Waking slowly, I peel myself from the sheets and pad into the lounge. Dawson's suitcase sits packed by the door, covered in half-peeled baggage labels from his life of flying. He sits at the dining table, eating a bagel and reading the newspaper. I see his face printed in the entertainment section.
"Good morning," I sing-song with as much pep as I can muster this early in the day and pour a coffee from the pot, "Are you famous now?"
"It's been officially nominated for the Toronto International Film Festival."
"That's amazing, Dawson!"
He huffs and shakes his head, "They spelled my name Dagson."
I try not to laugh.
"Who cares how they spelled your name. They like your film, actually, they love it, that should be all that matters."
He picks up his plate, deposits it in the sink, and hesitates.
"Joey, I'm going to have to move out to LA for a while."
"What? Why?"
"With all the press and distribution running from there, it's just going to be so much easier. I mean, I'm flying out this morning, then back again after not even forty hours there. It's madness."
I knew this was coming, but I'd pretended at least to myself that he would work around it.
"Will you come with me? And I don't mean just mean temporarily. I think we need to talk about LA being part of our future."
I hesitate. My reasoning for moving back to Boston last time was that my career was taking off, the work for me was here. But now, the tables were turned. His career was there and my work had become more flexible.
"I'm not asking for a decision now. But please think about it. I want to be with you, not wasting my days flying back and forth. Maybe we've got to start thinking about something past this, past Boston?"
Tucking my hair behind my ears I look at my husband. I think about the life I have here, the friends I have here, Jen, Jack, Grams … Pacey. Capeside is only a drive away, our families are easily accessible.
"Can I think about it? We can talk more when you're not rushing out the door."
The smile across his face tells me he's satisfied with my reply.
Picking up his keys, he asks, "Still heading back to Capeside today?"
I nod. Bessie had been calling and hounding me about visiting and helping with the accounts. I'd relented for a while but found myself foundering at home. Writing on my book had all but stalled, again. I couldn't put my fingers to the keys. The words would float through my head, but I had no means to record them. I convinced myself that a trip to Capeside would be good, rest for a day, freshen my mind.
"Well, have fun. My flight gets in at four on Sunday. Details are on the fridge." he kisses me on the cheek and heads out the door.
I go to the bedroom to get dressed. The weather is promising over 100 so I put on a peach-colored summer sundress that ties at the waist.
My phone vibrates.
6.47 am from Pacey Witter Are you still heading to Capeside today?
6.48 am from Joey Leery Yep
6.48 am from Pacey Witter Wanna Lift?
6.49am from Joey Leery ?
6.49am from Pacey Witter It's mom's birthday today. I really should go, even if I'd prefer scooping my eyeballs out with a spoon.
6.50 am from Joey Leery Birthday guilt is strong. I'd love a lift. I'm just visiting Bessie, so pretty flexible with times.
6.51 am from Pacey Witter Be there in 20?
6.51 am from Joey Leery Ok.
It had been a few weeks since I'd heard from him. Our Wednesday catch-ups had been put on temporary hold. The restaurant was nearing completion, and he was preparing for the opening. I'd wanted to talk to him, about Audrey, about my inability to write, about everything, about nothing. Feel the warm feeling of just chatting with a friend.
I put on mascara and wash the breakfast dishes. Suddenly moving quicker than before. A horn sounds from downstairs.
Pacey is waiting in a large black SUV with heavily tinted windows. He rolls down the window and dips his sunglasses at me. I roll my eyes, hopping inside.
"Geez Pacey, I feel like the secret service should be running beside us in this thing! Are these the new wheels?"
He nods, hands me an iced-coffee and points to a large pink box on the center console. The car is lovely and cool, the leather seats strip the heat from my back. Fresh-faced and smiling, he pulls out into the traffic.
"A+ for service Pace, a ride, food and coffee! I think I'll just request your chauffeur services every time I want to go anywhere."
He points to the iced coffee, "I know you're strictly an Americano coffee girl, but it's 85 already. I figured flinging some ice in it might aid in its appeal?"
"Infinitely."
"And they asked about whipped cream and I thought, what the hell, let's live a little."
"You of all people should know, the answer to whipped cream, is always yes."
"Basic Logic."
I nod, "Excellent decision," take a long sip and murmur, "creamy deliciousness."
He stares pointedly ahead.
Pacey is dressed much more casually than his suit at the screening. Wearing a well-fitting button-down t-shirt that looks decidedly expensive and shorts, but still looking very well put together. I ponder when it was that Pacey graduated from oversized hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts to this.
