Part Six
III.
The night was long.
As if to make amends for the story he'd told about his father, Pacey accosted Joey with the tale of a Witter family day at the beach when his dad helped him make a giant sandcastle. The story trailed off at the end. Pacey frowned, and Joey knew he'd remembered some less idyllic part of that day. He didn't share, and she didn't force him.
They dozed in fits and starts, sometimes sprawled on multiple chairs, sometimes using each other as pillows. Ignoring Doug's warnings, Pacey made a nuisance of himself with the nurses. But he was born with the devil's own charm; by the end of the night, Joey was convinced half the nurses wanted to marry him, and the other half to mother him. He checked on his father personally twice more, but the sheriff was sleeping each time. Pacey looked relieved.
"Wakey, wakey, little sis." It wasn't Bessie's voice, but the smell of fresh roasted coffee under her nose which pulled Joey out of another unsatisfactory nap.
She stretched, feeling the twinges of aching muscles in her back and neck. At some point, Pacey had covered her with his jacket. "What time is it?"
"A little after seven. Doug called and told me what happened. I brought coffee and Bodie's cinnamon rolls, along with his love."
"You and Bodie are both angels," Joey proclaimed as she swiped the bag of gooey, sugary treats. She glanced around while she devoured the first roll. Early morning sun poured in through the sliding glass doors. The nurse at the duty desk had changed. Joey's boyfriend was nowhere to be seen. "Where's Pacey?"
"Haven't the foggiest. Maybe visiting his dad? How's the sheriff doing?"
Joey filled her sister in, leaving out the personal recollections Pacey had shared.
When she finished, Bessie said, "Well, I hope he gets well soon. What about you? Going to come home at all while you're here?"
"I'd like to, to get a shower and a change of clothes at least, but I want to check in with Pacey first. It might be better to wait until the rest of his family is here. He won't need me as much."
"Or, knowing his family, he'll need you more. You're a braver woman than I, Josephine Potter, to face down the Witters en masse."
"Yeah, well, you lucked out. Bodie's family is adorable."
Bessie's smile lit her whole face. "I did, didn't I? Poor Bodie, though, he got stuck with you."
Joey stuck her tongue out.
Bessie had to run, in order to help Bodie with cleanup and checkouts. Joey thanked her sister for breakfast and hugged her tight before she left.
Joey scarfed the rolls and sipped her coffee while waiting for Pacey to return. With great self-sacrifice, she saved two cinnamon buns for him. He had not returned by the time she finished her coffee. Joey checked with the nurse, but she hadn't seen him. She decided to peek into the sheriff's room, to see if Pacey was there.
She ran into him—almost literally—rounding the corner. He pulled himself short instead of bowling her over. "Let's go." Pacey grabbed her hand and yanked her towards the exit at an almost run.
"Pacey? What happened?" Joey tried to read his expression and keep up with his breakneck speed. The riot of emotions crossing his face could be summed up in one word—pain.
"Nothing I shouldn't have expected."
Before Joey could follow up on that, they had reached the hospital doors—and Mrs. Witter and Doug entering through them.
"Pacey!" Mrs. Witter threw her arms around her son's neck in the first hug Joey had ever seen her give him. "I'm glad you're here."
Pacey seemed as shocked by the gesture as Joey was. Slowly, hesitantly, he dropped his death grip on Joey's hand and wrapped his arms around his mother. "Hey, Ma."
"Have you seen him? How is he?" Mrs. Witter's face was pale when she pulled back from the hug. She wore no make-up, and puffy bags stood out beneath her eyes.
"He's...he'll be fine, Mom. I was just with him. He's conscious and talking and exactly the same as he's always been." Joey caught the edge in Pacey's voice; his mother did not.
The tension left her shoulders. "Thank God."
Doug was less oblivious to the undercurrents in the room. "You two look beyond exhausted. Why don't you go get some rest? Mom and I will stay this morning. You can come back and see the girls later."
It was a mark of how tired and unhappy Pacey was that he didn't argue with his brother. "Thanks, Dougie." The brothers exchanged a shoulder clap, which was the most physical affection they'd expressed since Pacey's arrival.
Pacey took Joey's hand—more gently this time—and led her out to the car at a reasonable pace. Joey waited until they were settled inside to ask, "Do you want to talk about it?"
Pacey pulled out of the parking lot and turned towards the B&B, away from his family home. "You'd think after a heart attack the man might have something of value to say. Clear his conscience, make amends, two or three words to wipe out a lifetime of...Wanna know the first thing he said to me?"
Joey was positive she didn't, but she listened anyway.
"'Glad you could take time off dishwashing to visit your old man.' And when I reminded him, I'm a chef, not a busboy, he said, 'Same difference.' Then he asked if I've given any thought to the army and spent the rest of the time telling me about all the amazing things Dougie's doing for the family, Capeside, and the world in general."
Joey laid her hand on the back of Pacey's neck. She rubbed at the steely tension there. "I'm sorry, Pace."
"Yeah. Whatever. I should have known."
"It's his loss, you know, not yours. He'll never get to know the amazing man you've become."
Pacey didn't acknowledge her response as they pulled into the Potters' driveway. Alex ran outside and jumped into Joey's arms before they'd even made it to the porch. He told her all about kindergarten and his teacher and his best friend and Lily's cat who'd just had kittens. Pacey grabbed their bag from the trunk and walked beside them up to the house, listening to Alex's monologue with amusement. The stormclouds surrounding him dissipated more with every step.
Bessie met them at the door. A slight shake of the head from Joey froze the question about Sheriff Witter on her lips. Instead, Bessie started her own spiel on some of the more interesting guests they'd had recently. She gave a run-down on the state of the premises, asking Pacey to make some minor repairs if he got a chance. Joey smiled at her sister; Bessie always knew what to say.
And Bodie always knew what to do. He sat them both down to a large breakfast and asked Pacey how his first culinary classes were going.
Joey basked in the warmth of her childhood home, listened with half an ear to Pacey and Bodie, and with the other to Bessie convincing Alex he still had to go to school today. Joey was exhausted, emotionally and physically, but it was good to be home. And Pacey perhaps needed it more than she did.
Bessie bundled Alex off to school, while Bodie turned his attention to cleanup. Pacey and Joey both offered to help, but he sent them to bed, saying they looked tired enough to fall over.
Joey led Pacey to her room, but the moment the door closed, sleep was the last thing on her mind. It became imperative to be in Pacey's arms, as close as humanly possible. Pacey must have been possessed by a similar idea. Neither started it; they fell into each other.
He needs to know how much I love him was Joey's driving thought. So she told him, breathed it into every inch of his skin, and showed him with every kiss, every caress of her fingers.
