Then

In light of the developing situation, a sailboat seemed frivolous. Even when I'd paid the exorbitant deposit, there was that nagging feeling sitting at the base of my stomach.

Was this the right thing to do?

Was I experiencing a slightly early midlife crisis and purchasing it in an effort to recover my youth?

The flimsy paper coffee cup was barely keeping the scalding liquid from my fingers, and I released the lid to let the cool morning air permeate the contents.

It was the pre-lunch rush routine. Pick up a terrible coffee, black, one sugar. Walk to the Boston harbor and stare longingly before passing the shipbuilders warehouse. Inside were the parts of my soon to be sailboat.

All 36 feet of her stood in that building in the final stages. A slight delay on original build date promises, but it could be forgiven.

I wondered for the first time about pulling out on the deal. A child, on a sailboat. I didn't need to read parenting 101 to know that it was hardly the safest of options.

I rolled over that thought again.

And again.

And again.

A child.

It swam in my consciousness. A new, compelling sensation.

Yesterday, I thought I had purpose.

Not one, but two successful restaurants. A nice apartment. A decent car. A half-built yacht.

"It's yours," Joey spoke in the dull street light.

Ours?

Something so far from anything on my radar of possibility. But after that moment, I realized I couldn't possibly want anything more.

Except for Joey, that is, but I didn't really have her.

After an awkward lingering goodbye and promises of meeting up tomorrow, I walked back to my car and sat in the darkness for too long. All of it rested at the base of my throat, pleading to come out.

I felt something that I was terrified to feel. Excited.

But here I was, feeling it again.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, bringing me back to the harbor, to the morning.

It was Doug. I took a deep breath before answering.

"Whatever could my second favorite brother desire on such a fine morning?"

"I'm your only brother," Doug replied in his characteristic monotone.

"So you keep reminding me."

"What are you doing today?" Doug asked.

"Why are you enquiring?"

Pacey took a swig of the coffee, knowing without a doubt the next words that were going to exit Doug's mouth.

"Jen told me you finally spoke with Joey last night."

"Of course she did. There is rarely a pot Miss Lindley wouldn't stir." Traitor.

Doug cleared his throat, "And…?"

There was no way that Jen had told Doug about the baby. That information was still airtight. He knew that I'd been keeping my distance from Joey and my reasons for doing so.

"And, we spoke. We cleared the air. Everything is fine now."

Doug grumbled, as though my evasive answer was insufficient. He wanted details. He wanted control.

"So, are you together?"

"No." It wasn't a lie.

"I'm happy you're talking, but I really think that you need to consider the bigger picture here, Pacey."

I scoffed. "Oh, this should be good."

"You're going to end up getting hurt. Joey is going to end up getting hurt. Seriously Pace, people's feelings are at stake. Dawson is in a fragile place. It will force people to choose sides. Joey will lose friends from this. "

Scrunching my eyes closed, I couldn't imagine the fallout when everyone would eventually find out about the baby.

"Joey has already lost friends. Everyone has already picked a side and I can tell you, it's pretty lonely over here by myself. Even my own brother is making his allegiances quite clear."

"It's not about that, Pacey."

"So what is it about then, Doug?"

"Just think about it. Don't rush into anything with Joey so soon after her own relationship has crumbled. Give it some time and space."

All I've had is space. Time and space. Years of it. Years where I lived for a handful of fleeting moments with her.

"Doug. You've said your piece. Thankyou for your riveting thoughts on my life, I appreciate the sentiment, I really do. But I know Jack is in your ear about this -"

"He's not!" Doug interrupted.

"Whatever. Your point has been communicated. I've gotta get to work."

I had little patience for Doug and his fatherly advice. It was borderline obnoxious when I was a teenager. In my thirties, it's practically hell. It reeked of Pacey The Stuff Up, a well-known entity in the Witter House. I had an actual father who still occasionally felt the need to grace me with his skewed world view. That was bad enough.

Doug sighed. "Okay. I just want you to be careful."

"Message received."

I went to hang up, but he kept talking. "Are you going to Capeside for Mom and Dad's anniversary?"

I groaned. "Honestly I thought that was a joke. Surviving a marriage such as theirs is hardly a call for celebration. Tell you what, I'll sling a hundred in for the family present and call it a day."

