Part Seven
II.
Joey lay awake far too late that night, thinking about Pacey's words and about sleeping in his bed, about him on the other side of that door, but farther away than when oceans separated them. The alarm buzzed at seven, after a measly four hours of sleep, and Joey already knew it was going to be a terrible day.
She grabbed her shower bag and a change of clothes and headed for the bathroom. One peek down the hall revealed an empty couch. No lights were on. No one in kitchen or bathroom. Joey assumed Pacey had gone down to the workshop. If he wasn't here when she was ready, she would take the bus and go apartment hunting alone. She wasn't sure if Pacey's absence would be a relief or a disappointment.
Pacey's bathroom was as minimalist as the rest of his apartment. Clean in expectation of her visit, but dated, with peeling floral wallpaper and chipped tiles in the shower. A few towels, a few toiletries, nothing personal.
She held back her tears only until she turned on the shower. Showers were tailor-made for masking any crying short of actual sobs, and Joey had been fighting her heartbreak since the night before. She didn't want to cry in Pacey's hearing. He would feel guilty, and he shouldn't. This was her fault. In her stupidity, she had pushed away the man she loved, and she couldn't have him back just by asking.
So she cried.
Joey smelled bacon even before she left the bathroom. She stumbled the few steps to the kitchen. Pacey was frying bacon on the stove, the counter was covered with grocery bags, and two newly unsealed boxes on the floor revealed Pacey's hodgepodge of kitchen utensils and dinnerware.
"What is all this?"
"Morning, Jo. I couldn't sleep, so I got the shopping done early. I remembered how much you love bacon, but then realized I'd never unpacked my frying pan. There's cereal and yogurt and orange juice somewhere in that pile. Help yourself."
Joey busied herself putting away the groceries in the nearly empty fridge and cupboards. Pacey finished frying the bacon. Then they both rifled through the boxes, looking for plates and silverware. Joey itched to unpack and turn Pacey's kitchen into a functional one, but she remembered her appointments and sat down on the stool next to Pacey for breakfast.
She let out a happy sigh after her first bite. "Thanks, Pace. You take good care of me." I wish you cared as much for yourself, she wanted to add, but didn't.
Pacey's answering smile was sardonic. "Had to make sure you have a good meal in you, in case the slums and ghettos rob you of your appetite."
In the moment, Joey thought Pacey was joking; a few hours later, she wasn't so sure.
The first apartment they visited was a basement studio less than a mile from work. The tiny, brown-haired girl who answered Joey's knock nearly jumped out of her skin looking up at them. "Who's that?" she asked, saucer-wide eyes fixed on Pacey.
"Are you Michelle? I'm Joey, this is my friend, Pacey—" Pacey offered the girl a kind smile, shoulders slumped and knees bent in an effort to seem less intimidating. "I called about your roommate ad?"
"I don't want a male roommate." Michelle guarded the door zealously; with her high voice and small stature, she made Joey think of a mouse protecting its hole.
"No, I know. Me either. Pacey's here as my friend. He has his own place. May I, may we come in?"
Reluctantly, Michelle opened the door wide enough to let them pass. "My bed's over there," she gestured to a small area separated by a worn Chinese screen. "I thought you could have that corner." There was one bare corner in the room, which hardly looked big enough for Joey's bed, let alone desk and dresser. The common area consisted of a couple ratty chairs and Michelle's cluttered desk. The "kitchen" was a sink, a mini-fridge, and a microwave.
"Um, where's the bathroom?" Joey asked.
In answer, Michelle pulled back a shower curtain, hidden behind the front door, revealing a toilet. "I shower at the Y," she said.
Joey blinked rapidly as they stepped back into the sunshine. Not even ten o'clock and the day was already sticky with humidity. "Well, at least it was cool in there."
"That's 'cause it's a crypt. You can't possibly live there, Jo."
"There's three more places to see." Joey tried to stay positive as they walked back to Pacey's car. "And it doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to be livable until my name comes up on the campus housing waiting list."
"Which will be when, before or after your name is an item in the metro news?" Pacey unlocked and opened the passenger door for her.
"Impossible to say, according to the apathetic and unhelpful string of people I spoke to. Could be next week, could be never. But don't worry, I've been assured it's all my own fault for not getting paperwork in on time."
As he started up the Mustang, Pacey squeezed her hand. Somehow, the simple gesture made everything seem not so dire. But he pulled away immediately, whereas before he would have kept the connection even as he drove. "So where to next?"
Next turned out to be a loft where they could not only smell rodents, they could see rat droppings on the floor. After that, it was a water-damaged, sewage-smelling, mold-infested haunt of nightmares.
Joey left the last apartment with her faith in mankind—never overflowing—utterly demolished. "Well, at least that apartment was nice, and I would have my own room."
"An oasis, perfumed by the smell of weed and poppies."
Joey played devil's advocate. "She said it wasn't hers, just her boyfriend's."
"That would be the charmer with the glazed eyes and the track marks up his arm, sitting next to the dime bag. Which I'm sure was filled with baby powder." Pacey seemed unaccountably angry, almost yanking the door off its hinges when he opened it for her.
Joey placed a soothing hand on his arm, then quickly dropped it. "It's okay, Pace. Of course I'm not going to stay there."
"What are you going to do?"
Joey shrugged. "Commute in from Bessie's, grab more numbers from the notice board, pray for a rash of no-shows in campus housing." Pacey still frowned down at her. "It's not your problem, Pace. You've been great, letting me stay, accompanying me through today's horror show."
Pacey didn't respond as he crossed to his side of the car. They started the drive back to Taylor & Sons in silence, Pacey brooding, Joey too despondent herself to pull him out of it.
They were two blocks from Pacey's apartment, stopped at a red light, when he said, "You can stay with me."
Joey jerked her head around to face him. Pacey's eyes were glued to the signal light, his expression unreadable. "I can't—"
"Sure you can. It's cheap, it's right upstairs from work, I have a spare bedroom, and if you're worried about the awkward, we've already established I'm never there."
The idea of living with Pacey was so universally appealing Joey knew she had to resist it. "It would only rub salt in the wounds, Pace, seeing each other all day, every day."
"Maybe," Pacey admitted, as he reached their street and looked for a parking space. "But it's better than losing sleep thinking about you breathing in mold or arrested in a drugs bust." He found an empty space and parallel parked with the kind of ease Joey, with her limited driving skills, could only envy.
Joey didn't answer right away. Pacey didn't expect her to, leading the way to his door without a glance in her direction. She thought of the difficulties in living with an ex-boyfriend, one she still loved, one who wanted to stop loving her. No matter what Pacey said, it would be awkward, and it would be painful. But it had been both staying friends with Dawson after their breakups, and Joey never regretted that.
Deep-seated practicality decided the matter for her. Two hours on the train everyday and tickets which consumed half her income were more immediate evils than any looming emotional drama with Pacey.
He started pulling out sandwich fixings as soon as they entered the apartment. His head was buried in the fridge when she told him, "If you're sure it's okay, I'd like to stay."
Pacey turned around, his arms filled with mayonnaise and mustard, ham and cheese. He smiled. "I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't sure."