When it was over, when they had given and taken as much pleasure as they could, Pacey laid his head upon her breasts and listened to her heartbeat. Jokey stroked his hair and pretended not to feel the tears landing on her skin.
When Joey woke, it was to afternoon sunshine and an empty bed. She took a quick shower and changed, then found Bessie ironing linens.
"Afternoon, lazy bones," her sister teased. "Before you even ask, Pacey was up hours ago. He fixed that detached gutter and the leaky faucet, then went back to the hospital. He said you should stay here, but I'm guessing you're not going to."
Joey shook her head. "Can I borrow the truck?"
"Sure. I'll call Gail and ask her to pick up Alex from school. Is Pacey going to be okay? He looks rough."
Joey spread her hands in a "who knows?" gesture. "Nothing makes me feel better about our family than time spent with Pacey's."
When Joey arrived at the hospital—after more stalls than she cared to remember—Pacey and all his siblings were gathered in the waiting room. Their mom was sitting with their dad, who wasn't supposed to have too many visitors at once. Kerry's kids were bored and restless. Joey remembered too well what it was like being a child in a hospital waiting room. It gave her an idea of how she could be actually useful.
"I could take the kids to the park across the road, if you want," Joey offered.
Kerry's grateful assent was almost drowned in a clamor of kids' voices. Pacey pressed Joey's hand and gave her a swift kiss in a silent thank you.
Joey was forming the kids into a chain for leading them across the street when she realized Gretchen had come with them. She hadn't seen Gretchen in years, not since—not since her abortion in senior year, Joey realized with a pang.
Gretchen had not forgotten. "So you and Pacey are back together," she said noncommittally as she watched her nieces and nephews scramble up monkey bars and down slides.
"Is that a problem?" Joey asked just as carefully.
"No, not at all. Pacey loves you so much. I'm happy for you both. It's just...you never told him, did you?"
"If I recall, you were the one who warned me Pacey couldn't handle any more stress."
"No, yeah, you're right, but..." Gretchen's brow furrowed, an expression which made her resemble her brother a little bit. "How can you hope to have a successful relationship with this secret hanging between you?"
Joey was ashamed to admit how little she thought about it anymore. She felt Gretchen would judge her somehow. She deflected. "You really think now, with everything going on with his father, I should march into that hospital and tell Pacey that two years ago I had an abortion? Or were you planning to tell him for me?"
"I'm not your enemy, Joey. I want what's best for you. And for Pacey. But I'm not sure pretending it never happened is the way to go here."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but that's my mistake to make."
Gretchen threw her hands up. "Fine. Forget I said anything." She started walking back to the hospital, then turned back to add, "It is kind of you to be here for him through this."
Joey shrugged. "I love him."
"I know. That's why I'll try and forget what happened, too."
IV.
Joey's sophomore year at Worthington was infinitely harder than her freshman one. To begin with, Andersen was no longer a motionly challenged infant, content to stay by her side while Joey studied. As he learned to walk, he showed he had inherited more from his father than his blue eyes, in a relentless determination to be everywhere and make a mess of everything. Studying had to be confined to the hours when her son was sleeping or when she overcame her reluctance—they were already watching Andersen while she was at work and at class—and begged one of her roommates to mind him for a few hours.
Joey was exhausted all the time. Between work, school, and parenting, she was lucky to manage four hours sleep a night. More than once, she fell asleep over her studies. Her grades slipped.
With the fall in her academic standing came worry about losing her scholarship, something she could ill-afford to do. The windfall from Dawson was gone. Even with work, financial aid, and scholarships, Joey was barely making ends meet. The first time she had to tell Mrs. Ryan her share of the rent would be late was one of the most humiliating moments of her life. The second time wasn't any easier.
Near the end of May, Jen made the startling announcement that Grams had cancer. Joey hadn't even begun to process that horrifying bombshell when Jen dropped another one. They were moving to New York to be closer to Jen's mother and the best medical care that money could buy. Jack was going with them; they were both transferring to NYU.
"I know it's a lot to take in all at once. But I hope you'll consider coming with us, too, Joey. You and Anders have become like family. To all of us, Grams included."
Joey promised she would think it over. The girls hugged and cried for a very long time.
I.
Three months into newlywed bliss—which did not feel significantly different from the day-to-day grind of life before, much to Joey's relief—Jen and Grams sat Pacey and Joey down at the kitchen table. Even if Mrs. Ryan had not warned them of bad news, the puffiness of Jen's face and Grams' red eyes would have given it away.
Joey had been suspicious before this, what with Mrs. Lindley's sudden visit. Dread curled like a sleeping viper in her gut. "What's wrong?" she asked, holding tightly to Pacey's hand under the table.
"I have cancer." Grams was never one to sugar-coat.
Those three words rang like a death-knell in Joey's head. She was ten years old again, cuddled in her mom's arms and hearing them for the very first time. She burst into tears. Pacey reached for her, but she threw herself into Mrs. Ryan's arms instead.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," Joey kept repeating, while Mrs. Ryan stroked her hair as if Joey was the one in need of comfort. The way her mother had all those years ago.
"It's all right, Josephine. I'm in God's hands."
"And the doctors, right, Grams?" said Jen, with the slightest trace of irritation. "At the end of the school year, Grams, Jack and I are moving to New York to live with my mom and get Grams the medical care she needs."
Joey pulled away, looking from Grams to Jen and back again. "You're leaving?" Pacey's hand covered her back in a silent display of sympathy.
"We have to. It's the only way to make it work financially. Jack and I will transfer to NYU, and Mom can help take care of Grams. The only problem is..."
"You need to sell the house," Pacey finished when Jen struggled for words.
"Not necessarily," said Grams. "If you two want to keep it and are able to find roommates to help you take over the payments, I would be happy to leave it in your hands. We have been rather a happy little family here." She squeezed Joey's hand on the tabletop.
Joey felt another sob in her throat and choked it back. The last things Grams needed was to see people grieving as if she were already gone. "Yes, we have." She tried to control the quaver in her voice.
"So think about it and let us know." Jen's tone was no-nonsense, but she looked as if she, too, was fighting back tears. "If you're going to move, we'll need to contact a realtor."
Joey didn't know how they could be expected to think about something so prosaic at a time like this, but Pacey said, "We'll talk about it and give you an answer soon." Joey was prepared to snap at him for his selfishness, but then he stepped around her to kneel by Mrs. Ryan's chair. He took her smooth, papery hands in both of his. "You just concentrate on getting better, okay? Anders is going to need his Grams for a long time to come. We all are." He kissed the top of Grams' head as he stood.
