Career Tip # 14 - Avoid office romances.
It may seem commonplace, but office romances can be difficult to navigate in most settings.
If you do take the leap with a coworker, keep it professional, tell your HR team and make sure that any PDAs are strictly kept out of the office environment.
Joey wears the same clothes to school as she did yesterday; jeans and a maroon cable-knit sweater. She hopes its nondescript enough that no-one gives it a second thought. All the looks she gets in the hallway are normal - eyes flicking over her as though she doesn't exist. Exactly the way she likes it.
In the cafeteria she takes a tray, glancing around the room. At their regular table, Dawson and Pacey sit, Pacey's eyes on hers. She swallows a smile.
Jen appears beside her, tray in hand, and nudges Joey's arm.
"What's your selection from today's gastronomic horrors?" She leans forward and glances across the glistening options beneath heat lamps. Her hand reaches for a serving spoon and prods at the unidentifiable slop, its color shifting between gray and brown.
"I'd suggest avoiding the mystery meat," says Joey. "Is it chili? Is it a bolognese? We may never know."
Jen scoops some, then lets it slide from the spoon back into the tray with a gelatinous thunk. "I think I've lost my appetite."
"My suggestion would be the hamburgers. Of Friday's food rotation, I find they're the least likely to cause digestive distress."
They shuffle down the line and Joey loads pallid buns onto their trays.
"What's with the sweater?" Jen asks.
"What do you mean?"
"I'll admit, it's fetching, but didn't you wear it yesterday?"
Thinking on her feet, Joey answers. "The laundry has been chaotic, what with all the puke-covered baby clothes, it seems keeping my wardrobe fresh has taken a back foot."
Joey makes her way toward the table. Jen begins to break away.
"Where are you going?" Joey asks.
"I'm still relegated to the breakup table. I doubt Dawson would want me there."
Joey shakes her head, balances her tray in one arm, and grabs Jen. "No, you're not being ostracized. You're coming with me."
Jen is hesitant.
"Come on, you said yourself you two would stay friends. Be the bigger person and come sit with us."
Jen obeys and they deposit their trays beside the boys'.
"Miss Lindley," Pacey beams. "I'm delighted to see your return to our misfit ensemble."
"Hey Pacey, Dawson."
Dawson offers a pained hello and scoops a mouthful of the mystery meat on a bed of rice into his open mouth.
They lament over cold, tasteless cheeseburgers and the difficulty of a pop quiz in Mr. Harper's class. Dawson's face stays a tragic shade of red as he eats silently.
"How's it been with your dad home, Joey?" asks Jen.
"It's a rare moment when you consider maybe your life was easier with your father in prison." Joey picks brown spots off her apple. "I've come to the realization that parents, for the most part, are superfluous to the teenage experience. I'm sure both you and Pacey can relate. Dawson, it seems, is the only one of us boasting guardians with a shred of parental responsibility."
Dawson grunts in agreement.
Beneath the round table, Pacey's hand slips onto Joey's knee. He gives it a squeeze. Jen's eyes level at them and he lets go.
"You won't find any dispute from me, Joey," says Jen. "But, I'm sure, for what it's worth, your Dad is having just as hard of a time adjusting to being out of prison, as you are to having him back."
"I highly doubt that."
Jen eyes Pacey's jeans and Henley, then runs her eyes over Joey's sweater.
"Pacey, were you not wearing that exact ensemble yesterday?"
"This?" he looks down, smoothing his hands over his chest. "It was so chic, it deserved a second round."
Dawson interjects with an eye roll. "They slept at my house last night."
"Slumber party, on a school night?" Jen's voice effortlessly slips into Gram's familiar tone.
Joey stumbles for an excuse. "It was impromptu. We both needed some space from our respective households."
Jen nods. "Was it a sleeping on the floor situation, or did Pacey bunk in with Dawson?"
Joey throws her friend a look. "Is the arrangement of bodies pertinent information, Jennifer?"
"I just want to get the full picture."
"Sure you do." Joey nudges Jen and whispers, "Maybe I should have let you eat the mystery meat."
Jen laughs.
"Dawson was in the bed. And Joey and I were on the floor. We hauled out the mattress," Pacey offers, eyes sparkling. His tray is empty, and his fingers are busy at work shredding the label from his empty Yoo-hoo bottle.