Over lunch, they talked about practical arrangements, how to split expenses, what furniture Joey should ask Bessie and Bodie to bring. Pacey said he would unpack some of his boxes and move the rest to his closet. He insisted on Joey staying in his room until her stuff arrived.
While Pacey washed up the mess from breakfast and lunch, Joey indulged herself by unpacking his kitchen boxes. Every item placed in a cupboard or drawer made it feel a little more like home. Pacey's gentle mockery of her compulsive, neat freak tendencies only added to the feeling of belonging.
After the kitchen was clean, Pacey turned his attention to the boxes in the spare room which would soon be hers. Joey volunteered to help, but the quickness with which he rejected her offer told her there were items he didn't want her to see in them. Either memorabilia of their relationship or porn, Joey mused. Probably both.
She took a walk by the harbor instead. When the heat proved unbearable, she found a shaded bench and called her sister.
"Potter Bed & Breakfast," Bessie answered in her syrupy customer service voice.
"Hey, Bess. It's me."
"Hiya, sis. How goes the hunt?"
"Well, the actual search was a slough through Upton Sinclair-levels of urban horror, but the bright side is after seeing it with me, Pacey invited me to live with him."
"So you two are back together? That's great! I knew it would all work out."
Joey bit her lip, listened to the waves slapping against the wharf's pilings. "We're not. Pacey doesn't think...well, whatever. Romance is dead, but friendship lives on, and his apartment has a spare bedroom."
"Oh, Jo." Joey could hear her sister's pain and empathy in those two small words. "Are you sure that's a good idea? Cohabitating with an ex you're still in love with...that's a Neil Simon play waiting to happen."
"Probably. But it's the best of a bad set of options. With any luck, I'll get that call from campus housing within a few weeks."
"What if he brings another girl home? Have you thought about that? Or if you want to bring a guy back to your place?"
The whole idea made Joey's stomach roil. She had spent four months with Eddie; it was unrealistic to suppose Pacey had been celibate during that time. But they had been out of each other's sight. To see Pacey with another girl, touching her, kissing her...Joey shut her imagination down cold.
"Pacey is too considerate to do that to me," she told her sister, trying to convince herself as well. "Whatever he does, he'll keep out of our apartment, and I'll do him the same favor." An easy promise to make as she had no intention of dating anyone else.
"You should put that in the lease," Bessie responded wryly, but then she sighed. "I hope it all works out for you, sis. I really do."
"Thanks. Me, too. Any chance you could bring up my stuff tomorrow?"
"On a Sunday? Not a chance. You know that's our busiest day." Joey heard the fluttering of registry pages. "How about Thursday? We only have one guest, and it's a business trip. He's sure to check out early."
"Thursday could work. My last class is out by noon, so anytime after that is fine. I'll probably be working, but that's just downstairs. I'll see you through the window." She gave her sister the address, and they said their goodbyes.
Joey was sweltering by now, sweat beading at the back of her neck and prickling behind her knees. She made her way back to the moderately more acceptable temperature of the apartment. Pacey was setting up his Nintendo64. An afternoon of the mindless fun of Super Smash Bros. sounded preferable to diving into the literature of the Renaissance or negotiating the future of romantic complications.
"I give you fair warning, I take no prisoners," said Pacey, sounding like his old, cocky, careless self.
Joey, whose love of video games started and ended with Tetris, had no illusions about how this would go down. "The first game or two, maybe. But then your white knight complex will kick in, and you'll feel guilty about beating up on the poor, defenseless female. At which point, you'll become more concerned with giving me pointers than playing yourself, and I will rise to victory."
"You'd really be content with a pity win, Potter?"
"I'll take what I can get, Pace. I'll take what I can get."
III.
Sheriff Witter made a full recovery, though his wife started pressuring him to think about retirement. Pacey and Joey returned to Boston and the normal tenor of their lives. Pacey and his father hadn't mended their broken relationship, but real life rarely had the kind of closure Dawson's favorite films taught them to expect.
Shortly afterward, they were treated to even more bad news. Mrs. Ryan was diagnosed with breast cancer. Grams, Jen, and Jack were all moving to New York. Dawson, after much discussion, elected to stay in Boston and finish film school. He and Jen were going to attempt the long distance thing, but both were cognizant of their low chance of success.
Joey spent the summer living with Pacey and working more hours at the restaurant, with only a few joint trips back to Capeside. He suggested she make the arrangement permanent, but Jack's empty room had been commandeered by Dawson's annoying friend Oliver, so Joey politely—or less than politely—declined. Audrey returned that fall, clean, sober, happy, and looking for a roommate. Much as she loved Pacey, Joey did not regret the day she left the Pit behind.
II.
Once school started, Joey barely saw Pacey, except for the rare moments he stepped into the office and the Thursday afternoon he helped Bodie unload Joey's things. He was still asleep when she left for class in the morning—Joey loved early classes and built her schedule to be done by noon every day—and he didn't come home to bed until after she was in her room. Joey thought this was intentional. Twice she heard the gentle twist of the door and considered heading out to speak to him, but she chickened out. What could she possibly say?
She decided it wasn't a matter of saying, but doing. She went to the corner market, bought noodles and garlic, tomatoes, ground beef and a bottle of wine. Joey was no chef, but spaghetti was enough of a staple in the Potter household even she couldn't screw it up.
When everything was ready, she made the circuitous way back to the boathouse. She followed the solitary light to where Pacey was installing a new rudder on the Safe Bet.
"Come have dinner with me."
Pacey blinked up at her in surprise before returning to his work. "Thanks, Jo, but I really want to get this done."
"I know for a fact Mr. Daklos won't be back for that boat for two more weeks. And I made spaghetti. It's getting cold."
"I already started..."
Joey could sense him weakening. She played her trump card. "There's snickerdoodles and ice cream for dessert."
Pacey placed his tools on the floor and jumped to his feet. "Since you went to all the trouble..."
Joey smiled. "I thought you'd say that."
"What's the occasion?" Pacey asked as they wound their way back up to the apartment.
"Jeff says I'm officially trained. Which means he can go back to helping you with the boats, and you can stop working eighteen hour days."
Pacey halted on the landing outside their door, posture wary. "I choose to work, Jo. I like it."
Joey pushed open their door and walked in without waiting for him. She trusted the smells of garlic and herbs would draw him in her wake, no matter his reluctance. "You'll kill yourself, Pace, or you'll burn out. Either way, it's unsustainable." She sank onto one of the bar stools and uncovered her plate but couldn't swallow a bite until Pacey slid onto the seat beside her.
They were halfway through the meal when Pacey admitted, "I don't know what to do with myself when I'm not working."
"Do the same things you always used to do. Watch hockey, read books, play video games, talk to your friends, to me, to Andie. Go to a bar. Meet people. Go sailing. Spend a weekend in Capeside, visit Doug, Gretchen, maybe even your parents. There's more to you than this job; there always has been."
Pacey sent her a bemused smile. "There's a distinct possibility you've thought about this too much."
"I can't stop thinking about it," Joey muttered, twisting noodles around and around her fork.
"Why?"