Jen rose as well and pulled Pacey into a hug. She buried her face in his chest. Pacey rested one hand on Jen's blonde head and held her close with the other. Joey didn't begrudge her friend the embrace. She knew from long experience there was no safer place to cry than Pacey's arms.
"So we should talk about the house," Pacey said that night, after Joey had recovered from her own breakdown.
"I don't want to think about that yet."
"Neither do I, but we owe it to Grams and Jen to give them an answer as soon as possible."
Joey sighed. "You're right. I know you're right. It just seems stupid and inconsequential compared to everything else."
"At the moment it does, but shelter, it turns out, ranks pretty high on the hierarchy of needs."
Joey rolled her eyes at Pacey's halfhearted attempt to insert humor into the conversation. She wasn't ready to find anything funny yet. "So we should probably move, right? We don't have that many friends in Boston, and I would not feel comfortable living with strangers with Anders—" She glanced over at their sleeping son in his crib and grabbed Pacey's arm. "Pacey, with Jen and Mrs. Ryan leaving, who's going to watch Anders?"
"I had some thoughts on that. Gretchen is graduating next month, but she wants to stick around Boston while Dawson finishes film school. If she were one of our roommates, between the three of us, we could probably arrange our schedules so Anders always has someone home."
Joey acknowledged that was a pretty great idea, Gretchen being one of the few people outside this house to whom she would entrust her son. They both loved Pacey's sister; living with her would be fun. "Still leaves us with two roommates to find, though."
"One, actually."
"You have someone else in mind?"
"No, but it's about time Anders had his own room, don't you think? I figure, if we are going to stay here, we could move down to the master bedroom and give Andersen Jen's room beside it. It will mean a larger share of the rent, but with my promotion and your better financial aid package, we can swing it."
Joey shook her head, gazing at her husband in disbelief. "Okay, who are you, and what have you done with Pacey Witter, irresponsible slacker extraordinaire? How did you think all this through in a couple of hours?"
Pacey shrugged. "The Anders thing has been on my mind for a while. I'm terrified that one day I'll forget to lock the baby gate and he'll go tumbling down the stairs headfirst. He's almost old enough for a bed, and, to be totally honest, I've started getting a creepy feeling he's going to wake up some night while we're having sex, and the poor kid's going to be scarred for life."
Joey burst out laughing. "I wondered why your libido had disappeared the last few weeks. Good to know you're not tired of me already."
"I will never be tired of you, Potter," he said and confirmed the statement with the heat in his eyes and a scorching kiss.
Their second roommate was not hard to find. Joey was catching Audrey up on events at lunch a few days later, and Audrey jumped at the spare room.
"I want it. I'll even make up any deficit in the bills."
"You wouldn't have to do that."
"Please. It will be worth it to spare myself a summer at home and the inevitable, chemical-driven, downward spiral that would then ensue."
Joey thought Pacey would be thrilled when she told him the news after work that night, but his smile was weak and his "That's great" decidedly less than enthused.
"What's the matter? I thought you liked Audrey."
"I do. It's not that. It's roommate numero uno. I talked to Gretchen today." Pacey helped Anders build a block tower and did not look at Joey.
"She doesn't want to live with us?"
"No, she does. But she wants Dawson to move in, too. Apparently, they've been talking about living together for a while now." He shot Joey what he obviously thought was a surreptitious glance before rebuilding the tower Anders smashed.
Joey rolled her eyes. Would he never be over this insecurity? She left her homework at the desk and sat on the floor behind Pacey. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she kissed the side of his temple. "And what's so bad about that? They can have our attic. It's sweltering in summer, freezing in winter, and—I can testify from experience—perfect for a couple just starting out." Joey trailed kisses along Pacey's ear and jaw, reminding him without words how much she loved him.
Anders knocked over his tower with a crash and a laugh.
Pacey dutifully stacked the blocks again. "You don't think it will be weird? My sister and your first love living upstairs, in our old room?"
"Compared to some of the stuff we've endured over the last ten years, I'd say it sounds par for the course. And a few facts you seem to have forgotten: Dawson is our lifelong best friend, he makes your sister happy, and he may have been my first love, but he is not my true love." Joey placed a kiss at the corner of his mouth, the furthest she could reach unless Pacey turned his head to face her.
He didn't. Instead, he kept his eyes on their son, but he took Joey's hand in his, brought her palm to his mouth and kissed it. "I love my life, Jo—our life. That's not something I ever pictured myself being able to say, but it's true. I don't want anything to screw it up."
"Who's the one with the irrational fears now?" she teased, a cover for how his words touched her. "Pace, I don't care if we have Dawson for a roommate, but I also don't mind finding a smaller place. Either way, we're going to be okay."
"O-tay!" echoed Anders—his new favorite word—and toppled his tower again.
"Okay." Pacey laughed and swept the boy up in a tickle-filled hug.
Pacey and Dawson went out drinking one night the next week. Joey didn't know what they talked about, but when Pacey stumbled into bed in the early hours of the morning, reeking of beer, he told her, "They're moving in," before he passed out.
Joey was almost irritated with how easily the roommate situation was resolved. It had been a welcome distraction from Mrs. Ryan's illness and the mass exodus to New York. Now, there was no avoiding the steadily growing piles of boxes or the fast-approaching moving day.
Joey, Jen and Jack studied for finals in between packing and nostalgia-driven conversations. Jen had taken to crying every time she held Anders; Joey didn't even know how to explain all these changes to her son. "Gam-Gam"—his name for Grams—had been Andersen's very first word.
Dreading the day did nothing to delay it. Long before Joey was ready, the school year was over, and they were saying tear-filled goodbyes to their friends. Anders, not understanding but stressed by the changes, was impossible on moving day. Joey wasn't much better. Pacey tried to comfort them both, while handling the mundane details of moving and bidding his own farewells. He promised Jen they would visit New York the first chance they got, but that might not be until Christmas.
There was a week between their old roommates' moving out and the new arrivals. Joey took the week off work to care for Anders and to scrub the house top to bottom. The empty rooms were painful reminders of their departed friends. Moving their furniture into Mrs. Ryan's room felt almost sacrilegious.
They bought Anders a toddler bed to replace his crib. But getting him to sleep in his new room alone was a sleep-depriving, tantrum-filled nightmare. It didn't help that Joey had a bout of separation anxiety herself, and Pacey was never a good disciplinarian.
All in all, it was a relief when Dawson, Gretchen and Audrey arrived to fill some of the empty spaces in the house. Anders loved his Aunt Gretchen almost as much as she loved him, which distracted him from his constant pleas for Gam-Gam.