Doug continued. "Gretchen is taking leave to come down. Kerry's making the cake."

"Good for them." I squeezed my eyes closed and wished for a pillow I could punch repeatedly.

"They really want you there, Pace."

This made me laugh. "Bullshit."

"Seriously, Pace. Please."

I ran my hand through my hair and tugged in frustration. "You're really just calling to ruin my day today, aren't you Dougie? Anything else I need to be lectured on?"

"I'm not lecturing you." He said sternly.

"It's certainly not a pep talk."

"How is Joey doing?" Doug's voice softened and so did I at his change of track.

"I think she's going through a lot." It wasn't a lie.

"Well, if you're going to do anything the best thing you can do is be there for her."

I left him hanging. "I gotta go, Doug. I start work in twenty minutes."

"Catch ya Pacey."

I pressed end call.

Eyeball against the crack in the door, I sighted her, vast and black, high on the hoist. There is something peculiar about boats out of water, hulls exposed to the air.

Pulling back from the gap, I took a large swallow of coffee. The acrid taste burned my throat.

I wouldn't cancel the order just yet.


The first seating finished, and the second was well underway. I couldn't stay in the restaurant a moment longer. I relinquished the rest of the night's tasks to Steve, my capable sous chef, and filled a takeout container with porcini croquettes and a tahini dipping sauce. Strolling to my car in the darkness, I drove straight to Joey's.

We had made no plans. None. Where we stood was a mystery to me.

Friends? Lovers? Nothing? Something?

Taking the stairs two at a time, my palms grew damp with each step. I hesitated outside the door for a minute. Inside, I could hear the hum of the television, the distant voices of a comedy, the canned laughter track.

I rapped against the door to the tune of a Shave and a Haircut and the hum silenced. A familiar creak of her crossing the boards grew closer.

Multiple locks clanging announced the opening, and she peeked her nose out, a shy grin.

I swallowed hard.

"Oh, I figured it must be the pizza guy," she remarked, glaring at the container in my hand.

"Sorry, no pizza." I shrugged.

"Well, thanks for stopping by."

Joey closed the door, and I shook my head with a laugh.

She didn't move from behind the door, or lock it, so I could just imagine her waiting behind the wood, slyly calculating the sufficient timing required to annoy me.

I leaned against the wall, getting comfortable.

The door opened wide this time. "Fine. I guess I can settle for something else."

"I can assure you of nothing but the finest quality items in this container."

"I expect nothing less."

Cracking the plastic lid off, I ran the croquettes beneath her nose and she inhaled deeply.

"I suppose it will do." She moved to the couch, plopped onto it, took a bite and the pleasure radiated.

I smiled.

"The only thing that would make this better is a glass of wine." She popped the second half into her mouth and pointed to the kitchen. "Help yourself to a beer."

Opening the door, I saw a few bottles of Peroni. Dawson's choice of beer, obviously left behind in his hasty exit.

I closed the door again.

"I'll stay sober with you. Out of sympathy."

Joey fished another croquette out between a thumb and index finger.

"Nothing quells your burgeoning alcoholic tendencies like pregnancy. If only I got a chip at the end." She holds her hand up. "Hi my name is Josephine Potter and I'm four days sober. And really, only because I found out I was pregnant."

Pouring myself a glass of water, I replied, "It's weird then that you get a baby at the end then, isn't it?"

"Monumentally," Joey agreed.

Joey motioned to the sofa, and I plonked myself to the left of her. My feet throbbed from hours without a break and she relaxed beside me tentatively, resting the takeout container on her lap.

She wore leggings and an oversized Worthington sweater. A bun twisted into a precarious knot rested on her head. Socks with tiny dachshunds tucked under her cross-legged.

I tried to focus on her.

I tried not to look around the room at the relics of a marriage left behind. The last time I'd been in the lounge, Dawson had been here too. We'd all chatted, made jokes. Laughed. While I could see the distinct changes, the lack of extensive DVD collections, the framed film prints replaced with Joey's own artwork. I couldn't help but feel an intruder.

This was their place. They moved in as a newlywed couple. Painted, decorated, imagined their lives together, their children in this space.

Even though Dawson was in California, the shadow of him was everywhere.

"These were delicious, Pace. But why only three?" She joked, placing the lid back on the empty container.

"Shall I bring a case next time?"

Joey smiled, "Yes."