"Because it's my fault!" The fork clattered against the plate as Joey dropped it. "It's bad enough I wrecked us, but I'll never forgive myself for wrecking you."
Pacey's hand was halfway to her shoulder when he dropped it to his side. "First of all, it's not all your fault. Do I need to reiterate the list of ways in which I was a crap boyfriend? We didn't work out. It happens. And yeah, I've been pretty low about that, but I also like what I do. Building and fixing boats...there's a feeling of accomplishment in that and a sense of control I've needed."
"And secondly?" Joey prompted when Pacey stopped talking to devote himself to the remnants of his dinner.
"Secondly, you're right. It's time for me to come out of my cave. But the same goes for you."
"Me? Did you miss the part where I spent the summer in Europe?"
"Yeah, you did, didn't you? Good for you, Potter. But since you got back, your social life has consisted of immediate family, phone calls with one ex-boyfriend and worrying about another, am I right?"
Joey fidgeted on her stool. "Not entirely. I had tea with Andie. Once. Okay, I take your point. We've both taken our misanthropic behavior to intervention levels."
"A pact, Potter. I'll quit working by six o'clock nightly and spend at least one night a week outside this block, if you'll make some new friends."
Joey scowled. "We've spent a lifetime reinforcing each other's belief that people suck. Why reinvent the wheel now?" But in the end, she agreed.
Junior year of college wasn't the best time to make new friends. Normal people did that as freshmen. But Joey's only new college friend had been Audrey, and all the credit for that went to the campus housing department, which had more recently taken to ruining her life.
There was a girl, Lauren, from some of Joey's English classes, with whom she had always been distantly friendly. After some overtures from Joey, Lauren invited her into a study group. Joey also took some time to hang out with Andie and her roommates. It wasn't a social revolution, but it was good enough.
Pacey kept his promise, too. Almost every night, they shared dinner together. Some nights—a lot of them at the beginning, fewer and fewer as time went on—he headed out afterwards. He didn't tell her where; Joey didn't ask. Even though it hurt her, she knew it was better for him than living down in the boathouse. The nights he was home, he usually grabbed a paperback from his stash and read while Joey studied.
Joey had known Pacey almost her whole life and had never discovered his love of reading until the summer on True Love. He hated assigned reading, any kind where he might be tested on comprehension or forced to write a paper on symbolism. But, provided there was no chance it would be to his educational or intellectual benefit, Pacey was a voracious reader—gruesome horror stories, gritty detective yarns, fantasy adventure sagas...
Once, last year, he'd found a trashy romance novel stuffed under Joey's bed. She had been red-faced with mortification, but Pacey only laughed for a moment, before settling in and reading it aloud with the same devoted attention he gave to every book she'd forced on him. Her embarrassment melted away listening to the soothing cadence of his voice, and she cuddled close beside him. Until he came to the first sex scene, when, despite the amused tremors in Pacey's reading of the florid prose, Joey became so turned on, she threw the book across the room and ravished him.
Joey tried not to think about that night anymore, tried not to remember a hundred days and nights on True Love or the thousand since. She focused on the here and now—school, work, friends old and new—and on how grateful she was to have Pacey in her life in any capacity. They had regained some form of their old back-and-forth banter, which only occasionally turned awkward and was only painful when Joey compared it to what she had lost.
The one ritual of the day they never enacted was saying good night. When one of them was ready for bed, they disappeared without word into the off-limits world of their bedroom. As far as Joey was concerned, this omission gave them the illusion of normalcy. A world where Pacey slept on one side of a wall and Joey on the other had become routine, but going to sleep without his arms around her could never feel truly right.
"Question for you, bunny: on a scale of one to nuclear, how much do Dawson's parents hate me?"
Joey closed her book, happy to take a break from studying and live in Audrey's world for a while. "Well, they've only met you once, but you did steal drugs from their medicine cabinet and insult their beloved son right in front of them." She carried the phone into her room, so she wouldn't disturb Pacey's reading. "So I'd say less mushroom cloud, more stinkbomb. Why?"
"Dawson wants me to fly home with him for Thanksgiving, and I'm trying to decide whether my sobriety would be more threatened by debasing myself in front of my boyfriend's parents, or facing my own without a third party present."
"Well, if it sways the balance at all, I'm going to be at the Leerys, and I'd love to see you."
"Awww, bunny, I'd love that, too. But won't I look even worse next to their dream daughter-in-law? All the gentle hints that now you and Pacey are kaput, Dawson should dump the mess that is me and reclaim his destiny."
"Mitch and Gail aren't like that. Gail might get a little passive-aggressive, but only because he's her baby boy. And I'm confident you can stand your own against her."
"As opposed to bouts with my own mother." Audrey sighed. "Okay, you've convinced me. See you at Thanksgiving. Now, your turn. Any dirty tales of roommate lust to relate?"
Joey laughed despite herself. "Nope. We're approved for general audiences around here."
"What!? Not one time has he emerged from the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist? Washing dishes has never turned into a bubble fight? No backrubs at the end of a long day leading to a happy ending?"
"We have successfully avoided those cliche-filled waters, I'm almost happy to say."
Audrey made an untranslatable noise of annoyance. "At least tell me you've had fantastic, anonymous sex with a beautiful stranger you met at a club or—knowing you—the library?"
"Oh, constantly. You know me, I'm all about meaningless sexual encounters."
"You sound frustrated, Joey. You know what would fix that?"
"I'm hanging up now. Give Dawson my love. See you both in a few weeks." Joey disconnected Audrey mid-vulgarity and headed back to the living room.
Pacey looked up from his book when she emerged. "So how goes it in the valley of the dolls?"
"Audrey's good. Still sober. She's coming home with Dawson for Thanksgiving."
"With Dawson?"
Joey took in the confused look on his face. "Did you not know they're dating?"
"Dawson and Audrey?" Pacey shook his head, laughing. "Nope. Impossible to picture that one."
Joey sat back down to her books, but she absentmindedly twirled a pencil as her thoughts wandered. "Hey, Pace, when's the last time you spoke to Dawson?"
"Don't know. Last Christmas? Audrey's drunken disaster. Probably why I can't see them together."
"You haven't talked to your best friend in almost a year?"
"Let's be honest, Jo, Dawson hasn't been my best friend for a long time."
"And you're okay with that?" Joey's frown deepened at Pacey's careless tone.
"What was our friendship anyway? I needed a glimpse into the normalcy of a happy childhood, and Dawson needed a measuring stick against which he could feel good about himself. Throw in some movies, a few video games...It's okay, Potter. Not every childhood friendship lasts forever. Or should."
"So are you not even going to the Leerys' Thanksgiving?"
"I might put in an appearance. I'm not avoiding the guy or anything. But Ma's pretty insistent about the whole lot of us being home for dinner this year, after Pop's heart attack and all."
Joey's pencil slipped from her fingers. "What! Your dad had a heart attack? When did this happen? Why didn't you tell me?"
"Uh, this past spring. We weren't talking at the time. I just assumed you heard about it from Bessie or something."
"Well, I didn't." Tears pricked her eyes for no good reason. "If I had, I'd have been there, Pace, no matter what was going on with us."