"Sounds restful," Jen says, with a barely contained smirk.
Standing, Pacey grabs his tray. "I, for one, had a fabulous evening. Thanks again, Dawson."
He winks at Joey, and leaves.
Dawson's face pivots to Joey, openmouthed. "You didn't?"
Joey stands, clutching her tray, unable to make eye contact. "I better go. I'm going to be late for class."
Jen can't stop laughing.
Their kiss fastened an invisible string from Pacey to Joey. In class, she noticed his every movement, each hurried stroke of pen on paper, each covert glance in her direction.
When Mrs. Jamieson called on her to list examples of unreliable narrators in popular literature, she fumbled, offering an uncharacteristic shrug.
Jen keenly observes her friend from a seat away. Doodles in the margins of Joey's notebook, swirls and loops and objects that could be mistaken for hearts. Joey draws them, then immediately erases the evidence, ink turning the page a crosshatched blue.
Tearing off a corner of her notebook, Jen writes a message, passing it to Joey while Mrs. Jamieson lists authors on the board.
Something happened last night … I want details.
Joey's head swivels as she reads it, wide brown eyes on her friend.
The reaction was confirmation enough. Jen smiles, glancing towards the rear seats where Pacey sits, staring out the window.
Joey flips the note, scrawling on the back - Nothing happened. No details.
She passes the note back.
Opening it, Jen smiles. She looks directly at Joey and mouths, Liar!
Between the last bell at school and his shift at Screen Play Video, Pacey makes a quick stop at home. The Wagoneer is in the driveway, the police cruiser isn't. He opens the door and scans the room before stepping inside.
Mary sits at the sewing machine, glancing up at him. "How was school?"
He shrugs, dropping his backpack onto the floor.
Gripped in her fingers rests the familiar colors of the family quilt. Its patches are regularly added and changed, an unfinished project since his childhood. The patterned greens and blues, diamonds and stripes, all connected by her fastidious needlework.
He goes to the kitchen, scanning the fridge for ingredients to make dinner. Finding a limp lettuce and leftover ham, he fashions it between Wonder Bread and wraps the two sandwiches in Saran wrap.
"Where did you sleep last night?" Mary calls out.
He looks up at his mother, throwing the sandwiches in his backpack. "In my bed."
"Liar."
He moves behind her, watching even stitches penetrate the fabric. "I was at Dawson's."
Mary nods. "I'm glad you've got someplace to go."
"I wish I didn't have to run away all the time."
She pulls her foot off the pedal and turns to him. "You begged me to tell you the truth, Pacey, and I did. You acted like you're old enough for honesty, but maybe you're not."
"You didn't tell me the whole truth," he waits for her response.
"And what is that?"
"The only reason your affair ended was because he went to prison."
Mary's face goes pale. " Who told you that?"
"Mike did."
She stands, body vibrating. "What the hell is wrong with you, Pacey? Why are you talking with Mike Potter? Jesus, if your father found out."
"He won't find out. He was here, drunk, passed out in his chair. I won't say a word."
"You promised me Pacey. You promised this would stay between us."
Pacey wraps his arms around his mother, steadying her shaking hands. She stills in his touch, and he can't remember the last time they properly hugged.
"It won't get back to him, Mom, I promise."
She grips Pacey tight, doesn't let go. "You need to stop digging, Pacey. Stop asking questions. You have the answers now. It's time to let them go. It's happened. It's in the past."
Pacey holds his mother in his arms. He doesn't make any promises.
There is a sound in the driveway, the slam of a car door. Mary immediately goes to the pile of fabric, folding the quilt, collecting threads of cotton littering the floor. Pacey considers the exits and instead crouches beside her, stacking fabric scraps in an open palm.
He holds her gaze beneath the table as the front door opens with a familiar groan.
"How was your day, dear? You're home early." A veil appears over his mother, like gauze, covering the worry lines that were there only seconds earlier.
John throws a newspaper down on the table and embraces his wife. He's smiling, cheerful. The display is rare, enough to make Pacey raise an eyebrow as he places the colorful fabric scraps on the dining table.