"Sorry I didn't get a chance to catch up with you the other night," I apologize. "I was stuck schmoozing with the boring people."
He chuckles, "Yes, I could tell you were less than impressed."
"Oh God, was I that obvious? I try to hide it but as it gets later in the night and, well, all the champagne, I start to crack."
"It's okay. I only noticed because I know you. I know your face, to the untrained eye it would have looked normal. Nothing to see here."
"Thanks for the refill, by the way."
"The pleasure was all mine."
I take a sip of my coffee and peek into the box. Bear claws and original glazed, my favorites.
I take a bear claw and hand him one. I'm stalling asking the question I want, instead focusing on the pastry, which proves an easy distraction. Butter, flour, sugar all dissolving on my tongue.
"So," I pause, "After you left, guess who I spoke to?"
He peels his eyes off the road and looks at me.
"She talked to you?"
"Yep."
"Wow. Okay," He squints in the sunlight, thinking. "Um, was she okay?"
"She was fine. Polite."
There are more questions I need to ask. Did you tell Audrey it was me? How much does she know? But voicing these will require voicing the unspoken, finally speaking about what transpired, after five long years. I don't think we're ready.
I'm certainly not.
"Did you know she was coming?"
I see his hands grip and regrip more firmly on the steering wheel, eyes staying trained on the road.
"No. But she knew that we would all be there, so I think she might have been trying to surprise us. She sat with us for about an hour, we all reminisced about the college years. It was awkward, to say the least."
I nod, thinking about my own awkward encounter.
"She looks amazing."
He nods and takes a bite.
"Did you know she was in Boston, investing in Dawson's film?"
"Nope."
"How do you feel about that?" A speckled trail of buttery crumbs falls as I bite and lands across my lap and his new car. Swiping at them, I only succeed in pushing them to the clean black floor, landing like snowflakes.
"Geez Joey, you act like I've got a say in what she does now. She does whatever the hell she likes. I can't stop her coming to Boston or investing in Dawson's film." he's uncomfortable. I look out the window watching the traffic, the buildings pass by.
I decide to leave it. Pushing this line of questioning could only lead me to places I wasn't sure I wanted to go.
He sighs and reaches his arm across to nudge me, "Sorry. It's a bit of a sore point."
I turn to him and smile, reaching over and commandeering the radio.
We listen to Easy FM and watch the traffic fade, the buildings grow shorter and the grass becomes greener. I crack the window and can smell the familiar salt air of home. We pass the 'Welcome to Capeside' sign.
"Why do I get an impending sense of doom every time I come here?" I ask.
"Because our formative years were a tumultuous, hormonal roller coaster ride with a side order of self-imposed drama?"
"I think you hit the nail on the head. When I'm here I love it, it's all memories and the feel of home, but at the same time, after a few hours I'm impatient to get out."
"I understand that feeling implicitly, Jo," he pauses, "But don't you ever wish you could go back?"
"To Capeside?" I ask, shocked.
He laughs, "No, to being a kid. The older I get, the more I feel the pull to being that free again. You know, no responsibilities, no bills. Back then he thought things were infinitely more difficult than they were. They were just the first few steps in a lifetime of difficulties that just get harder and harder. When I was fifteen, I woke up, I put on my clothes, I ambled down the street, the ladies all followed - of course, and I bought a coke, and maybe swam at the beach and harassed a stunning brunette until she punched me. And somehow, I thought those days were hard."
Pacey pauses and I watch him intently, his eyes still trained on the road.
He continues, "Sometimes I wish I could go back and smack myself silly."
"You don't have to go back Pace," I say saccharine, "I'll smack you right now."
His smile warms.
"Gracious as always Potter," he turns down the gravel drive towards Bessie's house. Down the road he taught me to drive stick, in a blue truck, arm draped behind my shoulders.
"Don't get me wrong, I see the appeal. To be young, single, sun-kissed skin, not a wrinkle in sight." I say.
He makes the final turn and pulls to a stop out the front of Bessie's house. The door opens and she comes out onto the porch.
He laughs, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. "You were never single, Jo. Not really."
I grab my handbag as Bessie stands, hands on hips, watching the car speculatively. The tinted windows are preventing her from seeing Pacey inside. I don't wish to subject him to her onslaught today about the past. Time had not made Bessie any better at forgiveness.