"It's okay. It wasn't a big deal, minor as these things go. But it has sent Ma on a kick of family togetherness that's likely to end in patricide."
"If the urge becomes too much to bear, you know there are places you can escape to."
It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving before Pacey availed himself of that offer.
Thanksgiving had gone well. Mitch had taken a guy's view of Audrey and mostly seemed impressed Dawson had landed such a firecracker. Gail was disgusted, while Joey, in her first chance to observe her friends together as a couple, thought they suited each other in a strange way. Audrey, as an actress, could approach movies from angles Dawson's other friends never could. Her audaciousness made him relax and have more fun, while Dawson kept Audrey grounded.
Audrey joined Dawson and Joey in an old-fashioned movie night in Dawson's bedroom. She was appalled to learn this was how they'd spent the majority of their Saturday nights in high school.
"No wonder you were both virgins so long."
They had finished E.T. and were halfway through Jurassic Park when Pacey showed up. He looked as though his vacation had been anything but relaxing. "Sorry to intrude, but it was this or punch Gretchen's new boyfriend on his non-existent chin."
"Don't worry about it," Dawson said. "It's good to see you, Pace."
Dawson and Joey were sitting next to each other against the headboard, while Audrey lounged across the bottom half of the bed, her head pillowed on Dawson's legs. Pacey pulled a chair up to Joey's side. She resisted an absurd urge to abandon the bed for Pacey's lap.
"Spielberg again? Nothing ever changes around here, does it?"
"Dawson will be having sex at the end of the night. That's different."
"Audrey!" Dawson's face turned crimson, but he looked pleased.
"What? Just because these idiots stopped banging doesn't mean everyone did."
Joey kicked Audrey's thigh and resolutely did not look at Pacey. "Knock it off, Audrey."
"So severed arms and eating people off toilet seats is a-okay, but a little honest discussion of human sexuality, and—"
"Audrey!"
Somehow, they made it through Jurassic Park and Jaws, despite Audrey's constant double—and single—entendres. Joey hadn't been this aware of the uncomfortable tension between herself and Pacey for months, which was undoubtedly Audrey's intention.
Pacey offered to give Joey a ride home at the end of the night. Rowing would be faster, but, on a cold night, sitting next to Pacey in a heated car sounded immeasurably better. Joey ignored Audrey's, "Don't forget to cover it up, kids," as they left.
Unwilling to let Audrey's lewdness spoil all the progress their friendship had made, Joey wasted no time in asking, "So, really, how was the Witter Thanksgiving?"
"Well, if Ma thought we were all going to end the evening singing 'Kumbayah,' she must be bitterly disappointed right about now."
"I'm sorry, Pace."
Pacey shrugged in the darkness of the car. "Nothing I didn't expect. How 'bout you? Any psychologically scarring incidents to report from the Leery-Potter holidays?"
"Besides the images of her and Dawson having sex Audrey keeps foisting on me, nothing to speak of. It's been nice." She waited only a moment before adding, "It was fun hanging out all together tonight."
Pacey laughed. "Sure, between Audrey trying to matchmake us, and you trying to match me and Dawson."
"Is it so wrong to want my best friends to remain that way, too?"
"No, it's sweet. But unnecessary. Dawson and I are fine being the kind of friends who talk once a year."
Joey crossed her arms and sank into a sulky pout.
"Why does it bother you this much?"
"Because if you can write off Dawson so easily, who's to say I won't be next?"
Pacey turned down the Potter driveway without answering. He pulled to a stop in front of the B&B and killed the engine.
"Thanks for the ride, anyway." Joey reached for the door handle, but Pacey caught her by the wrist before she could leave.
"You and I," he began in a hoarse voice, "are one of the few things, perhaps the only thing, that ever made total and complete sense in my life."
Joey sat back in her seat, stunned, and savored the brush of Pacey's thumb against her pulse. His expression was hidden from her in the night's darkness, and she was afraid of misreading his intentions. "As, as friends, or together, or—"
"Either. Both. I'm not saying I'm ready to go down that road again, but whatever reshuffling of priorities I go through in life, you always seem to come out number one." He let go of her hand.
She wanted to kiss him, to kiss him and ask him in and never let him go, but she was afraid of pushing too fast. So she brushed her lips against his cheek, whispered a breathless, "Night, Pace," and fled.
Their relationship continued in the same vein upon their return to Boston. A bit more touching, a bit more obvious flirting, but still just friends. After a weekend visit, Bessie offered Joey a word of warning.
"You're dating without dating. As long as you guys keep pretending this is real, neither of you is going to move on."
"Suits me. I don't want to move on."
Bessie clucked her tongue and pulled her little sister into a sideways hug. "Joey, you're still so young. You—and Pacey, too—you both need to have more and wider experiences before you can decide what you really want."
Joey gave her sister the assenting words she expected. Bessie went home. Joey still didn't date. She didn't miss it. She knew what she wanted.
I.
Joey's adolescence had dragged by in what felt like an endless loop of over-analytical conversations and excruciating angst. In contrast, her life now flew by almost too fast for thought. There was school and motherhood and work and, in between, whatever moments with Pacey and her friends she managed to steal.
Before she knew it, Anders turned two. It did not seem possible that her baby boy had grown so fast. They threw him another giant party. Jen and Jack traveled up from New York for it, but Mrs. Ryan's radiation treatments kept her away. Jen looked pale and tired, but she was hopeful of the outcome. Joey tried to shut away thoughts of her mother and embrace optimism—not her natural state.
Thanksgiving was spent in Capeside again, but no one was on their best behavior this year. Andersen had bronchitis. Bessie and Bodie were fighting about finances and the possibility of another kid. Joey's dad was out of prison, and Pacey's dad got ruder and crueler the more he drank. Eventually, they got into a physical brawl, and Mike Potter only avoided a trip back to jail because Doug and Pacey dragged their father home before he could fumble open his handcuffs.
"Next year when the restaurant asks me to work Thanksgiving, I think my answer will be, 'oh hell, yes.'" Pacey flopped down on their bed at the B&B late that night.
"See? I always knew you were smart," Joey replied, then smeared vapor rub on Anders' tiny chest.
They went to the Lindleys for Christmas, which was infinitely more pleasant. It was reassuring to see Grams happy and well. Anders was ecstatic to reunite with his old babysitters, and the only family drama to be found was Jen's. Joey relaxed and enjoyed the rare time off with Pacey, Anders, and their friends.
Movie nights were successfully reinstated. Nearly every week, Joey and Dawson settled in on the living room couch with a stack of videos and fell into old habits of critical assessment and philosophical debate on everything from Citizen Kane to The Goonies. Most weeks, Gretchen joined them, but Pacey hardly ever did. He preferred spending his free nights with Joey and Anders alone. Joey did not regret that separation. The few times Pacey did participate felt forced. The awkwardness of high school and everything which had happened lingered in the room. Joey felt inexplicably guilty, though, for the life of her, she could not figure out who she was betraying.
II.