"I'll have you know, three of those in the restaurant cost $35. I can certainly bring you more, but don't be surprised if you have to loan me money when I go bankrupt."

Her face belied shock, "Wow, $35, I mean they're good but…"

"But when you're saddled with 20k in student loans, a couple of croquettes seem frivolous?" I said.

Joey raised her eyebrows, "I was just going to comment on bourgeois society, but hey if you want to bring politics into it."

I laughed, Joey joined me.

"They were delicious. Thankyou."

"No problem."

Silence settled and I drifted back to the apartment, to avoiding all of Dawson's space within it.

"So…" Joey broke me from my internal turmoil, nervously.

"So…"

"How was your day?" She asked.

"Long," I replied, punctuating it with a sigh.

"How was yours?"

"Fine."

She smiled at me awkwardly.

"So, now that we've ascertained our concise responses to the age old question of how our days progressed, can I ask how you're feeling?" I asked.

"Is this a morning sickness question, or a more broad, 'how are you feeling about everything' question?"

I chuckled and said, "I'll begin with your morning sickness."

"In that case, I've been okay today. I only vomited once before breakfast, so I take that as a win."

"Considering you're growing a human life from scratch while we speak, I think you deserve all the wins."

Joey smiled and, for a moment, I forgot I was sitting in Dawson's spot on the couch.

"And regarding the other question?"

Joey hesitated.

The silence unspooled in the few feet between us. The longer it continued, the harder it became to fill. All the unspoken loomed ahead, and while I wanted to move forward, I was equally terrified at the thought.

When you've wished something for so long, and then it's right there before you, there is the moment of terror that someone will snatch it from your fingertips. So the longer we don't talk, the longer I can stay in this middle ground. Where she said those words and they were real.

But it was building. I could feel it.

When she didn't respond, I said. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that there are few things more awkward than confessing your feelings and then casually chatting the next day like nothing has happened."

"Like acting as if the world didn't completely spin off its axis last night?"

"Precisely."

"Then you underestimate my ability to bolt when things get serious or scary."

I laugh. "Of that, Joey Potter, I will never underestimate."

She pulled her legs into a tent under her sweater and hugged them before taking a deep breath.

"I've been mulling over this for the better part of today, and I've concluded that considering the circumstances, I feel we should take things slowly."

I nodded. "I can do slow."

"I haven't told Dawson. I haven't really told anyone other than Jen about the baby, and I want to keep it that way, at least for a while. We have finalized nothing with the divorce, we're technically only separated. I mean, he won't even answer a text message, so I don't really know where I can go from here."

"There is a lot going on right now, I understand. I'm happy to be whatever you want me to be right now. A friend, a support person… whatever."

I wanted to add lover into the mix, but something held me back.

"Considering everything. I think we should just be friends and see what happens."

It hurt a little to say it, after our confessions, after all we'd been through, but I did, because it's Joey Potter.

"Friends." I reached out my hand, and she took it in a soft shake.

We sat, filling the awkwardness with the solace of mindless television and idle chatter until the clock read midnight. Heaving myself from the sofa, I wished her a goodnight and drove home.

That's what friends do.

My apartment was silent and dark and without turning on any lights, I made my way to the fridge, grabbed out a beer and cracked the lid. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the ultrasound picture and fastened it behind a Red Sox magnet.

After a shower, I slipped on some boxers, and my phone rang. It startled me so late. I saw Joey's name and panicked.

"Is everything okay?" I answered, rubbing against my wet stomach with concern.

"Did I wake you?"

"No, I just showered and I'm getting into bed."

"I'm sorry to call," she whispered down the line. Her voice broke a little.

I waited.

"I know you said you'd come here after work tomorrow. But, do you think I could come to your place? I just-"

The struggle in her voice was apparent. She felt the ghosts in her apartment just as vividly as I did.

"Of course. I'll leave a key under the doormat. I'll text you when I'm on the way."

She sighed in relief.

"See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Jo."

"Night, Pace."


The next evening's leftover fare was peppered duck with a grilled peach salad.

Joey was less enthralled with this offering and once she'd cleaned out the container, she followed it up with an enormous packet of Lays.

We were at my apartment. A middle ground that we could both tolerate.

