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

Pacey, on the other hand, was usually a little salty, or even garlicky. Not that you
remember.
Dawson smiled at her and went back to trying to sleep. As Joey settled back in her seat,
she gazed at him and smiled slowly. There weren't really any seasons in southern
California, but if there were, she would have said it had been a good fall. They had a
little apartment, for which they paid an ungodly sum they never could have afforded
without the benefit of some probably ill-gotten gains her father had managed to stash
away for her before he died. Dawson was in school, hanging out with people who were
just as pretentious about movies as he was, and Joey was waiting tables, which she
figured made her an honorary actress. They spent a lot of time at the movies, and a lot
of time cooking and doing the laundry and basically having the life she'd been afraid she
couldn't have anymore after her father died. It wasn't exciting -- nothing like sailing down
the coast with Pacey, a memory that had become so distant she could barely catch hold
of it anymore. Imagining herself doing such a ridiculously impulsive thing was just about
impossible. It was, however, the first time in her life she'd ever lived in a place that felt
like it was her own, and when she walked in the door at the end of the day, there was
peace, and that meant everything.
They'd sort of slipped noiselessly back into dating, or whatever it is you're doing when
the rules are that you're living together but not sleeping together -- that kissing is
allowed, but walking around naked is not. One day, he'd just kissed her, as if he'd been
doing it all along. As if they hadn't been broken up for years. It was like going back to a
house she'd once lived in, where there weren't any new rooms to discover, but at least
she knew where everything was.
The plane floated toward Massachusetts, and Joey began to rehearse what she'd say.
How happy they were in California, how eager she was to start school in the fall.
"Probably art history," she whispered confidently to the back of the seat in front of her.
She'd have to say something about the apartment. "Small, but comfortable, you know . .
. "
She worked every day at not missing Pacey, which unfortunately felt a lot like missing
him. Whenever she and Jen talked, Jen would pass on news about him, pretending to
be casual, and Joey would listen to it, pretending to be uninterested. Her favorite line
was a practiced, neutral, "Oh, really?" There seemed to be quite a collection of girls
here and there, silly flirtations that seemed destined to come to nothing. The fact that
this came as a relief always felt like a distant ominous lightning bolt. Someday, she'd
think, he really will meet someone. She tried not to think about it.
***
Pacey was standing on the porch of his house enjoying the chill of the afternoon when
he heard the unmistakable McPhee war cry, a veritable explosion of perk that nearly
shook the earth. "Paaaacey!" Andie bounded toward him with abandon, screaming
something in French that he assumed meant something like, "I'm so happy to see you,"
but that she, as usual, delivered as if it were more like, "Your hair is on fire." Jack trailed
behind her, grinning.