A few days after Christmas, while at home in Capeside, Joey got the long-awaited call from campus housing. There was a room free. Joey had forty-eight hours to let them know if she wanted it, before they moved onto the next name on the wait list.
Joey hopped into the old, blue pickup and chugged the few miles down the road to the Witter place. Pacey was outside having a snowball fight with Gretchen and their nieces and nephews. Reluctant to interrupt the rare family bonding experience, Joey sat in the warm, dry truck and watched all the glowing, happy faces and chaotic activity.
After a few minutes, Gretchen pointed her out to Pacey. He jogged over to her door. Joey rolled down the window.
"Hey, Potter, wanna play?"
"As miserable, freezing cold introductions to pneumonia go, this one is charming, but I'll pass. I need your input on something."
"If it's picking out your new bra, we both agreed black is the only way to go."
A well-timed snowball hit Pacey in the back of the head.
"You deserved that," Joey laughed, while Pacey loosed his revenge on an unfortunate nephew.
"I can't guarantee your safety much longer, Jo, so what's up?"
"Campus housing has a room for me," Joey blurted out.
"Oh." All the laughter drained out of Pacey's face. "Oh. Okay."
"So should I take it?"
"That was the plan, wasn't it?" Pacey's tone was flat, unemotional.
"Yeah, of course. If you want me gone, I can be out in—"
"Whoa. Hang on. I don't want you to leave."
Joey couldn't hold back her smile. "You don't?"
"No. I just figured you'd rather be on campus, with the library and your study groups and everything."
"Actually, our apartment is about the quietest study environment I know."
It was Pacey's turn to smile. "So you want to stay?"
"If you're sure it's not an inconvenience, having an old girlfriend around cramping your style."
Pacey rolled his eyes. "Jo?"
"Yeah?"
"Stay."
"Okay." Joey grinned. Pacey grinned back.
Gretchen hit them both with one snowball.
I.
After the debacle of Pacey's eighteenth birthday, Joey let his next two pass with no more than cake, a present, and a quiet dinner for two. But for his twenty-first, she saved her tips at the bar for months and rented a sailboat for the day. One look at Pacey's face, and she knew it was money well spent.
They sailed out of the harbor until Boston was a dingy gray mass on the horizon. It was January and freezing cold, but they were bundled up. Their cheeks glowed from happiness as much as wind. Joey could see the stress and responsibility lifting from Pacey's shoulders with every minute which passed.
She had enlisted one of the other chefs at Pacey's restaurant to pack them a picnic lunch, sparing them both her cooking. She also produced a six-pack of beer.
"Congratulations," she told him, "you are now officially an adult."
Pacey's mouth tipped as he opened a bottle against the ship's rail. "It's a strange metric our country uses to measure adulthood. I don't feel any more mature today than yesterday."
"True. But it would hardly be practical to go house to house and test every teenager's ability to balance a checkbook and change a diaper."
"If those were the qualifications, Audrey would remain a child for life."
"She still might." Joey smiled at the thought of their reckless roommate. "So twenty-one seems as good an age as any for some life evaluation." She studied her husband as he stood against the rail, sea breeze tousling his dark hair, nose red from cold, expression distant as he watched the city disappear. "Are you happy, Pace?"
His focus lasered back to her. "What?" He sat on the bench beside Joey, wrapping his arms around her. Their bulky jackets made the embrace awkward, but Joey appreciated the extra warmth. "I'd be an ingrate and an idiot if I weren't. I have everything I ever wanted in life."
"You don't have this." She gestured at the choppy water around them.
"So what? Sailing is about escape. When I was a teenager, I wanted nothing more than to get away from Capeside and my whole damn life. Now, if we could only figure out how to transfer Florida's weather to Boston, my existence would be perfect."
"I'll start working on that for your next birthday," Joey answered flippantly, but she frowned, still worried. "You're sure you don't have any regrets? Most guys your age are out every night, clubbing, binge-drinking, sleeping with different women. You work so hard, Pacey, all the time, and—"
"And at the end of the day, I come home to the most stunning woman in the world and hold our son in my arms. What could be better than that? Furthermore, I thought this was supposed to be a celebration. I know parties are a foreign concept to you, Potter, but could you stop bringing me down?"
"Aye, aye, Captain," Joey said and tried to smile. She wished she could dismiss this melancholy feeling. Pacey had said all the right things, but something in his eyes when he looked at her was sounding alarm bells through her system.
It's nothing, she told herself. You're panicking for no reason. Probably their imminent first anniversary had triggered her latent fear. Joey pushed her worries aside and concentrated on making it Pacey's best birthday ever.
Their anniversary arrived only a few weeks later. They celebrated simply with a fancy dinner and a night in a nice hotel.
"Regrets, Jo?" Pacey's fingers tickled a line down her spine while Joey lay boneless and content upon the bed.
"No. Ask me again in ten years."
Pacey smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.
The distance between them only widened as the weeks went by. Nothing overt, nothing tangible, and yet Joey felt it, as she had felt him slipping away once before in senior year.
It's marriage, said the superstitious part of Joey's mind. This is what marriage does to people.
It's life, countered her more rational but still cynical side. It's ridiculous to imagine that amorous ardor can survive the daily grind of work and school and parenthood.
But it broke Joey's heart to picture a life with Pacey as an ever-increasing stranger sleeping beside her, instead of her best friend and dearest love. She tried to talk to him about it, but he insisted everything was fine. Her repeated questions only irritated him.
So she stopped asking.
II.
"Feel like going sailing tomorrow?"
At Pacey's unexpected question, Joey looked up from the salad she was tossing. "What?"
He had just come home from work and headed to the sink to wash hands for dinner. "I need to take Merri Lee out tomorrow to test the new sail. I thought since it's Saturday and since it's supposed to be one of the first nice days of the year, you might like to join me."
"I haven't been sailing since True Love," Joey said wistfully.
"All the more reason." Pacey pulled plates and silverware down from the cupboard. "Come on, Potter. You know it'll be fun."
It was. There was nothing quite as exhilarating as the salt spray of the ocean in her face, a strong, spring breeze whipping at her hair, and Pacey relaxed and in control at the helm.
"I can't believe I spent so long hating this," Joey yelled into the wind.
"Hating it? When?"
"When sailing was the other woman stealing you away from me."
The look Pacey gave her was so openly hungry Joey half-expected him to kiss her then and there. He might have done so, if a swell hadn't required an immediate readjustment of the sails.
Maybe it was that lost moment which made Joey turn to Pacey when they returned to their apartment that night, wind-blown and exhausted, and tell him, "Night, Pacey," complete with a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth.
He was still standing frozen when Joey slipped into her room.
After that, "good night" went from taboo in their house to the most dangerous and fun part of the day. Usually it was Joey taking the initiative, leaving Pacey with tight embraces or brushed kisses along his brow, his nose, his ear. But when Pacey was in the mood to play, he had zero interest in being fair. He kissed the pulse in her wrist, nipped at her knuckle, let a long strand of her hair slide through his fingers, wrapped her in his arms from behind and buried his face in her neck, and all this accompanied by a careless, "Night, Potter," which ensured she would get no sleep at all.
I.