She strolled the perimeter of the lounge and observed the photographs I'd finally got around to hanging. Then proceeded to violently flick through and critique my CD collection, a mish-mash of relics from the nineties and early 2000s.

I noticed that Joey drew an invisible line around the entrance to my bedroom. No matter the scope of her snooping. Maybe she felt haunted by the past here, just like at home?

So instead, we ignored the memories. We built invisible barriers around them, or tried to anyway. I definitely didn't think about the way we kissed, and I pressed her against my countertop. Or how I lowered her into the bed right there and removed every article of clothing until there was nothing left but her.

No. Those thoughts couldn't be further from my mind…

Television filled the holes in our conversation. It created a middle ground where not every silent moment required filling and in between the scenes we could laugh together and talk about characters. Analyze these make-believe lives that were so turbulent that our own dramas paled in comparison.

We could just be for the first time. Growing up with Dawson, Jen, Jack and Audrey always around, we rarely had a moment when there wasn't an inadvertent chaperone in striking distance.

And this being would continue. For weeks.

Where Joey would await the text that I was leaving work and be leaning by my door, book in hand, or appear only minutes after my arrival. I'd slide the key in the lock and she'd flick on the lights. We would share whatever the special was at the restaurant that night.

And then, eventually, she would stay.

The second bedroom had a rudimentary double bed and lamp. An old checkered blue and white quilt cover I had as a teenager.

The first night, it was just past 1am. She didn't pull on her jacket and collect her keys.

"Do you mind if I stay?" The question came in a low voice, as though expecting my refusal. She masked her fear with a yawn.

"Of course." I replied. Refusing Joey Potter was not something I did well.

And so she slept in the room just beside mine.

I convinced myself I could hear her breathing. Sometimes a cough would echo through the drywall, or a small sniffle. But only sounds would penetrate.

And then it happened again.

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday.

On Friday my dining table was littered with her bookmarked, unfinished novels. On Saturday, I scrambled the eggs, and she made the coffee.

We were homebodies, hiding from prying eyes in the safety of familiar walls. Occasionally Joey would 'do lunch' with Jen, but that seemed as far as she would venture. My schedule was rigid. Wake, drive to work, work, drive home. I'd stopped my daily visits to the sailboat.

Late, after the credits rolled on the television, we would sit and muse, crafting a life for the child growing inside her.

"The genuine question is, a delinquent like their father? Or an academic prodigy like their mother?" I asked one night.

Joey was wrapped in a maroon blanket, only her head exposed, like a matryoshka doll. She sat the allotted two feet away from me. Because in this new world order, despite the fact she had essentially become a tenant of my second bedroom, we never touched.

"Maybe they will meet in the middle and just be your regular join-in kind of B average child?"

"Like our DNA converges to create one perfectly normal human specimen?"

"We can only hope. Otherwise, on either end of the spectrum, they're sure to drive us insane."

I grinned devilishly and queried. "Asking for a friend, what is the policy on sleepovers with boy-band esque teens? Will they be allowed to shimmy through a second-story window at fourteen?"

Joey leveled a glare and laughed. "Hard pass. We all know the ending to that story."

"Good point. What about gallivanting on the sidelines with a brunette troublemaker?"

Joey shook her head and heaved herself from the couch nook.

"No comment."

"I feel like that's a yes. Look how well that turned out!" I joked.

"Yeah, sure Pacey, everything about us is the epitome of a healthy relationship progression." Her voice was heavy with sarcasm and her patented eye roll. But it came complete with the beginnings of a grin.

"This is how all relationships are supposed to mature, right? Pining for a few years, eventually marrying other people only to accidentally sleep together the night before your wedding and getting pregnant during a second dalliance?"

"Pacey!" Joey scolded. Ever a nemesis of hard truths.

I chuckled.

She strolled to the fridge, rifling inside and appearing with a tub of strawberry yogurt. The cutlery clanged as she searched for a spoon.

"You want one?"

I shook my head.

"You told Bessie yet?" I let our conversation turn serious, just for a moment.

She licked the lid and said, "No."

"Got any plans about when?"

"It's only eleven weeks, Pace. Most people don't spread the news until twelve."

"But Bessie isn't people. She's your sister. You know how happy she'd be, right?"

Joey studied the little white tub, and I tried not to let it bother me.

"I will, Pace. Just not yet."