Gretchen worked at a record store; she, Pacey, and Joey did some schedule-juggling to make sure one of them was free to watch Anders at all times. Audrey had nothing to do with her summer and volunteered to watch the "little monster," but her unease around children combined with her general irresponsibility made her a last-resort babysitter. Dawson also expressed willingness to help when he could, but he was filming a movie with some friends from school, and his schedule was subject to variance.
Still, Joey felt relieved that Anders had so many people to look out for him and grateful for the kindness of their friends. She could never have managed on her own.
II.
The last few months of school plodded by. Joey didn't see Pacey again. She told herself he was off on another sailing adventure, told herself she didn't care.
Jack and Jen had fallen almost entirely out of her orbit, though she did hear the sad news of Mrs. Ryan's cancer diagnosis. They were all moving to New York after the school year for her treatments.
Audrey made it through rehab, but was staying in L.A. She was transferring to USC next year, willing to brave her parents in light of this new relationship with Dawson. Audrey and Dawson both called often; they sounded happy.
Joey kept dating Eddie. He could be sullen and taciturn, angry and critical, but he could also be earnest and surprisingly sweet. She learned to relax with him; he learned how to make her body fall apart. He asked her to backpack through Europe with him. She said yes.
IV.
With Mrs. Ryan leaving and selling the house, Joey's future studies at Worthington had become untenable. Losing both her place of residence and her free childcare would take her financial situation from barely scraping by to deep in the hole.
Joey had loved New York the one time she visited it. More than that, she loved Jen and Jack and Grams. She knew the long, hard fight they were up against; knew with painful intimacy the grief of losing it. She wanted to be there for Mrs. Ryan and especially for Jen, who had always been there for her and now might need her just as badly.
But Andersen was the deciding factor. Joey couldn't inflict a hyperactive toddler on a household which would already be struggling with illness, family tension, and two full-time college students. Plus, Joey had spent years of her childhood with the pall of cancer hanging over it; she wouldn't inflict it on her son.
So when the moving van arrived to transport her roommates' belongings to New York, Bodie brought up the old, blue pickup to help Joey lug hers back to Capeside.
Joey wasn't giving up on her half-finished degree, but she was transferring to a much cheaper state school. She took up her old room at the B&B, while Andersen bunked with his cousin Alex. Bessie would watch Joey's son for her while she made the long commute each way for classes and worked as a waitress at Leery's Fresh Fish.
Bessie said after all the times Joey watched Alexander for her in high school, it was only evening the score. But Joey knew all her big sister was doing for her and was grateful.
Joey took the summer off from classes while she navigated the paperwork nightmare of transferring and tried to shore up more scholarships and grants. She still had to work, but she found the break from studying decidedly welcome, especially in the extra time she got to spend with Andersen.
It was the first half of June, the summer opening before them, when Joey took her early-riser of a son on a sunrise walk along the beach. Joey loved this time of day; the air felt fresher, the world full of possibility. Andersen ran along in front of her, delighted with everything, from the dogs on their morning walks to the tiny, shiny pebbles.
It was impossible not to think of Pacey on a morning like this, of all the mornings spent aboard True Love, watching the sunrise, drinking in love and possibility along with their morning coffee. Joey hoped, wherever he was—somewhere in the south Pacific, according to his latest postcard—he was happy.
Perhaps it was because she was thinking of Pacey that Joey wasn't surprised to see his brother jogging along the sand toward them. Doug took in the scurrying toddler first, with a distant smile, not pausing his run. Then he noticed Joey following behind. He did a double take and stopped. He chest heaved as his lungs took in oxygen, while his eyes made a thorough policeman's survey of the little boy throwing rocks in the outgoing tide.
Andersen looked very much like his mother. He had her dark hair, high cheekbones, pointed chin, even her golden skin. He was going to be tall, like both his parents, but he carried the pudgy roundness of infancy. The only clearly distinguishable marks of his father were the round, blue eyes and the set of his mouth, both of which Doug might miss in the deceptive, early morning light.
"Good morning, Joey. I hadn't heard you were back in town."
Joey kept her eyes locked on her son, not to avoid Doug's scrutiny, but because she knew how fast he could be gone. For now, Andersen was content, throwing pebbles and smashing seashells. "Hey, Doug. I only got back a few days ago. Guess I haven't been out much."
"And who's this fine little fellow?" The question was a formality. Andersen's paternity might be a matter of doubt, but Joey's features were stamped all over him.
"My son, Andersen."
The surprise on Doug's face was a testament to the trustworthiness of Joey's family and friends. Despite the odds, it had never become common gossip that Josephine Potter had followed in her sister's footsteps and had a child shortly after leaving high school.
Doug squatted on the sand, the better to observe the young boy. "If it's not too presumptuous to ask, who's the father?"
Joey could feel her heart thrumming against her chest. Doug wasn't family, nor a friend whose silence could be coerced. Doug was Pacey's brother; his first loyalty would be clear. Furthermore, he was a boy scout, who always did the right thing.
She tried to answer and could not.
Doug glanced up at her. Whatever he saw in her face set his mouth in a harder line. "Pacey clearly doesn't know."
"Are you..." Joey faltered, tried again. "Are you going to tell him?"
Doug's attention was fixed on the little boy. Andersen had discovered the gulls and was chasing them, his childish screams piercing the morning quiet. "I might, if I knew how to reach him. We fought before he left the last time, and I haven't heard from him since."
It was on Joey's tongue to ask what the fight was about, but she bit it back. Not her business. "I'm sorry," she said instead.
Doug stood, brushing sand from his legs. "Yes, well, wanderlust is apparently a Witter family trait only I didn't inherit. We haven't heard from my big sister in God knows how long. Kerry moved her kids to Canada. Even Gretchen packed up her car after graduation this spring and left with no known destination."
Joey could hear the loneliness and disappointment in Doug's voice. What must it be like, to be one of five kids, and the only one their monstrous parents hadn't driven away? Joey knew where the blame lay for the mass Witter migration, and it wasn't a genetic propensity for travel. But Doug had always chosen to ignore the darker side of his upbringing, probably made easier for him by being the golden child.
But not entirely easy. He was alone, in more ways than one. Joey had long believed in the truth behind Pacey's half-jesting barbs. Pacey, the first one to jump to Jack's defense when he came out, made jokes about his brother's sexuality because his own inherently honest nature couldn't stand the hypocrisy which made every day of Doug's life a lie, whether it be whitewashing their family's dirty laundry or hiding his true nature even from himself.
It was pity for Doug's isolation which made Joey ask, "Would you like to meet your nephew?"