2001: A Space Odyssey was the movie Dawson picked. Joey knew it was a mistake after the long, taxing day she'd had trying to entertain Anders while studying for finals. But she made no objections, and her eyes closed in the first twenty minutes.
"Pacey, don't—"
Dawson's voice entered into Joey's foggy brain. The words rumbled from his chest into her ear, which was how she knew she was lying on her friend while she slept. She registered Pacey's quick steps climbing the stairs and sat up, blinking sleepy eyes. "What happened?"
Dawson's stare was apologetic, but he kept a hand on her back. "Pacey got home from work. I don't think he liked seeing you asleep on me. Everything all right with you two?"
Frowning, Joey shook her head. "I have no idea. I'd better go check. Night, Dawson." She untangled herself from the afghan and Dawson's arms and went upstairs herself.
The door to Anders' room was half-open, and Joey always closed it before going downstairs. She peeked in and saw Pacey standing over their son's bed, shoulders slumped, head bowed.
"Pace?" she whispered.
He neither moved nor responded.
Joey tiptoed into the dark room, lit only by the sliver of light filtering in from the hall. She listened to Anders' deep, even breaths and tried to stand in such a way as to see Pacey's face. Shadows covered his expression from every angle. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
"It's easier to tell myself it's all in my head when I look at him." Pacey bowed over the small form, brushing back Anders' dark hair and kissing his brow. When he stretched back to his full height, he took Joey's hand in his. "I'm sorry. I'm being stupid." He led her out of the boy's room and shut the door quietly behind them.
Joey never took her eyes off her husband. "Pacey, are you jealous?" The idea was so patently ridiculous it had never occurred to her until tonight.
Pacey shrugged, but he dropped her hand and walked ahead of her into their room.
"You have nothing to be jealous about," Joey told him as they changed for bed. "We were watching a movie, I fell asleep, end of story. Dawson's my friend, nothing more."
"I know that." Pacey didn't sound angry or upset, only morose. He left to brush his teeth and use the bathroom before Joey could ask another question.
Joey refused to let this drag on one more day. She completed her own nightly ritual and got into bed beside him. Ignoring the fact that Pacey's back was to her, she said, "You have to talk to me, Pace. Honesty was our promise from the beginning, remember? I need to know what's bothering you. Stop shutting me out."
Silence reigned for several minutes. Joey didn't turn off the light.
"Dawson is symbolic," he admitted finally.
"Of what?"
"Of all the lives you gave up for me." He rolled over, leveraging himself up on his elbow to face her. "There are so many things you wanted out of life, so many dreams I grew up hearing you talk about. Dawson, sure, but also, travel, Europe, Paris. When we were kids, you wanted to be a deep-sea diver or a treasure hunter. You wanted to be an archaeologist, explorer, astronaut. Never once did I hear you say you wanted to be a wife and mother before you finished college, while working for minimum wage plus tips at a rundown bar."
Joey released a deep breath, feeling better from the moment Pacey started talking. "I wish you'd told me all this months ago."
"I didn't want to put you in the position of having to reassure me. Part of me knows I'm being an idiot, that you've made your own choices. But I also know pregnancy forced your hand; you might have chosen differently if not for Anders. And I've been selfish. Because this life makes me happy, I've tried to ignore that it might not be enough for you. But more than anything else in the world, I want you to be happy. So if you want to be free, to go to Paris or the moon or the bottom of Marianas Trench, or even to fall in love with someone else, I want you to know I'll understand. I'll miss you like crazy, but I will accept it."
"Nice to know you think so highly of my maternal instinct, let alone those vows I said a year ago." Joey was livid. She could not believe after all this time, after everything they had been through, he was still so insecure about her.
"Jo, I—"
"No, Pacey John Witter, you listen to me for once. Nobody trapped me into a life with you, certainly not you with your annoying efforts to push me away, and not Anders, either. I chose this life, and I love this life, every simple, ordinary, monotonous moment of it. And if ever I get bored and decide to fly to the moon or dive to the bottom of the sea, you will be standing right beside me. Is that clear enough for you, jackass?"
Pacey smiled then, huge and gorgeous and eyes shining. "Yes, ma'am."
"The name is Mrs. Witter." But it was impossible to stay angry when Pacey looked at her like that, so she kissed him instead.
IV.
Joey's junior year went far better than her last. There was no question her classes were easier than at Worthington, but Joey had given up the dream of getting out of Capeside. It was enough that in two years, she would have both her diploma and her teaching credentials and could support herself and her son and stop relying on her sister's charity.
The long train rides each way, plus the library hours between classes gave Joey the time she needed to study. Easier or not, it was satisfying to be at the top of the class again.
She eschewed making new friends among her fellow students, whose lives were so removed from hers. Instead, she kept in weekly communication with Jack and Dawson and daily contact with Jen. Mrs. Ryan's state was indeterminate. The doctors were hopeful they'd be able to effect a full cure, but it was too soon to tell. Joey spent many of her phone calls with Jen in near silence, letting Jen vent and cry, knowing there was nothing she could say.
Joey didn't date, but she did hook up a few times. Once at the only college party she ever attended—a small, quickly regretted rebellion at her life as a twenty-year-old single mother—she got drunk and went to bed with some guy whose name she didn't remember in the morning. Another time, a fellow train passenger she occasionally flirted with took her to the bathroom for an uncomfortable journey to a limited payoff. The diffident, curly-haired library assistant, on the other hand, made her come so hard she had to bite her own hand to keep from alerting any stray students to their position in the stacks. After that, he became her partner of choice for the physical release which was the only kind of relationship Joey allowed herself.
Andersen got older. He was into everything and ran Joey and Bessie ragged. Joey said the word No so many times it lost all meaning.
Anders adored his cousin Alex and would follow the other boy around for hours; often, they were accompanied by Lily Leery. Joey would watch the three children scramble around the Potter B&B or the creek by the Leerys' front yard, and her heart would ache at the thought of three other children who had once played the same games, discovered the same secret places. The girl hadn't traveled far since then, but one boy had crossed a continent, while the other had chased the winds to the ends of the world.
The letter came two weeks before the end of Joey's junior year. It was laid out on the table by her place when she got home from school, as mail always was. But Bessie was never sitting across from her with an avid expression when Joey opened her usual assortment of bank statements, report cards, and financial aid documents.
"It's from him, isn't it?" Bessie had seen enough postcards over the last three years to know Pacey's handwriting almost as well as Joey did.
Joey nodded, surveying the innocuous envelope as though it might explode in her hands. It had no return address.
"Well, don't just stand there letting the grass grow. Open the damn thing."
Hands shaking, Joey managed to obey. Inside were a plane ticket and a small slip of paper with a handwritten note. The ticket was to Paris, France, and departed from Logan International Airport on the fourteenth of June. The note read simply, I've got the boat. You said I didn't need to ask.
A rush of emotion, stronger than anything she'd felt since the day Andersen was born, overwhelmed Joey. She hastily passed the envelope and its contents to her sister, afraid her tears would fall on them and damage the paper. Joey folded her arms on the table, put her head down on them, and sobbed, tears of joy and regret and relief intermingling.
"What's it mean, Joey?"
