Career Tip # 13 - Expect some challenging days
All jobs involve challenging situations that may frustrate you. Remember that these unexpected inconveniences are temporary. Develop effective stress management skills to move forward and regain focus after resolving a frustrating situation.
The Huffy rests against the grass, stand unopened.
Pacey stands with Mike Potter, brisk wind against his cheeks. The information his mother revealed plays on a constant loop in his mind. Just like a video. Play. Pause. Rewind.
"You have that look on your face, Pacey. The look that suggests you might know more tonight than you did before."
The video stops. Pacey nods.
"Do you have anything you want to ask me?" Mike asks.
"Have you told Joey yet? Have you told Bessie?"
The question surprises Mike and he bites at the side of his bottom lip, just like Joey. "Told them what, exactly?"
"About you and my mother."
Mike shakes his head. "No, not yet."
"Then, maybe this isn't a conversation between just you and me. Maybe this is a conversation for everyone?" says Pacey.
Footsteps sound toward them. The door opens and Joey's head pokes through, smile drifting from her lips as her gaze darts between her father and Pacey.
"What are you doing here, Pace?"
"He's here for some answers," says Mike. "Would you like some too?"
Joey steps onto the porch, drawing her sweater tighter around her waist, wrapping herself for warmth. "Personally, I think some answers are long overdue."
Mike pulls at the screen door and gestures to Pacey to enter. "Bessie needs to hear this, too. Let's go inside."
Bessie smirks when Pacey enters. "Geez, Pacey, you might be pushing the boundaries of acceptable time spent with my sister in a 24-hour period." She laughs. "I mean, she's my sister, and I love her, but…"
"Actually, he's here to see me," Mike says, voice serious. Bessie's smile fades.
"Sit down," he pulls out a chair from the dining table. "We need to talk. You're all a little older, and maybe it's time for you to learn more about what happened before I went inside."
Chairs scrape the floor as they sit. Bodie, unsure if he's included in the directive, rests against the door frame. Joey searches Pacey's face for a hint of what is coming, but he remains stoic.
"What's going on?" Bessie asks.
Mike sits at the head of the table, like the director of a boardroom, but his slight figure doesn't possess any authority. On the table is the detritus of late-night cake and coffee. Folded napkins sit beside piles of chocolate crumbs.
They ignore the mess, watching him, awaiting an explanation.
"It's become apparent that I need to explain some things. Bessie, I'm not sure how much of this you know, or don't know, so just consider this my side of the story, as I'm not sure how much your mother related to you when it was happening."
All members at the dining table hold their breath.
"I wasn't a great husband by any stretch of the imagination. You're well aware of that, girls. I think you both know that when your mother was sick, and before that, I had an affair."
They each nod, watching their father, waiting.
"Well, what you might not know is that the affair was with Mary Witter."
"No," Bessie shakes her head, resolute. "That can't be true."
Joey looks to Pacey for confirmation, and he gives a slight nod of his head.
"It went on for some time," Mike continues, "much longer than it should have. And even when John and Lilly found out about it, and we swore it wouldn't continue… it did."
"Were you in love?" Joey asks, lips drawing back on the word love.
Mike hesitates, then nods. Pacey shifts uncomfortably in his chair.
"So you fell out of love with Mom after you started screwing Mrs. Witter?" Joey snaps, eyes piercing into her father.
"No," he defends himself. "I loved your mother."
" And Mary?" Joey barks.
"It wasn't a particularly happy time in either of our marriages, and things happened that I'm not proud of."
"It continued after Mom died, didn't it?" Bessie asks. Anger has made her face pale and her hands are folded over each other in an oddly staged way.
Mike nods.
Joey cringes, as though she realizes the answer before she asks the question. "Why did the affair end?"
This time, he hesitates before answering. "I went to prison."
There is a collective gasp from around the table.
"That explains the letter he wrote," says Bessie.
"What letter?" asks Pacey.
Mike sweeps at the cake crumbs on the table, piling them into a tiny hill.
"Your dad wrote a petition against his parole," Joey says.
Pacey's eyebrows rise in shock. "For the parole hearing just last week?"
They all nod.