Doug grinned. "I would love that. Thank you."
Joey called Andersen to her and introduced him to his Uncle Doug.
I.
Joey headed downstairs in the middle of the night. The light was on in the kitchen, and she found Dawson there, fully dressed, eating a bowl of cereal.
"Oh, hey, Joey, I just got in from a shoot. Didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't." Joey tied Pacey's ratty blue bathrobe tighter around her and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. "It's called being a mom. When Anders was a baby, he woke up at two every night; now, it's habit. Two a.m. and I'm checking to make sure he's still breathing."
Dawson chuckled as she poured herself some water. "It is surreal to me that little Joey Potter is a mom." He shook his head. "I'm not sure I'll ever get used to it."
Joey leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping her drink. "After changing a thousand diapers or so, it starts to feel pretty real."
"I'll take your word for it." He smiled. "It's nice to see you, Joey, even in the middle of the night. I've been here six weeks already, but it feels like I've barely been in your presence."
"Well, I've got work and Anders, and you've been busy with the movie. How is that going, by the way?"
"Great! The best thing about film school is being surrounded by so many people who love the same things I love. I haven't made a horror movie since our little sea monster foray back in high school."
"We're no longer counting Blair Witch Island?" Joey teased.
Dawson grimaced. "The less said about that the better."
"Point taken. How's Audrey doing?"
"She was a most convincing Victim #4 once I got her to stop with the Southern accent. Definitely our best screamer. I may have her dub a couple of the other girls."
"Just don't record while Anders is napping," Joey warned. Dawson had turned the portion of the attic which had been Andersen's nursery into an editing studio.
"There you go, being a mom again." Dawson rinsed out his empty bowl, then leaned against the counter beside her. "Do you ever wish you could be a kid again? Life was so much simpler then."
"Your childhood was. For me, it's hard to remember a time when we weren't struggling to make ends meet. I was only ten when Mom got sick, and it was all downhill from there."
"Yeah. I'm sorry, Joey. Stupid question." Dawson stared at his feet, deflated somehow.
She sent him a wistful half-smile. "There was one bright spot, I guess. Just a short row across the creek was a lighted window and a safe, happy room behind it where the best friend in the world was always waiting for me."
Dawson smiled back at her. "And always will be, Joey."
Joey's smile fell. The way he said that was a little too layered. "How are things with Gretchen?" she asked pointedly.
"Good. Mostly good. It's...different living with someone as opposed to dating them. I'm discovering all kinds of new things about her. She has to have music playing when she falls asleep, and she steals the covers. Also, it's one thing to know someone is slightly untidy and another to live with it. But you probably went through all this when you and Pacey moved in together, right?"
Joey puzzled over how to answer. Dawson would not appreciate learning that Pacey was a snuggler or that they often read together before bed, nor was it his business. "Pacey and I had a sneak peek," she said finally. "Those three months on a twenty foot sailboat. Hard to have many secrets after that. And moving in together was probably more stressful for Pacey than for me. I was six months pregnant, remember, and deeply hormonal. You should ask Pacey how he put up with me. Dirty socks on the floor is nothing compared to a midnight grocery run for peppermint ice cream and sauerkraut."
Dawson laughed, the tension of a moment ago gone so fast Joey hoped she had imagined it. "On that horrifyingly unappetizing note, I am off to bed." He paused in the doorway and turned back to her. "It was great talking to you, Joey. I've missed it. What do you say we reinstitute weekly movie nights for you, me and anyone else in the house who wants to join?"
"Sounds like a plan. If you don't mind waiting until Anders is in bed. Sorry, talking like a boring mom again."
"I have applied innumerable adjectives to you over the years, Joey. 'Boring' has never been one of them. Night."
"Night." Joey rinsed her glass and turned off the lights, listening to Dawson's heavy tread up the stairs.
She tiptoed back to her room and slipped into bed beside Pacey. His bare back was facing her, so she wrapped her arms around his middle and pulled herself flush against him. She kissed his shoulder, laid her ear against his back, where she could hear the steady thump of his heart, and drifted into a contented sleep.
II.
Paris was perfect. Everything she'd ever dreamed. They went to the Louvre, and Joey fell in love with art again. They went to Notre Dame, and she said her first prayer in years. They went to the Eiffel Tower, and she thought, I could fall in love with him.
Germany was somber. What could they say to each other when touring concentration camps and war memorials? The castles annoyed Eddie, all that ancient wealth and power. Joey almost bought Pacey a tankard in a Munich beer hall, but then she remembered and put it back.
Madrid was tense. Eddie in the summer heat of Spain was Eddie at his very worst. He picked fights, and Joey walked away, went sight-seeing on her own. Joey thought of the cramped quarters of the True Love. She and Eddie wouldn't have lasted one hundred days there, wouldn't have lasted twenty.
Greece was where it fell apart. The sea was everywhere in Greece. It surrounded Athens, it passed through Corinth, it shone when she looked down from mountaintops. They had to sail across it to reach the fabled isles.
Santorini blue was the color painters used to capture the Mediterranean Sea in its rich, jeweled glory. It was a shade found nowhere else in the world. Joey had a small painting from there. Pacey brought it back from his second trip away. He told her the story; she told him he was wrong, it was the same color as his eyes.
On Rhodes, Joey sat alone by the sea. She remembered being six and Pacey dumping wet sand down her back, how she chased him and clobbered him and rubbed sand in his face until he apologized.
She remembered being fourteen and lying on a raft between Dawson and Pacey, talking about their dreams for the future. Dawson, of course, was going to be a director; Joey, at the time, was leaning towards deep sea diver; Pacey thought for a moment and said, "Happy."
She remembered being seventeen and sailing away from her lifelong home, remembered Pacey's hand in her hair, as he asked, "Regrets already, Jo?"
"No regrets," Joey whispered to the Mediterranean Sea.
Eddie found her shortly after. He sat with his back to the sea, watching her. Finally, he said, "We should head back to the States. Classes are only a month away, and I'd like to spend some time with my family first."
When they planned their trip, they weren't coming home until the last possible day.
"Good idea," said Joey. "There are people I need to see again, too."
The little bell chimed as Joey entered the old-fashioned office of Taylor & Sons. The place smelled of sawdust and turpentine, even though the work was done in dry docks and the buildings out back. Photographs of sailboats lined every inch of the walls, from crumbling black-and-whites, to Pacey's Fiddlesticks.
The younger Mr. Taylor was manning the desk. His round, red face broke into a smile at the sight of her. "Why, Miss Joey, haven't seen you here in a while."