"He's taking me sailing," Joey answered when she could speak.
"And you're going to go? Just like that, after all this time? What about Andersen?"
"I have to go, Bessie. You can watch Andersen for me, can't you?"
"For how long, Joey? There's no return ticket included, in case you hadn't noticed."
Joey hadn't; she didn't care. "Not long. A few weeks, maybe a month. Long enough for Pacey and me to reconnect and for me to tell him about Anders."
"So you're finally going to tell him? No chickening out?"
"It was never about chickening out. I just wanted him to want me for me. But don't you see? This," Joey waved Pacey's note in the air, "proves that he does."
"And you don't think he'll be pissed at you for not telling him before?"
"Probably." Joey bit her lip as she considered Pacey's possible reactions to her confession. "Yes, he'll be mad, furious even. But he'll come home, and we'll work the rest out as it comes."
Bessie shook her head. "Okay, who are you, and what have you done with my sister, the cynic?"
II.
"One year down, countless to go," was the toast with which Andie celebrated the conclusion of her first year of Harvard pre-med.
Joey joined in that toast and many more, as her own last final had been successfully completed that morning. She had jumped at Andie's invitation to join her and her roommates at their local bar. She had even been excited enough to cajole Pacey into accompanying her, an impulse she was rapidly regretting as co-ed after co-ed made a pass at him. Joey could barely see him through the surrounding circle of teased hair and cheap women.
"You think he'd at least have the decency to flirt out of my sight."
"Didn't you guys break up, like, a year ago?" Molly, Andie's redheaded roommate asked while checking her makeup in a compact.
"So what's your point?"
"The mourning period has been and gone, and all those women merely see the obvious—that he's the best catch in the place tonight. And on that note, I'm going to hop in and free him from the masses. Pacey likes smart girls, right?" Molly didn't wait for an answer, abandoning them at the bar to push her way through Pacey's stupid harem.
Joey gaped after her. "Andie, your roommate is a bad friend. She's going after your ex!"
"As I recall, so did you once, and the wound was far more fresh then."
"That is so not true! Everyone knows Pacey ran after me."
"You literally ran to the docks to find him."
Joey giggled. "Oh. Right. Sorry about that."
"No, you're not. And you shouldn't be. What you should be doing is saving Pacey from all those poor, deluded fools."
"Diluted?" Joey furrowed her brow, trying to follow what Andie was saying. "Why?"
"They're all so smitten by that Witter charm they haven't noticed he can't go thirty seconds without looking at you."
"Really?" Joey swiveled on her seat to try and catch him at it, but succeeded only in falling off the stool. She grabbed onto the bar to keep from landing on the floor. "He's probably worried about me. Pacey doesn't like it when I drink. I get stupid."
"So you have a good excuse for doing something like marching over and kissing him in front of all these women," Andie said with a smile.
"Right. 'Cause it can be 'cause I'm drunk, and not 'cause I love him."
"Exactly."
"But I do love him," Joey admitted with a heavy sigh.
Andie snorted. "Yeah, I'm aware of that. Molly's aware of that. Everyone in this bar, with the possible exception of Dumbo himself, is aware of that."
Joey frowned, draping her arms around the shorter girl's shoulders. "But, Andie, you're in love with him, too. Maybe you should kiss him."
"I'm as in love with Pacey as you are with Dawson, which is to say, a nostalgic fondness for the boy he used to be."
"He was the perfect boy. He's pricklier now. The stubble tickles."
"And how would you know that, Joey Potter?"
"From saying good night," Joey said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, which it clearly was.
"Well, you should go tell him good night now, before Molly tries to tell him good morning."
Joey stumbled across the barroom to where Molly had successfully maneuvered Pacey away from his fan club and into a private booth. "Miss Molly, by golly!" she announced as she slid in by Pacey's other side.
Joey wished she had curves she could push into him as blatantly as Molly was doing, but she had less control of her long, thin frame than usual and ended up half in Pacey's lap anyway. His big hands splayed across her back to steady her.
"Hey, Pacey," she said, staring into his bemused blue eyes, "I'm pretty drunk."
"You are both of those things, yes," he agreed.
"Andie and I don't like your harem."
"My harem?" Pacey sounded on the verge of laughter, which made Joey smile. Molly's scowling face behind him only made Joey's smile widen.
"Yes, the skanks." Joey's fingers played with the short hair at the nape of Pacey's neck. "Although that's not fair. It's not the girls' fault. I did a report on harems once."
"I remember. As I recall, it went hand in tray with an assault in the lunch line."
Joey giggled. "I'm such an angry girl."
"Fearsome. Are you ready to go home?"
"Home?" she repeated blankly. "I was s'posed to do something first. I promised Andie."
"You can call her in the morning. Or maybe the afternoon." His hands went to her waist, preparatory to moving her. "Come on, Potter."
"Oh! I 'member." She pulled his face to hers for a long, sloppy kiss. "Night, Pacey." She snuggled into his shoulder with a contented sigh.
Pacey didn't move for the longest time, while Joey watched the pulse throb in his neck and curled her fingers in the buttons of his shirt.
IV.
For the next month, Joey lived with her mind already sailing the ocean. How she got through her finals was a complete mystery.
She packed and repacked, knowing minimalism was essential when sailing. She found her unused passport in the bottom of a drawer and moved it to her purse, so she wouldn't forget it.
For the first time since Andersen's birth, she went clothes shopping for herself. She bought a new swimsuit, then another. With fingers crossed, she bought new bras and panties and a black satin nightgown. She surveyed herself critically in the mirror and wondered how Pacey would react to the changes motherhood had made on her body.
Andersen didn't understand this flurry of activity. Trying to explain that Mommy was going on a trip didn't have any context to him, when Mommy left everyday but came home every night. He was only two-and-a-half and had yet to be bothered by thoughts of the daddy he didn't have. If this trip went well, he would never need to be. But Joey couldn't explain that to him either.
The morning of June 14th dawned bright and clear and beautiful. Joey was packed and ready the night before, so she had time to sit down to breakfast with her family and the B&B's guests before Bodie drove her to the airport.
"Mommy, don't feel good," Andersen announced directly after the meal.
"What's wrong, baby?"
"Tummy hurts." Andersen crossed his hands over his belly.
Joey had watched him eat three blueberry pancakes and wasn't unduly concerned. She thought he might be picking up some of her own nervous tension. "I'm sorry, sweetie." She kissed the top of his tousled hair. "Maybe drink some more water, or have Aunt Bessie take you potty. Mommy needs to leave soon." She gave him another swift kiss and went to her room to grab her bag.
"Mommy!" Andersen's panicked cry stopped her on her way out the door.
Joey dropped her duffle in the entryway and ran toward her son's cries. Bessie was there before her, already laying a towel over the pile of vomit on the bathroom floor.
"I can deal with this, sis. Go catch your plane."
Joey ignored her, stooping to pull off Anders' soiled pajamas. "His skin is burning up."
"It's stomach flu, Joey. It's been going around. Twenty-four hours and he'll be fine."
He didn't look fine. His face was red and puffy, his eyes were watery from more than tears. "Mommy," he whimpered again, helpless and wordless in his misery.
