She had a point. It didn't really flow, did it? He wouldn't use it for one of his characters.
"Lily Bergman just sounds better. It's an old-style movie star kind of name." Lily nodded, decision made. "I'm just gonna start using that. And then, a couple of years from now, when you cast me in one of your films, I'll already at least sound famous."
Dawson's brows rose. "You want to be an actress?"
"Well, duh! God, Dawson, what rock have you been living under?"
It was a good question – another one he didn't really have an answer for.
A few hours later, Dawson was minding his own business, browsing his way through the corner store and enjoying the old-fashioned quaintness of it all, when a shopping cart rounded the corner at the end of the aisle and nearly knocked him over.
He reeled sideways, narrowly avoiding a disastrous collision with a large pyramid of paper towel rolls. "Hey, watch where you're...Pacey?"
Pacey, still hunched down over the handle so that he was face level with the two giggling blue-eyed children he was transporting, barely spared him a glance. "Sorry about that." He backed up, made a few gunning-the-engine noises and then, swerving around the Dawson-shaped obstacle in his path, preceded full tilt towards the deli section, feet pounding against the smooth linoleum and the left rear wheel wobbling so badly it appeared in grave danger of falling off. A metallic clatter and childish laughter flowed in their wake.
"Hard to port, Captain!" Bonnie called out, saluting as they disappeared around the far corner.
Dawson gaped after them. He'd just been ignored. By Pacey. That had never happened before. He usually managed to rouse some kind of reaction from the other man whether he wanted it or not. This time Pacey had seemed determined to disregard him completely, as though Dawson wasn't worth making an effort for.
"Are you okay?"
He turned and blinked at Joey's concerned face. She was pushing a second cart, this one actually containing groceries. "Yeah. I think so."
"All toes present and accounted for?" She glanced at his feet, to check for herself.
"Yeah, I..." He sighed, eyes returning toward the route his former best friend had taken. "Pacey hates me, doesn't he? Not that I can blame the guy given all the bitterness and vitriolic ranting he's had to suffer through over the years, but…"
"Pacey doesn't hate you." Joey began stacking cans of baked beans in her cart. A lot more cans than seemed warranted for a small family of four, in Dawson's opinion. "I don't think he's figured out how to deal with you being here yet, that's all."
"Which implies that I need dealing with." He winced as a loud crash came from a few aisles over, followed by Pacey's apologetic shout.
"I've got it, Mr. Kelleher!"
Joey rolled her eyes. "Pacey?!" she yelled.
"I've got it, Jo!"
She scoffed and grabbed a couple of rolls from the paper towel pyramid, lining them up alongside her baked bean booty. "Overgrown delinquent," she muttered, though a smile was tugging at her lips.
"Some things never change, right?"
Joey graced him with a knowing look. "No, some things don't. The trouble with life, Dawson, is that most things do. You just have to learn to roll with the punches." She patted his arm like she would a loyal pet. "I'll see you tomorrow at the wedding, okay?"
Dawson could only nod and watch her walk away.
TBC…