"Good to see you, too, Mr. Taylor." She fidgeted, pushing her hair behind her ears. "Uh, is Pacey here?" She expected to be told he was sailing the Nile, or that he had disappeared without a trace.
"He's working out back. You remember the way?"
Joey nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She didn't move. She had dreamed of this moment since boarding the plane home, and now her feet felt cemented to the floor.
"Everything all right, Joey?"
She nodded again and made herself walk, one step at a time, through the beaded curtain, past the cluttered storeroom, out the back door. Across the small courtyard and into the workshop. She heard the familiar sound of paint being scraped off wood and followed the noise past several boats to one not much larger than the True Love.
Pacey had his back to her, all his attention on the boat.
"You missed a spot. By the rudder."
He went very, very still, but didn't turn around. "No, I didn't. I haven't gotten there yet."
"She's a beautiful boat. What's her name?"
"Mr. Pickles. Sadly. And no, I don't know why." Pacey peeled off his protective goggles before slowly turning to face her. The stubble she liked was there, so was the harder mouth. "I heard you were in Paris."
"I was lots of places, but I came back. I thought you'd be sailing."
"The old man's back finally gave out, so his wife's making him retire. I'm helping pick up the slack." Pacey's eyes hadn't left her face since he turned around. "You look good, Potter."
Joey flushed. "Thanks. So do you."
"How's Eddie?"
Joey jumped, surprised. "How do you know about Eddie?"
"Lindley told me. Was she not supposed to? I didn't think it was a secret."
"It wasn't. I guess I didn't think you'd ask. Eddie was fine, last I saw. We, uh, broke up."
There was a more speculative look in Pacey's face now. He leaned back against the boat and crossed his arms. "Why are you here, Jo?"
"You came to me several months ago and tried to explain why. I'd like the chance to do the same if you'll let me."
Pacey shrugged. "I've got nowhere else to be." He was trying to be casual, but the tension in his body spoke the lie.
"I was scared, Pace. I was just as scared of losing you as you were of losing me. Every time you left, I was convinced you weren't coming back again."
"I would always come home to you."
"I didn't say it was rational, anymore than your persistent belief you don't deserve me is rational. It's how I felt. And that fear grew and grew, until it became so all-consuming it seemed easier to lose the fear and you together. So I kissed Eddie."
"Wait. You're saying you kissed him specifically to engineer our breakup?"
Joey nodded. "Irrational, like I said. Also, the stupidest thing I've done in my life."
"So if the point was to end things with me, why'd you start dating him?"
"I only did that after you came back and gave that absurd, beautiful speech."
"Why?"
"Because it scared me! It scared me that I was still in love with you. It scared me that you might be right, and we had no future together. It terrified me to think of letting you back in my life only to lose you again." Joey bit her lip at the coolness in his expression, but she had to finish what she came here to say. "I started running, and I ran halfway across the world only to come face-to-face with the same answer I always knew: Pacey, I love you. So I can't be let off the hook."
Pacey swallowed hard. His gaze dropped from hers for the first time. He surveyed the sander, the worktable, the boat behind him. The muscles in his throat and jaw worked, as he began to say something, then bit the words back.
Joey played with her purse-strap and tried not to fidget, to be impatient or demand an answer she might not appreciate when it came. As long as Pacey remained silent, she could still hope for a happy ending.
"I, uh, I need to get back to work. I mean...thank you for...I don't know what to say here, Jo."
Joey swallowed back a lump in her throat at the bleakness in his eyes. "Say what you feel. At the very least, you're entitled to that."
"Am I?" Pacey laughed bitterly and swiped a hand down across his harder, older face. That was it, Joey realized, all the changes she'd noticed since their breakup. This year had aged Pacey; he wasn't the boy she fell in love with anymore.
"Of course you are. Just because I had my epiphany doesn't mean you're obligated to reciprocate. I wronged you, and I hurt you, and I'm sorry, but I know better than most that sorry is not always enough. Even," Joey's voice cracked, but she forced herself to go on, "even loving someone isn't always enough. So if you want me out of your sight, I understand."
"I don't want...I need time to think. Can you give me that?"
Joey nodded, relieved. Time was a much kinder word than goodbye. "Yes, of course, I can do that. Maybe we can talk when I come back for classes? I'm only in town for the day. Need to pick up my books for next term, and see if I can find a job and an apartment for next year, or get the snafu with campus housing worked out. Apparently, I missed the deadline for my paperwork..." Joey trailed off, aware she was rambling. "Anyway, it's a whole thing."
Pacey shifted the sander from one hand to the other, frowning. He seemed to be weighing the wisdom of saying something, but came to a quick decision and lifted his eyes once again to hers. "I could maybe help with both those problems. Mrs. Taylor used to run the office and front desk, but she retired with her husband. Jeff keeps saying he's going to hire someone to take over, but he hasn't yet. He's so overwhelmed he'd probably let you name your own hours and wages."
Joey's heart leapt. Working in the same building was a far cry from never wanting to see her again. "Thanks. I'll talk to him on my way out."
"You should talk to Andie about the other thing, the apartment."
"Andie? Isn't she in Florence?"
"No, she's finally starting Harvard this fall. Looked me up a week or so ago when she arrived. Guess I'm the only person she knows in Boston. She mentioned getting an apartment and looking for roommates."
Andie McPhee. Joey hadn't thought about her in years. Now, she was seized by the horrible notion that her own infidelity might have caused Pacey to view Andie's transgressions as ancient history. If he did have feelings beyond friendship for his ex, he hid it well. He had to look up her number on his phone to give it to Joey.
His goodbye to Joey was awkward, but not cold, not, Joey felt, indifferent.
When Joey made it back to the office, Jeffrey Taylor was engaged with a new customer. He sounded every bit as knowledgeable as he was while talking with the WASP-ish stranger about the work he needed done, but when it was time to write up the paperwork, Jeff floundered.
Joey took advantage of the moment. "Hey, Mr. Taylor, can I help you with that?" It wasn't much more complicated than writing up an order at a restaurant, and the look of gratitude Jeff sent her assured Joey the job was hers if she wanted it.
By the time Joey stepped out of Taylor & Sons into the muggy heat of a Boston summer afternoon, she had gainful employment for her junior year of college. She started in two weeks, when she returned for classes, and would be manning the front desk and digitizing Mrs. Taylor's unique and antiquated filing system.
She grabbed the next bus headed toward Worthington and called Andie on the ride there. Andie sounded as cheerful as ever, more so when Joey mentioned the apartment. It was three bedrooms, Andie said, and so far she only had one other roommate, a poli-sci sophomore from Harvard. Joey let her hopes rise until Andie gave her the address. It was miles away from school, work, and her price range. She told Andie about the location issue without informing her about the humiliating financial reality. Andie understood, but insisted Joey drop by while she was in town anyway.
