His face was hidden behind dark shades. Avoidance was a much more effective tactic than nonchalance under the burden of scrutinizing eyes. The last thing he wanted to do was detract from Gail or her happiness on a day that belonged to her exclusively, but he was tired. Tired from a night of lying awake in discomfort but more so from having to constantly impress people so they would not judge him based on false impressions. All he wanted was to do forget about everyone around him, especially his mistress skulking the perimeter of the dance floor, and connect with the only person he cared to see. Once he did, he would no longer need to worry about formulating new lies and spinning possible explanations.
Jen was plucking pills from a transparent orange bottle as he approached. A small clawing sensation relative to worry entered his mind, almost like a tic, but left as quickly when she reassured him the pills helped to relieve the stress of being a worrisome, new mom. Holding out his wine glass, he could not help but smile at her. He could not imagine a better mother than Jen. She had experienced so much in her own life that she truly understood the vast chasm between what was right and what was wrong. She could teach Amy to see a devastating kind of beauty in everything and Amy would know the best that the world offered. More importantly she would know that without her everything in the world would have less meaning. Life would never be perfect, nor would she ever be, but Amy would be okay because she would know she never had to be. Just being who she was would be enough for her mother, enough for anybody.
"Thank you," Jen said before sipping the wine. His fingertips brushed hers in the exchange of the glass and he felt the flutter of her heartbeat accelerate slightly. When her hand jumped back, the wine dribbled over the edge of the glass.
A nervous laugh spread between them.
"You…uh, mind sharing? 'Cause I could really use it today." He slid the glasses down, a sense of foreboding causing some hesitation in his action. She would not react like the others, he scolded. Still, she could, then what would she think of him. The knot in his stomach tightened as his hand settled at his side.
"Oh, no." He winced at her words, even though they were quiet and reassuring, but more at her outstretched fingers. They brushed lightly over his sickly colored bruises. He could not remember if her touch had always been so soothing or if it was simply the healing touch of a mother.
He stepped backward slightly, angling himself to indicate a strawberry blond woman who was at least 10 years his senior. "Some things never change, huh?" A hint of preemptive self-loathing betrayed him.
"It is possible, surely, but no more so than the notion that things can change in immeasurable ways. All you have to do is find comfort in places that aren't so damaging. Not only to your heart but also to your face."
She was giving him an easy out for his compulsively bad behavior layered beneath a few thoughtful words. Acceptance wrapped in advice, a Jen Lindley specialty seemingly reserved for him. "Any suggestions on how to go about avoid continuing such self-destructive behavior?"
"Well, I made sure that Joey and I ran in different social circles after she moved to New York City. That way, I could lose my boyfriends all on my own, no help from her. Obviously, it worked out because I have Amy."
He recognized the lilt in her voice through the laughter. She was guarding herself from the truth of how deeply it cut her every time she felt like she was only second best.
"It can border on neurotic trying to keep track of all the boys I lost to Joey Potter. Dawson, Charlie, Dawson again…"
"Me," he blurted out. His tone was almost comical but the word took on a seriousness when she looked directly at him.
His amused chuckled was stifled by her surprise. "You? Pacey, we were never together. How could she…."
He laughed again, too loudly this time, only to pique her curiosity. "You know me, Lindley. I tend to be a little ego maniacal when it comes to my sex appeal." He turned his full attention to the few swaying pairs of strangers occupying the dance floor.
Her silence made him uneasy, enough so that he glanced at her in the periphery. Perfectly beautiful as always. Just like the day she stepped out of that yellow cab. Now, here she was again, fallen back into his life, reminding him how effortless it was to love her.
"Pacey, I assure you that if I had ever had you, in any way, I would have held onto you with both hands." Her voice was light, but serious. "I mean, you were irresistible, after all."
He grinned. "And I can only imagine the damage that we could have done in Dawson Leery's boyhood sanctuary had your two hands been involved."
Her attempts to look affronted failed. "Okay, I think we need to get your mind off this track. Why not dance with me, hmm?" Without waiting for his response, she took his hand and led him onto the floor.
He placed his hand cautiously on her waist. Their stance seemed awkward - longing to be closer but each fearing any evidence of such revelations. It had been seamless all those years ago in the ballroom of Capeside's ruddy dance school. Now her body did not fit his contours and her attention aimed anywhere but towards him. His only encouragement came from her delicate palm resting perfectly against his, feeling like it was meant to be there. When he finally found the courage to pull her close, dancing next to her, he felt the flash; he was back in New York, her slight frame pressed against his, the summer heat barely separating them, feeling the graze of her heart against his pulsing ribs.
"What do you think they are saying," she mused, referring to his childhood best friends who he'd been eyeing.
Her playfulness warmed him. "I don't know. What do soul mates usually discuss on such occasions?"
She laughed lightly. "I could not say. Probably something about a window and a ladder and a lifetime's worth of Saturday night movies. The joys of growing up but the pitfalls of growing apart in the process."
"It happens to the best of us," he said, defeat tainting his voice. "If those two cannot manage to make it happen, where's the hope for the rest of us?"
She only nodded as she reached out to touch Joey's arm, indicating that she'd had enough of Pacey bruising her toes. She waltzed over to Dawson as Pacey's his hand slid off of her hip. His words had succeeded in driving her away though that was not the intent and it pained him to watch her dancing happily with Dawson. His only choice was to turn his attention elsewhere momentarily. But even as he side stepped and shuffled to the tune with the stunning Josephine Potter to compliment or detract from his tie, he had difficulty vacating the sweet-faced blond in the flowing maroon-colored dress. Forcing his back to her, still feeling her presence near him, made him think of a time when they danced before as teenagers. He had spun her away from Dawson as he wanted to now. He wanted to grab her up and remind her of the time they kissed in that coat closet. Or that day he arrived in New York and she smiled at the simple sound of her name. He wanted to repeat days like those over and over, making new memories out of a love story that they were meant to share but had too often suppressed. His opportunity fleeted away as her dainty frame collapsed into Dawson's arms.
It came on more slowly this time, taking the panic set in Mrs. Ryan's frantic calls for an emergency response, but it did come. The tic returned to him as a pounding, burning in his chest. Hers was not the only heart in trouble.