SOS by Glory, Girl Writer.pdf - Dawson's Creek Fandom Wiki

One of Pacey's eyes popped open. "I'm in my tux now, so I don't really have to imagine
that. I could just look down at myself if you'd let me do this with my eyes open."
"Quit arguing with me and shut your eyes, you big baby. Okay. You're at the reception,
you're in your tux, you're surrounded by your relatives. Your mother is probably huddled
in a corner with the three people in Capeside who she actually likes, and they're
probably talking about how Joey -- who they're probably calling Joanie -- deserves a lot
of credit for her spunk, given her dire circumstances. Your father, meanwhile, is . . .
what, probably getting drunk and complaining about how your entire life would have
been different if only you'd been willing to take karate lessons. Some insane
photographer is endlessly telling you to smile, and flashing something in your eyes that
makes you see spots for ten minutes, so you can't actually see anyone, including the
bride. It's an hour into the party and all you've had to eat is three chicken wings because
every time you turn around, somebody you barely recognize is congratulating you and
wishing you every happiness."
"Is this supposed to be helping me?"
"Yes."
Pacey opened his eyes. "How exactly is that?"
Jack spread his hands broadly. "You know what we didn't include in that movie you just
saw?" Pacey raised his eyebrows expectantly. Jack smiled. "You're married. You're
married to Joey. Joey's your wife."
Pacey's face slowly dissolved into a grin of recognition and something approaching
wonder. "I'll be damned," he said. "You're right."
***
Joey's heart pounded as she stood at the back of the church alone. "No one gives me
away," she had insisted, despite offers from Jack, Dawson's father, and Bodie. So there
she was, clutching the hard grip of her heavy bouquet, staring at the closed door in front
of her. On the other side, she heard the organ music drifting down from the choir loft.
Unseen rows of spectators were waiting for her, probably admiring the blue and white
clusters of flowers tied to the pews, maybe looking at Doug and Dawson and Jack,
standing in a clean, straight row, probably all so gorgeous they were stealing attention
from the bridesmaids. Andie was probably reaching the front right about now, Jen would
be about halfway down the aisle, and Bessie had just vanished through the door, a blur
of blue in the simple dress Jen and Joey had found back in Boston.
She took a breath and leaned toward the door. She could almost feel him, through the
door, across the room. She knew that even now, with him scrubbed and clipped and
ironed, if she stood just behind him and inhaled deeply from the back of his neck, he
would have that familiar smell . . . that smell like boats and water and wind. Holding the
flowers in her left hand, she curled the fingers of her right, imagining that they were
closing around his hand. Her eyes closed, she stepped forward and flattened her palm
against the cold wooden door, a smile spreading across her face. He was so close now,
waiting for her, and even though she knew it would be only literally seconds before she