Joey's first stop on campus was the Worthington bookstore where she loaded up on all the texts—used where she could, new where she couldn't—for her new classes. She always made this trip alone. No need for her nearest friends and relations to see her geek out over schoolbooks.
Then it was onto the endless bureaucracy of the campus housing department. In addition to filling out the forms she hoped against hope would get her a last-minute dorm room, Joey jotted down the contact information of a few dozen roommates-wanted notices on the bulletin board.
With hours to fill before her night train back to Capeside, Joey went to see Andie after all. They had been friends once, and this frustrating apartment search had reminded Joey she didn't have many to spare.
"Joey!" Andie greeted her with a bright grin and tight hug. "Come in! Come in!" She beckoned Joey into the large, well-furnished living room. Joey was glad not to have asked something as embarrassing as the rent on this place.
"Hey, Andie, it's good to see you again. I thought Italy was never going to lose its grip on you."
Andie laughed. "I don't think it ever will. But my competitive drive can only be silenced for so long, and I finally feel strong enough to do this." She bustled happily around the pristine black-and-white kitchen, offering Joey tea, fruit, and cookies.
They talked for a while, Andie sharing stories from Florence, Joey from her two months abroad. She asked Andie how Jack and Jen were doing; Andie wanted an update on Dawson.
"We're going to have to acknowledge the Dumbo in the room, you know," Andie said when their tea had gone cold.
"Pacey," agreed Joey, spine stiffening. "What about him?"
"What happened with you two?"
"He didn't tell you?"
Andie shook her head. "Not a word. We've only talked a couple times on the phone and met once for drinks, but your name never crossed his lips. If it weren't for Jack, I wouldn't even know you broke up, but he didn't know why. Even Jen doesn't know. I wanted to ask Pacey, but, well, it didn't seem like he would appreciate the prying."
Joey had been too ashamed to discuss her behavior with anyone, even Audrey, though Audrey had guessed enough. It wasn't until she returned from Europe that she poured out the whole story in a heartbroken confession to her sister. But she couldn't believe Pacey had kept it quiet as well. Was that to protect her or himself, she wondered? Or had Pacey kept himself so isolated he had no one to tell?
"Joey?" Andie prompted, and Joey snapped back to the moment. "You don't have to talk about it, if you'd rather not."
"I kissed another guy," Joey admitted in a rush.
Andie frowned but nodded. "I'm not surprised. The only time I've seen Pacey close to this devastated was when I...well, with us."
Joey told Andie the whole story, not out of a desire to get their friend on her side—her side was distasteful to Joey now—but from certain knowledge that Andie, and Andie alone, could understand.
The perky blonde listened without smile and without interruption to the saga. When Joey finished, she said, "And that's how you left it? He's thinking about it?"
Joey nodded, clutching her empty mug between her hands. "I'm headed back to Capeside tonight, but I'll be back soon for the fall semester. I imagine we'll talk then."
"I wish I could offer you more hope, Joey, but I have only my own experience with Pacey to draw on. He has a strong moral code, you know, despite its sometimes skewed nature, and infidelity is not something he can just forget." Her mouth tipped in a sad smile. "Even his forgiveness made me feel guilty."
Joey wanted to argue. It was only a kiss, she didn't sleep with someone else, she had explained her reasons. But in her heart, she feared Andie was right. "We should start a club, for women who screwed over Pacey Witter and lived to regret it."
"Kind of an impossible acronym. We could call it the IW, Idiot Women."
They both laughed, and Joey gathered her bags. She needed to catch her train.
Andie caught her arm by the door. "Don't put too much weight on what I said. Your relationship with Pacey is your relationship, not mine. I honestly believe he loved you more than anyone else in his entire life. Maybe that made the betrayal worse. But maybe he'll be more willing to trust again, or less willing to let you go."
Ten days later, Joey worked up the nerve to call him. Pacey's greeting was wary, and she rushed to reassure him, "I'm not calling to pressure you about us. But I'm coming to Boston on Friday night to spend the weekend in a mad rush to find a room of my own, and I need a couch to crash on. And by a weird twist of fate, or maybe karmic justice, all my other friends have deserted Boston, and I have to beg you, the person who least owes me a favor."
"What about Andie?"
"I asked. She's in New York this weekend, visiting Jack."
"Okay. Sure. No problem. When's your train get in?"
Joey smiled into the phone. "You don't have to pick me up. I can grab a cab."
"Save your money for the security deposit, Potter. What time?"
"Ten-thirty. Thanks, Pace, you're a lifesaver."
"That's me, rescuer of damsels, carrier of luggage."
Joey laughed, closing her eyes, savoring the flippant retort. God, she had missed everything about him.
True to his word, Pacey was there to greet her when Joey dragged her two suitcases off the train. She was bent nearly double from their weight and the pressure of her book-laden backpack and didn't see him until he swooped in and took possession of the heavy cases.
"Holy hell, Potter, if this is how you pack for a weekend, how'd you manage a summer in Europe?"
Pacey started making his way out of the station without waiting for a reply. Joey frowned, robbed of the chance for a real greeting, but hurried after him.
"Classes start on Monday. Even if, by some miracle, I find a place, Bessie and Bodie won't have time to bring me my stuff by then. So I brought everything I might conceivably need to sustain me in my homeless state. It's mostly books."
"That explains the weight. I wondered for a minute if you'd brought bricks to construct your own shack on the quad."
"It's not the worst idea I've ever heard," Joey muttered as they stepped outside into the city-bright night. The air was heavy and humid, barely cooled from the day's late-summer misery. "I can't wait for fall."
Pacey chuckled as he led the way to the vintage Mustang his father had gifted to him a few years earlier. "You always were one for scarves and layers. Me, I'd take this any day over the slow descent into freezing limbs and Ethan Frome depression."
Joey snorted. "I'm surprised you read Ethan Frome."
Pacey popped the trunk of his car and hefted in her luggage. Joey threw her backpack in as well. He closed it with a bang and sent her a wicked grin. "Of course I did. Miss Jacobs taught it."
Her good mood abruptly vanished, Joey stomped to the passenger door. Pacey's smile had died by the time he slid across the front seat and opened it for her, so she decided it would be bad form to hold a grudge. Especially when he was the one doing her a favor, and he had yet to mention the heart-exposing, possibly humiliating declaration of a few weeks back.
She tried to think of a new topic while Pacey pulled out of the parking lot. "So what's her name?"
The confused, and not at all guilty, look Pacey shot her was reassuring. "Huh? Whose?"