"Just come by whenever you're done. I'll be here." I say.
"Want to go for a drink after?" he dips his sunglasses to look at me.
"We're both spending the day with family in Capeside, Pace. A drink would be obligatory."
He chuckles, nodding as I close the car door.
I spend the morning helping Bessie with bookwork for the B&B. The dining table spread with paperwork, our coffee mugs filled at all times. We work for a few minutes before falling into chatter about life.
"And you don't want to move to LA?"
I shake my head, pounding keys on the calculator, then transcribing the numbers.
"LA is not for me, you know that Bess, I hated it last time."
"Well then tell him no, Joey. You have a say in your life too, you know. You're an East Coaster, your family is here, his family is here."
"But his career is there," I add.
"Everything is about his career, Jo. Even when he was making shitty movies that no-one cared about it was still all about him. You know I love Dawson but his focus is solely on his own goals. Your happiness is an afterthought."
I feel an odd pang of defensiveness for him, "But last time, he moved back to Boston for me."
She scoffs, "He only agreed to move back because he was embarrassed that things weren't taking off like he'd anticipated. He labeled it as moving for you, Jo, but don't for a second think that it was for you."
I hang my head, "Geez, Bess, don't mince words."
"Why would I? You asked me for my opinion and I'm giving it to you. If you don't want to move. Say no. Let him work out how to deal with that." She places her palms against the table, effectively closing the conversation.
Deep down, I know she's right, but my fifteen-year-old self stuffs that admission somewhere into my chest cavity.
She makes club sandwiches for lunch and we eat them in the yard, our old chairs in the green grass. Mosquitoes buzz about in the humidity, the trill of birds a welcome sound after years in the city.
"I cannot believe Pacey is back," Bessie keeps rounding back to the same topic despite my numerous attempts to steer her in other directions.
Her face raised, watching me for a reaction. I pick at the lettuce in my sandwich.
"Why are you even speaking to him, Joey? I don't understand any of this."
Taking a long sip of lemonade and another bite, I try to shrug her off.
"Jo, I was one of Pacey's biggest fans, you know that. He helped with the B&B and he was always such a great friend to you. For years you were joined at the hip! But friends don't do that, they don't cut themselves out of your life the day of your wedding."
When I don't answer she continues, "It was probably Audrey, that hasty wedding they had in a week. He used to come here for Christmas breakfast every year, then, nothing, not even a phone call. Alexander asked about him for years."
Looking up, I realize something I'd neglected to notice in the pits of my own malaise. That I wasn't the only one Pacey left. He was an extended part of our little family. Bessie was angry at him because she too felt abandoned. And to her, it was utterly without reason.
"You need to go easy on him Bess, he's been through a divorce, he's lost that part of his life. I've moved on. I think you need to also."
She sips her drink and scrutinizes me over the rim.
"There's more to it, isn't there? There was a fallout, or something happened that caused him to leave, right ?"
Keeping my eyes fixed on hers despite my yearning to retreat, I make a slow nod.
Bessie returns my nod a silent communication that she understands whatever cryptic message I'm trying to send her.
And by some miracle, she leaves well enough alone.
At 6.30, Pacey's car rolls up the drive. Bessie follows me out and walks to stand by his window, waiting for him to roll it down.
I jump in the passenger side and look over, Bessie is giving him a mom-glare that's penetrating tinted windows and making even me cringe.
Pacey doesn't roll down the window, he opens the door and steps out. Her glare holds for a few moments, but he leans forward and wraps her in a hug. She seems a little shocked by the gesture but warms into it quickly. She shares with me a soft smile from over his shoulder.
"I missed you, Bess," he says, apologetic.
"I missed you too."
They stand in awkward silence for a moment before Bessie's hands go to her hips and her finger comes out, waggling.
"Pacey J Witter, if you ever abandon us all like that again, I will personally find you and remove each one of your fingers mobster style."
"Understood," He chuckles, then flashes serious, "I'm sorry Bess."
She waves her hand, "Christmas is only a few months away. Shall I set you a place? You going to hang around that long?"
He nods, "I'll even offer my cooking services."
Bessie holds up her hands in prayer, "Then you're definitely welcome anytime."
The bar is humming. People crammed into all the spaces. Hot and sticky, smelling of stale beer and grease. We hover around and hang close to a couple leaving. I hip-check a group of guys as we race into a small corner booth. Pacey gets us some drinks while I save his seat with my feet, order some chili-cheese fries and takes his place across from me.