"It's a good day," John reaches for the newspaper and holds it out to them.
Their eyes scan across the page, landing on a photo of John Witter in his full uniform, arms crossed, standing beside the county jail. The headline reads ' Celebrations Set For Sheriff With Highest Arrest Record.'
"Oh my, John, this is wonderful!" Mary embraces him. "What's the celebration?"
"A dinner in my honor," his chest expands. "My numbers were so good they couldn't ignore them."
Pacey reaches for the newspaper, runs his eyes across the words. It's a fluff piece, citing that John Witter has the highest arrest ratio in five counties. It talks about the arrest of a money laundering syndicate, several drug-related arrests, and the capture of a burglar, caught in the act.
He drops it down on the table. "Congratulations Dad, I'm not entirely sure how Capeside has produced enough criminals for such an achievement, but apparently our seaside oasis is the crime capital of Massachusetts."
John smiles, so elated by his image celebrated in black and white newsprint, he misses Pacey's sarcasm.
Mary flashes Pacey a warning glance.
"You've got no idea of the kind of lowlives that live among us," says John.
"Oh, I have a general idea," Pacey mumbles and grabs his bag.
"I'll make pot pie tonight to celebrate!" Mary is already in the kitchen, dragging blocks of frozen meat from the deep freeze.
"You'll have to celebrate without me. I'm working tonight."
"I'll put the leftovers in the fridge if you want to eat when you get home," Mary smiles warily.
"Thanks, Mom." Pacey follows her to the kitchen, kisses her forehead and whispers. "Do you want me to stay home tonight?"
She shakes her head and pushes him towards the door. Pacey hesitates, the truths she confessed the night before keep him in place. The man, so enamored with his own success in catching the worst criminals, is the same man who broke her bones, who made her breathe through a tube for a week. The irony makes him want to scream, to stay, to fight.
Mary pushes him. "You'll be late for work."
Pacey walks out the door.
The Wagoneer stays parked in the driveway. Instead, his Huffy carries him to Screen Play Video, backpack slung over his shoulder.
Pacey is late. He chains his bike to the stand on the street.
Behind the register, Joey is tending to a line of customers, cases in hand - the Friday night rush. The overnights look sparse, and there is a growing pile of rewinds piled beside the machine.
"Sorry," he says on passing, grabbing his vest off the rack and helping locate titles while Joey handles the cash.
Joey doesn't scold him, at least in front of the crowd, and eventually the line dissipates, and all that remains are a few lone browsers.
"Are you going to chastise me?" He asks, eyebrows peaked.
Joey shakes her head, snaps the register closed. "I'll save it for another day."
"Wow, to what do I owe the leniency?" He teases.
She slaps at his chest, eyes glowing with their first touch since this morning at Dawson's house. "I'll let this one fly."
"Who'd have thought all I needed to do to escape your wrath was to kiss you a couple of times?"
"A couple!? You've kissed me twice, no! Three times," she corrects.
"Always with the semantics."
"Do I seem like someone who doesn't fastidiously dot I's and cross T's?"
Pacey chuckles, brushing invisible lint from her vest. "Point taken. I'll rephrase. You kissed me, twice."
"And?"
"And I want, very much in fact, to continue on this trajectory with you. And not only for tolerance of my tardiness."
She grins, the lower lip disappearing beneath her teeth. "I'd like that."
"But I think - considering the circumstances, we should be transparent with how this should play out."
"The kissing?"
"The continuation of it, yes."
"I thought we'd established that it would be of the clandestine variety?"
He nods, considering the situation he left at his family home. "It would seem it's our only option."
"So what does it make us?"
Pacey shrugs. "Friends who kiss occasionally?"
"What if it doesn't only happen on occasion? What if it happens frequently?"
He grins, and a man interrupts by placing Caddyshack 2 on the counter.
"Excellent choice," says Pacey, and Joey disappears with an armful of videos to restock.
They have ham and salad sandwiches for dinner, two Cokes, and a sleeve of Oreos in the lull between 7.30 and 8pm.
There is no talk about what happened last night, about the revelations from Mary and Mike. The wounds of her grief were reopened, exposed to air. Her father's betrayal is fresh again. It lingers beneath her smile.