"Jo?" Bodie called. "We need to go. You don't want to miss your flight."
"Mommy, don't go!" Andersen shrieked and wrapped his pudgy, fever-hot arms around her neck.
Joey gathered him to her. "Don't worry, baby. Mommy's not going anywhere."
Bessie met her sister's eyes over Andersen's shoulder. "Joey." Her own eyes blurred with tears. She rose and rubbed her hand over Joey's hair on the way out. "I'll tell Bodie."
Joey ran her son a cool bath and tried to hide the tears streaming down her face.
Twenty-four hours later, Andersen was better, and Joey had thrown away her last best chance at happiness. She didn't even have a phone number or address to explain what had happened. She thought about asking Jen if she had a way to reach him but decided against it. This was Fate's way of telling her, once and for all, there was no future for her and Pacey.
Pacey's last postcard arrived ten days later. A picture of a lone boat sailing off into the sunset and no message at all on the back. Joey understood. There was nothing left to say.
II.
"Uh, Jo, what are you doing?"
Joey looked down from the ladder at Pacey standing in the door of their apartment. "I'm running a marathon. What does it look like I'm doing?" She gestured to the living room walls, almost entirely covered with primer.
"Okay, Snarky, starting again. Why are you doing that?"
"Jeff was telling me the other day how he and his wife started out in this apartment, and his parents before them. So I started thinking a place with that much love and history in it deserves a bit of sprucing up. Except my hours in the office, I don't have much to do this summer, and Jeff said the company will reimburse me for supplies, since technically it's property improvement. Important question." She pointed to some paint sample cards on the kitchen counter. "Rosy Morning or Sunset Nude?"
Pacey snickered. "Do you even have to ask?"
"Ugh, don't be such a guy. You'll be living with this color for the indefinite future, so if you have an opinion, now's the time for sharing it. Also, this weekend, I need you to make some price comparisons with me on new countertops and bathroom fixtures."
"I'm sorry. Did I sleep through the wedding? And also ten years of my life?"
Joey glanced back at him. He was sorting mail, a scowl on his face. "What's your problem?"
"Nothing," he snapped, then took a deep breath and added more calmly, "Nothing. I'll order a pizza, then take pictures off the walls."
Joey went back to work, wondering what had got into Pacey.
Working at Taylor & Sons was Joey's favorite job ever. Granted, that was a low bar to clear, as it won merely by not keeping her on her feet for eight hour stretches. But once she'd updated the files, she had plenty of downtime to study or—in the summer—sketch and write.
The sporadic customers who walked through the door were almost exclusively men, and each thought they were the first one charming enough to flirt with Joey. The disgusting perverts and entitled bastards she shut down fast, but the sweet, old men and other harmless entities she charmed right back. It broke up the day.
Eric Jordan didn't fit any of those categories. He was a Harvard law student, ridiculously wealthy and—with his broad shoulders, sun-kissed hair, and aquiline nose—not bad on the eyes, either. He had brought in his grandfather's old sailboat, which he was having restored as a birthday present for his father. He never entered the building without a smile and a compliment for Joey, and he never left it without asking her out.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite sea nymph," he said as the tinkling bell alerted her to his presence.
Joey smiled ear to ear. "Apollo stepped down from his chariot to pay me another visit."
A throat cleared behind her. She whirled to see Pacey sizing up the newcomer with cold eyes. "Hey, Pace, what do you need?"
"Number for Mr. Hurston. Need to see if he'll authorize a new bowsprit. His current one is rotting."
"Sure thing." Joey scanned through the computer to find the number Pacey wanted.
"Can I help you?" Pacey asked Eric, none too kindly.
"Jeff Taylor called. He said my boat is ready for pickup. I brought the truck and trailer. They're out front."
"What's the name?"
"Naiad," Joey said, smug after listening to Pacey gushing about that boat for weeks. She pressed a slip of paper with Hurston's number on it into his chest. "There ya go."
"Naiad?" Pacey's jealousy couldn't overcome his love for that boat. "She's one beautiful lady. If you pull around back, we'll open the gate and get her ready for you."
"Sure. Thanks." Eric sent Joey another dazzling smile while Pacey headed out the back. "Guess this means it's your last chance to change your mind. What do you say, want to take Naiad out for a test sail with me?"
The slamming of the backdoor meant Pacey had heard that offer.
"Super-tempting, but it's still going to be no, sorry."
Eric didn't look devastated, but his smile fell enough to be good for Joey's ego. "Okay, I give up. What is it? I came on too strong, right?"
"No, I wasn't lying. It's the most tempting offer I've had in months. But I'm in love with someone else, which would make a date vastly unfair to you."
"Lucky man."
Joey rolled her eyes. "Try telling him that."
Joey was engaged in the weirdly satisfying task of peeling the old bathroom wallpaper when Pacey came home that night. After peeking in on her, he returned to the kitchen to scrounge them up some dinner.
"You'll have to tell me what it's like," he called out to her.
"What what's like?" she called back, with utter disregard of the grammatical quandary.
"Sailing on Naiad."
Joey stifled her laughter. Poor Pacey, trying valiantly to not sound jealous. "Not going. And I'm surprised you didn't take her out when you had her." She heard Pacey's steps and knew he was behind her in the bathroom doorway before she finished speaking.
"You turned him down?" Pacey sounded entirely too incredulous.
Joey pulled down one last strip then turned to wash her hands. "Yes, Pacey, I turned him down. Just like I turned him down the last three times he asked me."
"Why?"
"You know why. It's the same reason you brought a drunken me home from the bar last month and spent your night holding my hair out of my face while I puked, when you could have hooked up with any of a dozen girls instead. It's the reason you spent last weekend picking out new bathroom tile, when you'd rather have been doing anything else. It's the reason two out of the last three nights we've fallen asleep together on the couch rather than stop reading and go to bed."
Pacey's mouth tipped ruefully. "Somehow, despite my best efforts, we've become a couple again."
Joey nodded, pushing him out of the way and walking to the kitchen. She waited until he was behind her to say, "In every way but the sex."
The sound of Pacey tripping over his feet made her grin.
They warmed up leftovers in silence. There was ritual to it, Pacey picking the mushrooms out of her stir-fry and adding them to his own, Joey cracking open his beer and drinking the foam.
"I've thought about going away," Pacey admitted, jabbing his fork almost angrily into his food. "I figure, a decade on the other side of the planet, not seeing you, not talking to you—even I would move on at some point."
Joey's stomach twisted, not from the leftover Chinese. "Why haven't you?"
"Ten years is a significant portion of one's life, you know. At the end of the day, I'd rather spend it with you than without you."
"With me as in friends, or in this weird limbo state, or with me as in with me?"
Pacey sighed and reached for her, cradling her face between his hands. "I have spent way too much time thinking this year. And let's face it, thinking has never been my forte. It's how things got so screwed up with us in the first place. But whenever I stop thinking and just feel...it's you, Jo. It's always been you, it's always going to be you."
Pacey's eyes were soft and warm, the way they always used to be. So was his mouth when he kissed her.