"This year's boat. My home for the weekend."
"Oh! No boat. I've been living in the apartment above Taylors' since I got back. It's kinda shabby, no central air, so don't expect much. But I'm not paying much more than utility costs, and the ground under my feet is solid."
In the darkness of the car, Joey frowned as she assimilated this information. Pacey no longer lived on a boat. What this good news, in that he was no longer subconsciously thinking about escape? Or bad, because he was turning his back on something he loved?
"I always thought you preferred the roll of the deck," she said cautiously.
"Used to. Then it started keeping me awake nights, so it was time for a change."
Joey couldn't bring herself to ask if Pacey's sudden insomnia and their breakup coincided. But she didn't need to. She knew.
Pacey's apartment had its own outside entrance. Joey trudged along after him with one suitcase, while he carried its heavier twin in his right hand, her red backpack over his shoulder, and unlocked the door with his free left hand. He flipped on a light, revealing a narrow, steep staircase with two doors at the top, the one to the left leading to Pacey's apartment over the shipwright's, the one to the right presumably leading to similar quarters over the Indian restaurant next door. The stairwell between the businesses carried an amalgam of all those scents, of turpentine and curry, sawdust and cooked cabbage, and beneath these, must and age and disuse.
All in all, Joey preferred the boats.
Pacey unlocked the door at the top of the stairs and turned on the light there as well, stepping to the side to let her pass. "Be it ever so humble."
Joey's nose reacted first, to the smells of Lysol, bleach, and lemon that were the usual hallmarks of a home scrubbed in expectation of company. She felt some annoyance at the idea that she had been relegated to the same class as visiting family; she had years of exposure to Pacey's slovenly ways.
Then her eyes caught up, taking in the original wood floors, much scuffed through time, and the walls, once painted white, faded to a yellowish gray. She stood in the middle of a moderate-sized common room, separated from the kitchenette by a Formica-covered bar of a style popular in her grandmother's day.
To say the room was sparsely furnished was to say that Dawson liked movies. A brown couch lined the wall beside her, a television and entertainment center—without videos or games—occupied the mirroring space on the opposite wall. A makeshift bookshelf ran against the far wall, made of four cinder blocks and two pieces of plywood. It contained Pacey's usual assortment of used paperbacks, pushed to two opposite sides—read and to-be-read, Joey knew. Two old, wicker stools pushed under the bar were the only other furniture.
"Spartan," Joey said. "You take a vow of poverty and not tell anyone, Pace?"
"Guess I haven't spent much time fixing it up." Pacey carried her bag down the hallway past the kitchen, flicking on another light as he went. "You can have my room. I changed all the bedding today, so it's clean, and I'm used to sleeping on the couch."
Joey peeked in the first door, which he bypassed, and saw only sealed boxes haphazardly set around a small, empty bedroom.
Pacey turned left into the larger bedroom, this one with a bed, a dresser, an alarm clock, air conditioning unit in the window, and not much else. "Bathroom's right across the hall, towels are in the cupboard to the right. I don't know if you're hungry. There's cereal and chips, not sure what else, but we can stock up tomorrow after your apartment search, or maybe before. What time are your appointments?"
Pacey deposited her suitcase by the dresser and let the backpack fall off his shoulder beside it. He seemed determined to look at neither Joey nor the queen-sized mattress. Given the sparsity of decoration, that left him nothing to do but deepen a scuff mark on the floor.
"First one is at nine, but I can take the bus. I didn't mean to commandeer your whole weekend."
"No way I'm letting you go alone to places you've never been to meet people you only learned about through a public bulletin board."
Joey felt defensive at Pacey's macho posturing. She slammed down her other suitcase. "Give me some credit. I've talked to them all on the phone and weeded out the crazies" Of the two dozen numbers she'd pulled, she was only going to check on four apartments. Most had already been snapped up, a few were out of her price range, and two she had eliminated for exactly the creep vibe Pacey feared.
"You can't always tell over the phone. Besides, I've got nothing else to do."
"You could unpack some of those boxes, make it look like somebody lives here."
Pacey's boot stopped moving. His eyes finally raised to hers. "Why does my apartment bother you so much?"
"Because! It doesn't look like you, it doesn't smell like you. You've lived here since March, and I can't tell if you're moving in or moving out. We hadn't been on True Love a week before it felt like you'd lived there your whole life. You, you dominate a space, Pacey. Annoyingly so, sometimes. So wherever you've been the last six months, it hasn't been here."
Joey expected Pacey to yell back. She almost wanted him to remind her it was her fault, all of it, his lack of a home, her lack of knowledge of his life. Pacey didn't yell; instead, he shrugged and pulled out the expressionless mask she hated. "I work. I wake up, and I work. I have lunch at work, I work, pick up dinner somewhere on the street, and then I work. I come up here when I'm exhausted enough to pass out; then I get up the next day and do it again. That scintillating enough for you, or should I invent lurid stories about picking up strippers and threesomes with girls in bar bathrooms?"
Tears pricked her eyes, but Joey forced them back. "It's not health—"
"No." Now she saw it, the anger burning behind his eyes. "You don't get to analyze how I cope with it, Jo."
Joey bit her lip, pushed her hair behind her ear, and nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry. I guess there's no reason to ask what you've decided about us, then, huh?"
"Honestly, I don't know what I'm thinking. I spent six months trying to regain my equilibrium without you, and you knocked me off-balance again in five minutes. I've tried telling myself all the things which worked after Andie—that you're not the one, things happen for a reason, it's harder to rebuild than to start over. I've asked myself if you could hurt me so badly while loving me, what will you do when you don't?"
Every point he made was fair and struck Joey like a knife between the ribs. She had spent most of her life arguing with Pacey, but she had no counterattack for this. "So you've stopped loving me?"
"No, but I've stopped wanting to."
The pain on his face was so raw and aching Joey couldn't stop the tears this time. She swiped them angrily away. "Why let me stay here then? Why pick me up and offer to escort me around town?"
"Well, for one, you sounded desperate, and you know me and my hero complex. For another, and you've picked up on this already, there's been a dearth of human interaction in my life lately. When all your friends deserted you for sunnier climes and greater metropolises, so did mine. In short, do I want to reunite with my cheating ex-girlfriend? Not so much. Do I want my one remaining, lifelong best friend out of my life? Not even a little."
Joey forced herself to hold it together, to ignore the shards of a broken dream and cling to the one piece of solace he offered. "So friends?" She held out her hand to him.
And just like three years and a lifetime ago, when Pacey took her hand in his and said, "Friends," the electric pulse running through her skin told her they were liars.