So instead they talk and flirt, and Pacey wonders if maybe this counts as a date. Elbows on the counter, Joey stripping the crusts from her bread and arranging them in parallel lines on the Saran wrap.
Computer off. Display lights on. Main lights off. Vests hung back on the hook.
Pacey flips the CLOSED sign and opens the door for her.
She shakes her head, legs rooted in place. "Don't take me home."
"What?"
"If I stay here tonight, do you think Keith would realize?"
"You can't stay here, Joey."
Her anger still has sharp edges. "I can't go home, not with Dad there."
"It won't change anything. Staying. It won't make your anger go away. It won't make what happened, unhappen."
"I know. But I just can't be around him right now."
Pacey lets the door drift closed and considers her. His decision is made in seconds.
"Are you going to sleep between Horror & World movies?" He locks the door from the inside.
"If I had my pick, I'd go with comedies."
He takes her hand and leads her into the storeroom.
"What are you doing?"
He pulls an tartan blanket down from the shelf and shakes off the dust.
"This was from the Aladdin display in the front window - it was supposed to be the magic carpet."
In the store, he spreads the blanket beside the overnight rentals, points the remote at the television in the corner of the room, and smiles. Its blue screen illuminates their faces, awaiting a tape. "If a lifetime with Dawson Leery has taught us anything, it's that no sleepover is complete without a movie."
Joey smiles.
"You can pick what we watch," he says.
She browses the aisles. "You don't have to stay, you know."
"I'm not the kind of guy who lets my not-girlfriend sleep on the floor of our workplace alone."
"Chivalrous."
"That's me."
After much deliberation, she selects While You Were Sleeping and reaches on tiptoes to insert the VCR. Pacey gets a bag of popcorn from the sale rack and selects peppermints from the counter as dessert.
She lies beside him, head on her clasped hands, face up at the screen.
"Does this count as a date, do you think?" He asks, popcorn edging into his mouth.
Joey reaches into the bag. "I think this is as close to a date for us as current circumstances will allow."
Pacey grins, reaching for her hand.
After the credits roll, Pacey and Joey lie in the yawning dark.
"Second night in a row sleeping beside me." He smiles at the thought of it. "But tomorrow, you need to go home."
"I know."
"Hotel ScreenPlay is a one-night kind of deal."
"Let's hope Keith doesn't decide to open before 10am tomorrow."
"If he does, we send our resumes in for bag packing jobs down at the Save Mart."
"I'll work the register. You can pack bags," she says.
"Naturally." He figets on the hard carpet. " It's not much longer and you'll be back at the Icehouse anyway, scowling at the summer crowds."
Joey groans, "Don't remind me."
They lie in the storeroom, side by side. There is just enough room to stretch their bodies out, hidden from the view of a passersby.
"So, what do we do now?" He asks.
"I guess we sleep?"
But Joey doesn't close her eyes, instead turning to face him, head cradled in her hand.
He mirrors her move. "What if I'm not tired?"
Pacey reaches out, tucks the strand of hair from her face, and kisses her like he's wanted to all day.
The storeroom is their secret - this clandestine sleepover is their secret.
She is his secret.
But he kisses her like he's telling the world. And she kisses back, hungry, pressing her body against his. There's no Dawson beside them, no need to be quiet tonight.
She swipes her tongue against his, pulling the weight of him on top of her. It's messy and spectacular, his and her want colliding. Her hand seeks Pacey's jaw, threads through his hair, pulling him close.
He fists the maroon sweater, lays kisses on her neck by its collar. When she wraps her legs around his hips, grinding his hardness into her jeans, Pacey pulls back.
"Is everything okay?" She clings to him still.
He shuffles beside her, finding his breath beneath a heaving chest. "I think we should sleep. It is a sleepover."
Joey nods, settling into the crook of his arm. Beneath boxes of Christmas decorations, cleaning supplies, and obscure VHS titles, he kisses her hair, and breathes her in.
He wants to keep going, delirious kisses until the dawn's light finds them. But the kisses are a bandaid. Hot lips like plasters on broken hearts, broken families.
"Goodnight, Pace," she says into the darkness.
"Night, Jo."
They fall asleep on Aladdin's magic carpet, with Pacey's Huffy still tied up on the street.