Conversation flows. Beer flows. The music seems to get louder. The booth is small. His large frame folded into the chair, long legs touching my seat. I can feel the heat emanating from them, so close to mine.
"Okay, I've got an idea."
"Shoot."
"Let's go fishing," he says, spreading his arms out with raised eyebrows.
"What? No way!" I wave him off.
'Fishing' was a game we used to play in college. When we were sitting at bars, bored, we would challenge each other to a fishing contest. We would set out, one at a time, watchtimer ready to see who could get a phone number the quickest. The rules were - no rules. Everyone in the bar was fair game. If someone was extremely good looking, you got 20 seconds shaved off your time. The loser bought the winner a drink. Of course, Pacey was the master at fishing. He was hard to beat in his day. Jen was close behind, always scoring well. Jack would fish for girls, despite his orientation as he seemed to have a better strike rate with them. Dawson struggled, he got bogged down in the chatting, the life story, and would often forget about the clock entirely.
"Come on, Jo, it's fun, a little healthy competition."
"You only say that because you were the undefeated champion. Didn't you reel someone in 22 seconds?" I ask
He scoffs, affronted, "21 seconds, and you know it."
I shake my head and roll my eyes dramatically, "It was cheating."
"It was charm. One hundred percent, pure unadulterated charm, Potter."
"You're incorrigible," I say, taking a gulp of my beer.
"I know," he smirks, leaning closer, voice lower, "But you want to challenge me, don't you? If you're not the best at every little thing in life, it drives you insane."
He's not wrong.
He continues, "I mean, I could teach you? Of course, some things are lost in translation, I think it has something to do with pheromones, general irresistibility," his hands punctuate his words.
"Bite me, Pace."
The smile drops from his face, eyes darken, and he snaps his teeth like a crocodile.
"It's fine, I get it, you're scared to lose. Worried you don't have what it takes anymore. We're a lot older now," he baits me.
I stand up and straighten my dress, pulling it down a little at the front and smoothing my hair, "Alright asshole, let's do this. Get your timer ready."
He smiles smugly, rubbing his hands together and takes out his phone. He hits START and I am off like a greyhound chasing a rabbit.
Remembering my wedding ring I dart back, pry it off my finger, and slam it down in front of him. He picks it up, passes it between long fingers, then places it back down on the sticky wooden tabletop.
"I don't think that would have been an issue," he smiles.
"I'm not taking any chances."
I scan the crowd in search of a victim. Packs of guys together were the easiest targets. Scan for wedding rings, I spot a man with a beard, mid-thirties. Standing against the wall with friends, beer in hand. He has a friendly smile. No wedding ring. Winner!
I steady myself, put on my sweetest smile and approach him.
"Excuse me, are you Steven?"
He looks around, confused. "No, I'm Matt," his friends chuckle.
"Oh sorry," I touch his arm apologetically, and linger on his skin for a moment, "I'm here with my friend, and I've been chatting to a guy on a dating app, Steven. He was supposed to meet me here at least an hour ago but, it looks like I've been stood up. Sorry, I guess I saw you and was hoping it might be you."
One of the hardest things I always found with fishing was knowing Pacey was watching. It was a challenge enough not to laugh if we happened to make eye contact. Stay serious, hook the victim.
But he is there, in the booth, in my peripheral vision. Arm casually slung over the top of the seat. Head turned, watching me. Even from across the room, I can feel his eyes on me, burning heat into my skin.
Focus, Joey!
Matt was hooked; he was easy. He is so sad to hear about the bastard that stood me up. His friends are eager to push him towards me and pick up the slack that Steven had left. I leave with a brief hug and head back to the table, hitting the stop timer on my return.
I pass Pacey a napkin with a hastily scrawled number.
Seven minutes forty-eight seconds. Not my greatest effort.
"He was an easy target," Pacey challenged.
"No way!"
"Yeah, the only guy in a group with no wedding ring, standing around looking desperate."
"Oh, he was not, he was nice!" I'm not sure who I'm trying to convince. I play with my ring on the table but don't put it back on straight away.
"Fine. Your turn, show me how it's done, and NO mentioning the Michelin Star or Gourmet Traveller! That's not fair."
Hand to his chest, shocked, "What? That's my hook, I've never been able to use it fishing before. I think I've earned it!"
I shake my head.
Pacey stands and runs his fingers through his hair, "Fine, watch and learn."