Briefly I wondered if her desire to hold back this information was more in the Embarrassed-That-My-Affair-Ended-In-Pregnancy camp, or the And-Pacey-Witter-is-The-Father one?

There were a myriad of issues with the release of the pregnancy news to the public. Of this, I was well aware. Hence why our recent sleepover situation was kept between us.

Sometimes, it was just easier that way.

The ticking clock of the baby, who Joey's app told us today was the size of a fig, would eventually grow to a watermelon. And when we got into melon territory, everyone, including those we didn't really want to share with, would know.

For now, it was just easier to keep it to ourselves.

So while the baby was off-topic for everyone else, it remained our secret to explore. We talked about our hopes and dreams for them. We imagined first birthdays and trips to daycare. We sat at Joey's laptop until midnight reading reviews of strollers and safety conscious cribs. I felt the excitement grow steadily in my bloodstream, a casual impatience of wanting to meet the little one immediately.


The night had progressed much like all the ones that had preceded it. My late arrival, leftover box in hand, was welcomed by Joey and we enjoyed the latest installment of our show.

After two episodes, I turned off the television and Joey stretched her arms to the sky. She went to her bedroom, put on a pair of gingham pajamas. They were slightly too short on her tall frame, and the cuffs sat just above the ankles. There were no visible signs of her pregnancy, the only symptom she felt now was fatigue, relieved by a post-lunch nap.

Teeth were brushed in unison.

A few weeks ago a new blue brush found its way onto the basin from Joey's weekly grocery shop. Everything felt the same as every other night in this new routine.

"Goodnight," I called out as she padded down to the room.

"Night, Pace." She said, dispensing a longer than average gaze in my direction before closing the door.

I lay awake, blinking in the darkness.

Turning to my left, then my right. Nothing was comfortable. It was too hot, too cold. A nightly symphony in my sheets, trying to quell the turbulence in my brain.

A gentle thud from beyond my wall silenced my movements.

Then nothing.

Just as I let the beginnings of sleep sweep me away, there was another thud. This time it sounded like Joey's bedroom door closing.

I held my breath, waiting.

A click from my own door echoed and my heart was a violent storm in my chest as it slowly opened.

"Joey?"

She didn't respond. I could feel her presence next to my bed, see the faintest outline of her form above me. Without a thought, I pulled back my sheets, shuffling to the side as she slipped into my bed, pressing her body against mine, tucking herself into my open arm.

The flannel of her pajamas was draped across my bare leg. A slight movement of her exposed calf meant her skin contacted my own.

Sparks raced up my thighs.

The air vibrated with promise. I was too scared to speak again, I didn't want her to leave.

I held my breath as she shifted beside me, adjusting. In the darkness I couldn't see her sit up, position her face above mine, but I could feel it.

A hint of breath on my jaw caused me to inhale a lungful of air. A soft mouth fell upon the corner of my own like a whisper, then pulled back, waiting for me to search it out.

Fuck.

Joey kissed me.

I reached my hand out and found her hair, gently clasping the back of her skull and bringing her down to me, to find those lips again in the night. They settled against my own as though they belonged there. And, for the first time, I felt it.

All of it.

Every time we dared breach our precarious friendship barriers, we were drunk. That night in the club, Joey's bachelorette, that fateful night after we went to Capeside. There was always a thin lining of abandon that sobriety can never grant. So now, without a single beer in my system I felt the pull for her in its entirety. It was intoxicating.

Joey pressed the length of her body into mine. Her hands delved into my hair, fingernails massaging my scalp.

A sound emanated from Joey's throat reflexively. It was almost a purr, not quite a moan. Hearing it felt like each vein would explode from the sudden rush of blood barreling through at previously unknown speeds.

"Jo?" I drew back, forehead against hers.

She mumbled in the affirmative.

"What is this?" I whispered, before delivering a kiss in the tender spot between her ear and neck. It smelled sweet, like boiled candies.

My cock, swollen and thudding against her thigh, didn't want me to ask questions. It was begging me to shut up. To kiss her back, to run my tongue over every surface she possessed.

"I need you, Pace." Came back in a soft voice.

"Need me for what?"

"Everything." Joey kissed my eyelids, my cheeks. "I can't sleep next to you another night and not be with you."

It was the answer I needed, the one I felt down to the marrow of my own bones.

"Kiss me again." I said.

She did.