Pacey wants to punch something. Hard.
"The reason the Sheriff hates you suddenly becomes so much clearer, Dad," says Bessie.
Mike nods.
"Can you really blame him?" Joey's eyes are sharp.
He opens his mouth as if to speak, but closes it again.
"Do you still love her?" Bessie asks. "Are you going to go back to her, now that you're out?"
Mike shakes head. "No. It's over."
Pacey speaks solemnly. "Good. Because I'm saying this with no hint of exaggeration - my father will kill her before he lets her leave."
The table falls into a shocked hush. Joey's eyes immediately brim with tears. Below the table, he places a hand on her leg. She covers it with her own.
"The situation is delicate," Mike begins. "I'm not going to go anywhere near Mary. You need to know that. But clearly, this is all still at the forefront of John's mind. And we need to be careful not to underestimate him. He is the sheriff. He has power in this town that you can't even fathom."
Bessie slides Pacey a sympathetic gaze.
"He is drinking a lot right now," Pacey confirms Mike's fears. "And even before I knew the details about what happened, something triggered it to get worse. It makes sense that it was the knowledge of your release."
Interrogation exhausted, everyone is quiet. Faces grim.
"Is that everything?" says Joey. "Or do you have further bombshells to drop upon unsuspecting family and friends?"
Mike swallows. "That is all."
Pushing her chair out, Joey stands. "Pacey and I are going outside."
"Joey, it's a school night, it's getting late," Mike protests.
She shakes her head, enraged. Unable to look at her father, she motions for Pacey to stand and join her.
"It's freezing," says Mike.
Joey points to her jacket.
"You can stay outside for thirty minutes," he bargains.
Her eyes narrow. "You've been home from prison for all of two days. You're a little late to ride the parental train. I'll come inside when I'm ready."
Mike sinks further into the chair.
"Goodnight, Pacey," he says as Joey slams the door behind them. She reaches for Pacey's hand, dragging him towards the dock.
He follows.
When they reach it, she lets go, turns to the creek, and screams. It's long and guttural, and after expelling the demons of rage, she deflates.
"Are you okay?" He asks.
"What do you think?"
"I think we've gotta chalk this night up to one of those life-altering shifts. A time we learn that our parents aren't quite who we thought they were. I'm sure it is a rite of passage somehow."
"To learn to hate them?"
"I know it's overwhelming. I get it. I feel the same. Nothing is as it seemed."
She doesn't relax, instead continuing her rant.
"The adults in our lives all tell us no. We can't be friends, we can't be anything. Why? To serve penance for their own shitty behavior. For their lies, their affairs, their shame. We have to hide all to protect their feelings."
Joey continues, fists clenched. "And the people telling us no. Who are they? A man caught with five pounds of drugs in the trunk of his car…" she starts.
"And a violent asshole," Pacey finishes her sentence.
"Hardly upstanding citizens, all of them."
"I don't know what to say to make it better."
"Neither do I, Pace. And I'm worried that nothing can make it better," she collapses onto the dock, laying on her back, facing the sky, arms outstretched like a star.
Winter was losing its grip. It was cold outside, but the air promised spring, along with the budding of each skeletal branch.
"I mean, I knew," she continues. "I knew he had affairs. I knew how much they devastated Mom. But I knew nothing about them, so they were a concept, a blank face. They were something for me to be angry about, but the anger was hollow. Now I'm overcome with it. Now it has a face and a name, and it wasn't just affairs… it was love. How could he do that to her?"
Pacey shuffles onto his backside, sitting for a moment longer before succumbing to the dock, and becoming a star beside her. There were no stars in the sky tonight, so they offered themselves as substitute.
"I can't imagine my mother in love. I can only picture her misery at my father, her fear. The idea of her flirting or hiding in hotel rooms to meet your father isn't something I can imagine. Not that I want to…"
"Maybe that's what makes us feel so terrible about all of this? That nothing is what it seemed."
The sky is nothingness. So black it's a void. There is no difference between having your eyes open or blinking. Pacey blinks anyway, rapidly.
Two stars remain silent, collecting their thoughts.
