We were strolling down memory lane, as you do when you've had a protracted pause in the complete high-school friendship group.

Pacey was the missing link it seemed.

Doug had sufficiently grilled Pacey about absence in Boston. But I knew from Jack that he'd gone back to Capeside for requisite holidays and family milestones occasionally. Despite his swift departure from the friend group, we knew he was alive and well. Just that he made no effort to see us, or make any contact. He just left, and left us in his wake.

The dinner table on the small balcony was full, full of food, bursting with bodies and wine and laughter. The children were inside, enjoying dinner on their laps while watching a movie.

"Aahhh the good times when Dawson would force us into his indie movies, dressing Pacey as a sea monster, which, let's be honest, was really just cruel and unusual punishment."

"Thankfully now he pays people to do that," Jack adds.

"My days of forced labor are behind me, but I thank you all for your contribution to the dramatic arts," laughs Dawson.

Pacey is seated next to Jack, occasionally slapping his back while recounting more wild tales from Capside's good old days - if you could possibly call them that.

He seems different. More relaxed. Confident. Calmer.

Broader, definitely broader.

Wearing snugly fit denim jeans and a plain black t-shirt. Hair cropped short, brown. The beginnings of a beard tickling his jaw.

I sit across from him, forcing a smile onto my face. Laughing at all the old stories.

Just smile, Joey. Don't stop smiling.

It was hot. Too many bodies, too much noise.

Too close.

Pacey picks up his wine and faces me, properly, for the first time.

I hold my breath.

So far I'd been avoiding looking directly at him, like staring into the sun. It could only do damage.

I had to return the eye contact. Those blue eyes locked onto mine reminding me of the ocean, flecks of aquamarine in their depths like waves. They make me feel like the sailboat that I didn't climb onto, bobbing alone, lost at sea.

"Remember that time Miss Joey Pot….. sorry, Leery, sang at the beauty contest?" he grins at me, that classic, shit-eating grin. Of course, he knows how much that little performance embarrassed me.

Lines that weren't there before danced out from his eyes. Age suits him.

I roll my eyes and groan "Ugh, Pace, let's not go there. I'd much prefer to talk about your shirtless Braveheart rendition at the same contest. Now those were the days" I pretend to stare off into the sunset, dramatically. "I was always happiest when you were being disqualified or suspended."

He chuckles and drinks his wine, "Ahh Joey, still thinking about me shirtless hey? But if my memory serves, I was in fact, wearing a vest."

My face flashes hot and I laugh off his comment with a large drink.

He grins at me and changes the subject, "God, we thought life was so serious back then, we were just teenagers, acting like adults. Sex, drama, lies, tumultuous affairs with teachers," Pacey heaps more potatoes onto his plate as he speaks.

"I'm not ready to even think about our kids doing what we did at 16," Jack laments and we all laugh.

"I'm just glad I was old enough to have missed all of the melodrama from your particular little group. I was more than happy to just observe from the periphery," says Doug.

"We did alright, though, didn't we?" asks Dawson. "We all turned out okay? We're gainfully employed, all married, living reasonably normal lives," he looks around the table.

Pacey coughs.

"Yeah D, sorry to rain on your parade... no longer married," he interjects. Everyone looks at him, mouths agape.

My eyes instantly travel to his bare ring finger. How did I miss that?

"Shit, sorry Pacey," says Jen.

"Ahh that's okay, it's been a while now. The divorce only officially went through last Spring, but we've been separated for a long time."

Separated. Divorced. A lump forms in my throat, I try to swallow it but it won't go down.

I immediately stand and start to gather the empty plates. I need to do something with my hands. I'm clanging knives and scraping off scraps while he continues.

"Marriage just wasn't what we imagined, I think. We were too young. When I opened the first restaurant, I was there all the time. She hated that I wasn't home each night."

Jen puts her hand over mine gently and nods her head, silently instructing me to sit. I obey. I pick up my wine glass and take a desperate gulp. Pacey's eyes flick to mine again.

"What brings you back to Boston now?" asks Jack.

"My New York restaurant is all up and running now. I really wanted a new challenge and we'd spent so long here through college, it feels like my second home so I'm opening up another here. I've got a good feeling about a space on Union Street. Looking at it tomorrow."

Congratulations went around the table.

Sweat trickled down my back, slowly curving its way along my spine.

Boston. Pacey's home.

I sit back into my chair, letting the sweat soak into my shirt.

"So you better get used to me at dinner parties now, feel free to set me up with any stunning single mums from school," he looks to Jack and Jen hopefully.

I involuntarily snort.

"Do you take issue with that, Josephine?" he challenges.

"I just figured you'd be more interested in hitting up the colleges, looking for some fresh young meat?" I remark, it comes out a little more bitterly than I'd anticipated.

"Oh, not me. Not anymore, I've mellowed. I can't keep up with young crazy things anymore. Maybe it's time for me to settle down. Again. Properly this time."

Jack looks at Doug, "We know a great woman from our PTA, we'll have to introduce you."

Pacey rubs his hands excitedly, "I look forward to it," and drinks his wine.

"Geez man, when was the last time we saw you? It seems like forever!" Jack asks.