I set the timer on his phone, and he strides off. Long legs carrying him over to the bar. I examine the way he moves, all confidence, his t-shirt, dark blue, clinging to his chest, defining muscles he never had before. Age is probably going to make it easier for him to catch a fish, not harder. Bastard.
His body leans against the bar as he orders a drink from the bartender. I remember this move. He likes to approach his victim with a drink in hand as an icebreaker. Unfortunate victim, she doesn't stand a chance.
My phone vibrates.
From Dawson Leery Hey babe. Landed safely and had a good day meeting execs from studio about next film. Talk to you tomorrow.
From Joey Leery Excellent. Have fun. xo.
I don't feel the need to tell him where I am. He didn't exactly ask. No harm, no foul.
I look up, and Pacey is approaching the booth with two Martinis. He stands at the end of the table and puts one in front of me.
"There is NO way you're back already!" I shriek, looking at the timer. 2 minutes 53 seconds.
"Hi, I saw you sitting over here by yourself. I thought you might like a drink. I'm Pacey," he holds his palm out toward me. I stare at it, confused. I lift my hand and shake his slowly. What is happening? I begin to wonder how many drinks I've had.
"What's your name?"
His eyes are smiling at me, pleading. Little creases appeared on his forehead. He's willing me to play this game with him.
I stare back at him. Is he really going to do this?
Go fishing?
For me?
I contemplate the thought for a moment. What could be worse than Pacey trying to woo me? And I know how to play this game, so I can make this timer go on forever. Suddenly I feel like this might be the perfect opportunity to ensure my victory.
"Joey."
"Nice to meet you, Joey, do you mind if I sit? Or are you waiting for someone?"
I motion to the seat, "make yourself at home."
He gently touches his fingers against my rings, sitting in the middle of the table and looks up at me, concerned.
"Are these yours? Are you married?"
"No, no," I pick them up and slip them onto my right hand, holding it up to show him.
"What are you doing here tonight, do you live in Boston?"
"I do."
"I can't believe I've never seen you here before. What do you do, Joey?"
I thought about it for a moment. It's a pretend world, isn't it? This is a pretend conversation? I decide I'm going to be exactly who I want to be... I'm going all in.
"I'm an artist."
"Wow, that's awesome! How long have you been doing that?"
"Since I finished college. I was lucky enough to get an internship at the New York Fine Art Institute. I moved there, rented a small apartment. I started selling some pieces here and there, now I paint on the side and run a small gallery here."
It hurt a little even saying it, this version of my life. The version where I don't base my life choices on Dawson, where I'm free to do exactly what I want.
"What do you do?"
"I'm a chef. Quite a famous one, actually, one Michelin star," he grins a wide shit-eating grin, dimples forming in his cheeks.
"Is that so?"
"Yep. Maybe you read the article in Gourmet Traveller about me?" he is laying it on thick.
I laugh, deep in my belly. Pacey joins in, breaking character for a moment.
"Well, I hope maybe one day you will cook for me," I wink, playing along.
"Oh, I intend to!"
His thigh grazes mine under the table. If he felt it, he certainly doesn't flinch. I most definitely feel it. The touch sends a pulse through me, ripples of electricity.
"Are you single?" he asks, swirling his fingers absentmindedly on the martini glass and taking a sip.
I nod, making direct eye contact.
"You?"
Those blue eyes stare at me. He nods back.
Our fries finally come to the table. As soon as I smell them I realize how hungry I am, I need something to soak up the alcohol. I dig in.
"I love a woman who eats in front of a man," he watches the fries travel from my hand to my mouth.
"Well, then maybe we're meant to be!" I lean toward him and slowly, casually run fingertips down his forearm.
My signature 'fishing' move.
He freezes momentarily. I can see the hairs on his arm standing on end.
As we get lost in our 'date,' I learn what it might be like to actually enjoy a date with Pacey. He's flirtatious, attentive, playful. Sometimes it's nice to play pretend. Our relationship has always had the shadow of Dawson not far from my side, so imagining a life where I'm just myself is a little thrilling. Even if it's just for tonight, I can be whoever I want to be. The person I wish I were, with Pacey.
I look down at the timer - 1 hour 45 minutes - and smile.
When I started this I thought it would be a nice and tidy ten chapters, I'm not sure what I was drinking when I came up with this. So I'm just going to roll with it and see where this story leads.
Thank you for your lovely comments and follows. Each and every one is the kick in the ass I need to sit back in front of the laptop and keep going.