"I don't want to go inside," says Joey. "And in 30 minutes, I'm not going to want to go inside. I'm not even sure I'll want to tomorrow."
"It's too uncomfortable to sleep here. I can feel the breeze coming up through the wood. You will have to go to bed, eventually."
"Maybe I can call Jen, stay at her house?"
"It's gotta be almost midnight. Not sure Grams will appreciate the phone call at this hour."
"We could go to Dawson's?" she says.
" We ?" He blinks again.
"You really want to go home to face your parents tonight?"
Pacey laughs without humor. "They think I'm still there. I climbed out the window. The front door is rarely my means of entry or exit these days."
Reaching out a point of her star, Joey connects her hand to his.
"I'm sorry your home is like that, Pace. What you said about what would happen to your mom…"
"Your dad needed to hear me, really listen. That being with my mom is not an option. And it isn't just the teenage I-dont-want-your-dad-dating-my-mom. It's real."
Her thumb traces circles across the back of his hand. "It sounds like it's over."
"We can only hope."
"Let's go to Dawson's. We can climb the ladder. He'll let us stay," she says.
"Who is this rebellious Joey Potter that wants to break all the rules and run away in the night?"
"This is the Joey Potter who realizes that all the good behavior in the world can't stop her being punished for other's bad choices."
Pulling in the corners of her star, she sits up. "I'll go inside now, pretend to go to bed, and climb out the window."
"Are you sure?"
"Grab your bike and meet me halfway up the driveway."
She's gone before Pacey can protest.
Joey rides the handlebars. Her balance has improved, alerting Pacey to obstacles in their way. It seems to take forever to arrive at Dawson's house. The bike drops on the grass, and Joey makes her way up the ladder first.
The window is unlocked, giving at the slightest pull. Pacey ascends the ladder behind her.
Legs falling onto his floor, Dawson rouses, considering his friends in the darkness. "I'm unsure if this is a dream or a nightmare."
"Joey's the dream, I'm the nightmare," says Pacey, straight-faced.
Dawson sits up. "What are you two doing here?"
Smiling sweetly, Joey perches at the end of his bed. "We would like to invoke the best friend clause. Like you did, hanging around at Screen Play all day."
"Sounds dubious. Do I need to hide a body?" Dawson asks.
"No. But we could do with a place to stay?"
"Should I ask why? You haven't robbed a bank or anything?"
"Why do you automatically assume criminal activity when I'm involved?" Pacey places a hand on his chest.
"Pacey," Dawson glances at his clock, "It's 1:15. Quit with the banter and tell me why you're here."
"There have been some parental - " Pacey searches for a word, "developments tonight. We both feel that staying in our own abodes wouldn't be appropriate, considering said developments."
"You're going to need to elaborate if you want to crash here. If I'm assuming the personal risk of getting caught harboring teen runaways, I'm going to need an explanation for the police."
They disclose the revelations while Dawson listens, mouth agape.
"So you see, it's a matter of principle that we can't return, at least not tonight," says Joey.
"And are you going to appear tomorrow night, asking for a bed, citing a continuation of your discontent?"
"It's a one-night thing. Please, Dawson, I just need some space from my dad tonight," she says.
"He's been home for two nights, Joey. This doesn't bode well for your reconciliation."
She brings her hands together, bestowing a face so pathetic he considers handing her the keys to the house.
"You make your own beds," Dawson relents. "I think the foam mattress is still in the study. You know where the blankets are. You can sleep on the floor."
"Thank you," Joey hugs him and disappears in the hallway to collect blankets while Pacey lags behind.
"Is this all part of the plan?" Dawson asks Pacey, voice low. "So you can share a bed with Joey?"
Pacey scoffs. "Sure. My malevolent plan is finally coming to fruition. I orchestrated our parents to begin an affair years ago, hide it from everyone, and finally reveal it just after Mike gets out of prison, causing Joey to want to have a night away from home to collect her thoughts on the matter."
Dawson grins, undeterred by the sarcasm, and Joey reappears, eyes raised at Pacey, "Are you going to get the mattress?"
He nods and leaves, dragging it down the hallway. They lay out blankets and pillows.