Pacey pretends to think. His eyes hit mine for a tenth of a second. It was so swift I wasn't sure it even happened. Five years. It was almost five years ago, but of course, he knows that.

"Wasn't it at the bachelor party, just before the wedding?" says Jack.

"Yeah, that sounds about right," he answers casually.

"And then you bailed on the actual wedding," cut Dawson, scolding Pacey. "Don't think we haven't forgotten that!"

Pacey looks down, picking at his fingers.

"Audrey's mom got sick, we had to fly to LA," his answer is clipped. When he raises his eyes, I see it. Sadness, guilt, fear. It was there. Hidden. But still there.

"Well, we really missed you, man, it was a great day," Dawson stares at him, starry-eyed. Remembering.

We all nod in unison. Our wedding day was a great day, despite it all, despite the gaping hole left by the lack of a best man. I relaxed, had fun. Gave into fate and the plans we'd made.

Dawson starts clearing the plates, so I pick up my collection and follow him into the kitchen more than happy for some much-needed respite.

At the sink, I run the tap and rinse the plates. Dawson opens the dishwasher to load them in. We are like a well-oiled machine.

Rinse, stack, rinse, stack.

"I offered Pacey to stay here for a few days while he's waiting for his apartment to settle, is that okay?" Dawson looks up at me.

"Ummm sure," I am taken aback.

I stare into the dishes like they hold the answers to the universe. This was not a good idea.

Dawson feels my trepidation.

"Come on. He was your best friend for years. I thought it would be good for you for both of you to spend some time together. You spend all day in this house. You need some company while I'm working. He's good fun remember? Go out, have some drinks, relax."

I turn and see Pacey standing in the doorway. Our eyes lock.

"Seriously, I can get a hotel. I already had one lined up, but Dawson insisted," Pacey holds up his hands in surrender.

I shake my head. "No, no, of course not. We have plenty of room here. Please stay."

Pacey grins.

"Excellent, it's settled then!" Dawson seems relieved. People-pleasing until the end.

"I'll be working anyway, so I'll say out of your hair. The settlement is Thursday. I should have keys on Friday."

Dawson leaves the kitchen to collect more plates.

Pacey moves forward, leaning his hip against the counter. I hold a dripping plate in my hand.

"So we're roomies again, just like college?" He says, picking up some forks and placing them in the cutlery holder.

"It appears so. At least there's no homework this time."

"Don't disagree, homework was never my forte."

"No, your college forte was focused more on making your way through the entire sorority."

"You could say it was my major."

"With a minor in annoyance," I add.

"No wonder I graduated with honors." He adds and we both laugh, knowing that in reality he barely graduated at all.

"You look good Pace, you look happy."

I put the plate down.

"You should see me in my chef's whites."

"No," I put up my hand, "All good, regular clothes look more than fine," oh god. Shut up, Joey.

Shut. Up.

He looks so good, different, but good. Dangerously good.

The banter, it comes so effortlessly, it falls out of my mouth. Instantly I want to shove the words back in.

Another shit-eating grin. Blue eyes, smiling.

"Right." I stack in the dripping dish, "More wine?" I grab a bottle out of the fridge and bee-line back for the balcony.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The house is quiet again, the guests all gone.

I open up the spare room, deposit some fresh towels on the bed and smooth out the sheets. Pacey follows behind with his duffel bag, looking around.

"Towels, bed, bathroom down the hall. Help yourself to anything for breakfast. I can help you with the coffee machine in the morning. It's temperamental. Sorry, there is no cool air at the moment, I'll call them again tomorrow. There is a fan." I point up. I wipe the sweat from my brow again. So hot. He doesn't seem to feel it, or if he does, it doesn't show.

"Cool thanks," he flings his duffel onto the bed and starts unzipping it.

"Okay, Goodnight," I turn to leave.

"I can leave if you want Jo. To be honest I'm not sure why I'm here. I'm not sure why I thought I was ready to come back."

"Stay Pace. You need your friends. We're here. Everyone is so glad you're back." I pause, "I'm glad you're back."

He smiles, running his hand back and forth on the crisp, clean sheets beside him.

"Okay. I'll stay."

"Good."

I want to tell him that I missed him, my friend. I missed him like a phantom limb that hasn't faded after five years. The ache of it is visceral, permeating through my entire body but, like always, I stay silent.

I hear a cupboard opening in the room beside me and we both look to the wall, reminded that Dawson, my husband, was behind that very wall.

It's my cue to leave.

"Jo… "

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

I stare at him, questioning. He's wringing his hands together, and then rubbing the back of his neck. A familiar nervous trait.

"I'm sorry I didn't call. I'm sorry I missed your wedding. I'm sorry I've been MIA. Things just got…" He hesitates momentarily. " I needed to get myself in order, my life, my marriage." He laughs, a little bitterly "Not that much of anything could have saved that."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. I was a shitty friend. I'm sorry." He looks sincere, sad.

I wave my hand away, "bygones." He nods.

I leave the room, walk to mine and collapse on the bed. Dawson is propped up on pillows reading through editing notes, glasses on.

He doesn't speak, neither do I.

I put on an old t-shirt, climb under the covers and face the wall, squinting my eyes shut.

"Night," he says

"Night," I reply.

I'm scared to open my eyes because I don't want to look at the wall and think about who is lying on the other side.