Dawson gifts Joey a T-shirt and shorts. She changes in the bathroom. While she's gone, Pacey takes off his jeans and sweater, climbing into their floor-bed with only a shirt and boxers.
She reappears in oversized clothes.
The light is switched off.
Dawson is snoring lightly within minutes.
Joey and Pacey lie side by side, listening to him in this room, a portal to their childhood. Weekends were spent rolling out sleeping bags on this very floor at seven years old, and now, at fifteen, everything about it feels different.
Turning his head toward her, Pacey worships Joey in the darkness. The silhouette of her profile illuminated by the soft light from the Leery dock outside.
Sensing his gaze, she whispers, "Why do you think your dad, even after all this time, doesn't want us to be friends? I mean, I get he was mad about what happened, but really, it had nothing to do with us."
"I guess I figure he is still so upset about the affair that he doesn't want reminders of it. And, knowing that your dad would be out of prison soon, walking around Capeside was enough to make him want to distance the family from him?"
"So I'm blacklisted forever by association, by something I had no party to?"
"Don't let the uniform and badge fool you. My father is a fragile, petty man."
"Are you angry at your Mom for having an affair?" Joey asks.
Considering her question, Pacey is quiet for a moment. "I guess a part of me is mad. But considering the circumstances, I can hardly blame her for seeking an escape."
They are quiet for a while, and Pacey thinks she might have fallen asleep, but she speaks again.
"There are so many things that I'm mad about tonight, but do you know what one of the biggest ones is?"
"What?"
"That I was made to feel guilty for hanging out with you. When all along, the guilt should have fallen on our parents."
He nods into the darkness.
"I'm also mad because I know that things would have been different if all of this drama hadn't surrounded our every move."
"What things do you think would be different?"
Joey shifts, moving onto her side to face him. Her bare legs brazenly fall against his.
"Everything," she whispers, barely audible.
They fall silent, facing each other.
Pacey thinks of the study, of a night when he would do anything just to touch her finger in the darkness.
Joey shuffles towards him, bringing their whole bodies together. Lifting his arm, she places it over her, snuggling toward him. He gives into the hug, resting his nose against her hair.
Her leg rubs against his, toes sliding down his calf. Fingers clutch at his shirt, drawing him closer.
Something shifts. Invisible.
He tastes the moment before it unravels. Sweet, almost electric. Pacey's breath hitches. The anticipation of it is a living thing, a creature with a heartbeat of its own hiding between their tangled limbs.
She raises her face to his in the darkness, letting their cheeks collide. And with a tenderness that defies articulation, their lips meet.
Impossibly soft, the kiss begins as an extension of their connected bodies and becomes more. Closed mouths open, tongues seek and find.
Pacey's hand reaches for her hair. The silken strands that enchant him all day at Screen Play Video run through his fingertips. Joey presses her body closer.
Heat flushes their faces and the sheets. Explosive. It's fireworks in a dark room, dazzling the walls with color.
Joey's hand slips beneath his shirt, grazing the skin of his stomach. He responds in turn, seeking the warmth of her back beneath Dawson's shirt.
They are lost in it. Oblivious. It's not a first kiss or a feeble excuse for a second first kiss. This is raw, this is real.
But the moment is elusive, like the months of false starts before it. So they grasp it with clinging fingers, desperate mouths, and hums of pleasure. At any point it could escape their clutches and fall into a waking Dawson's hands, ruining it forever.
So when he shifts in his bed beside them, they pull back, breathing into open mouths.
It has to end.
They break apart, but don't let go. Chests rise and fall, slowing from a heave to a soft fall.
Joey drifts into the space between Pacey's arm and chest, curling herself in. And even after a day that threw its weight against them, they fall asleep with smiles.
The morning is bright, and Joey is gone. Pacey wakes alone.
He pulls the covers back, sitting up and peering into Dawson's empty bed.
Voices echo from downstairs. The only sounds are Dawson and Joey. A quick glance out the window confirms the cars are gone. Mitch and Gail have left early for work.
Pacey drags on his clothes, fighting the lingering feeling that the kiss will evaporate from existence, that it will be chalked up to a misstep, or a figment of his imagination.
Following the voices, he pads down the stairs.
"Morning Pace," Dawson heaps cereal into his mouth. "How were the emergency accommodations?"
"The difference between a Hilton and your bedroom floor could not be determined," he jokes, watching Joey. Back turned, she pours her own cereal.
"No one has inquired about your whereabouts, so I'm guessing they haven't reported your absence to the authorities."
"That's a relief."
Investigating Dawson for signs that he was aware of the happenings in his bedroom, Pacey finds none. He eats breakfast like it's just another Friday. Technically, it is.
"I called Bessie, told her I left early for school," says Joey, pushing out her chair and balancing her bowl.
"Did she buy it?" Pacey asks, eyes begging her to look at him.
Joey shrugs. "At this point, who cares?"
Her casual demeanor compounds his fears.
Pacey makes breakfast. Flakes of cereal scatter from the box and miss his bowl, littering the counter. He leaves them, joining the others at the table.
Revelations from the night before linger like a hangover, so the conversation stays in the safe zone of this semester's literature reading requirements.
He stays quiet, chewing. The cereal tastes like wood shavings.
Dawson departs to take a shower, and they're alone. Only a sugared pool of milk is left in Pacey's bowl. Joey wipes at his mess on the counter until they hear water running in the shower above.
With the familiar clunk of a shower door closing, Joey moves to him. Finger beneath his downward chin, she draws his face upward. "Pace?"
He raises his eyes to meet hers. "Yeah?"
Leaning in, she kisses him again, in the Leery kitchen, tasting of Frosted Flakes. Even in the daylight, it feels the same. Electric.
"You didn't think I'd pretend it didn't happen, did you?" she grins as relief softens his face.
"I will admit to some moderate anguish." He stands, wrapping his arms around her waist, bringing her against him.
"I didn't want to alert Dawson to the developments that transpired while he was deep in slumber," she says, eyelashes batting.
He kisses those lashes, overcome. "Makes sense. You never know when we might need to elude our parents once more and seek solace at the Leery household."
Joey smiles. "Can I share a memory?"
" Now? " He chuckles. "Be my guest."
"It was a few months ago. The night we made the Tape Ball at work. That night on the drive home was the first time I felt it in my bones."
"Felt what?" He asks, brow furrowed.
"The overwhelming desire to kiss you," she grins lazily, bewitching brown eyes on his.
Pacey leans in, running his lips over hers. The faintest tease. "Can I share a memory?" he asks.
Joey nods, "Always."
"Sixth grade. Chucky Romero's party at the roller rink. You wore jeans and that taupe sweater and you were falling more than you were skating. And I was behaving like a general pest, cutting in front of you, trying to make you swerve to miss me."
"You were being a real jerk that day," she remembers.
He nods, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I know. I'm sorry. Pre-pubescent Pacey's actions were often odious. But then I took it too far, and I made you fall. And you were trying so hard not to cry when I helped you up. I'm not sure I'd ever felt so bad before. So I took you off the rink and I played the clown to cheer you up, and eventually, despite my truly terrible attempts at humor, you smiled. And that smile did something. You were so damn pretty, and you are so damn pretty. And somehow I'd never noticed it before. That was the first time, sitting beside you with your bleeding knee, that I wanted to kiss you."
Joey shakes her head. "You hated me for years after that!"
"I never hated you, Joey Potter," he swallows. "It was fun to play nemesis', but it never stopped me from wanting to kiss you."
"And what about our parents?" she asks, voice low.
"Considering the lies we've been fed for years, I hardly think we need to share the particulars of what happened on Dawson's bedroom floor."
"And what if it happens again?" Her eyebrows raise.
All Pacey can offer is a shrug.
"Are you suggesting we keep it a secret?" she asks.
Grinning, he walks her backward, short steps, body against body until they reach the doorframe that leads to the living room. It's the place where he kissed her the first time, beneath mistletoe. Now nothing hangs above them but desire.
Her back hits the wall, and he presses his body against hers.
"I'm suggesting that I will do whatever it takes to keep on kissing you," he whispers.
Eyes glitter back at him, inviting more. And he accepts, offering his lips.