“It’s not too late to cancel on them,” I whisper softly against the sensitive flesh beneath her ear.  Joey laughs and pushes my hand away from her breast. 

“Pacey,” she admonishes with a smile, moving out from where she’d been lying beneath me on her bed.  She straightens her black sweater and refastens her jeans as she says, “They’re going to start showing up in like, ten minutes.  It would be rude.”

God forbid.  Burying my face in the soft warm pillow her head had been resting on just moments before, I breathe in the lingering scent of her shampoo and control the impulse to say it aloud.  She’s been happy and upbeat all day about the five of us spending time together, and I don’t want to burst her idyllic bubble.

“Get up, you need to bring the TV from Bessie’s room in here,” she says, standing up and moving to her desk to clear it off.

“Why aren’t we just going to watch it in the living room?”  I ask, sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of her bed.

“Well,” she answers as she stacks books and college brochures on the floor beside the desk.  “The living room has got to remain immaculate, because Grandma Beth will be bringing her white gloves.  Before she left with Alex for Bodie’s parent’s house in Boston, she told me that if we messed up the living room she’d make me clean the bathrooms twice a day instead of only the once.”

“Good point,” I give her.  “Though how you can pass up the chance to see those scrubbing bubbles in action, I don’t know.”

She pauses long enough in her tidying to throw me an exasperated glance over her shoulder and I hold my hands up, surrendering.  “I’m going, I’m going.”

When I reach her bedroom door, her voice stops me.  “Thank you,” she says when I turn back toward her.

“No problem, Jo.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head slightly.  “Not for getting the TV, for -”

“Like I said, Jo.  No problem,”  I tell her. 

She offers me a soft smile and I leave for Bessie’s room.

There is a problem, however, but it’s not the one she’s thinking about.  She’s worried that Dawson and I are going to be uncomfortable around each other, that we’re not going to be able to spend more than five minutes together in peace.  She’s hoping that tonight will be the first of many spent with the “gang”, as it were, rebuilding and repairing friendships.

I already know how this is going to play out, I can see it now.  Dawson and I are going to be polite to one another, we’re going to laugh at each other’s jokes, and we’re going to make everyone uncomfortable because they’re going to be waiting for one of us to snap.  It’s not going to be me.

This is important to her, that he and I become friends again, the way we used to be.  And while in many ways I want that too, I think I see the situation a little more clearly than she does. 

Dawson and I are never going to be the best of friends, ever again.  Too many lines have been crossed, too many words have been said.  And I’ve made my peace with that. 

Joey hasn’t, though, and that’s why she invited him tonight along with Jack and Jen.  I know she didn’t invite him because she still has lingering feelings for him, but I’m not so sure that Dawson is aware of that.

The way he accepted her invitation, the look in his eyes gave him away.  He still loves her, still wants her, and still believes that she belongs to him.

To remain in her life, he has to accept that we’re together.  That’s why he speaks to me, why he acknowledges me at all.  I know that‘s why he‘s made an effort to be civil to me, but Joey doesn’t.   Or she’s deliberately choosing to ignore it.

The doorbell rings as I’m carrying the medium sized television back to Joey’s bedroom.  Let the fun begin.

I’m setting up the television on her desk when Joey comes back in, followed by Jack and Jen.

“Oh look, it’s Handyman Witter,” Jen teases me as she takes her coat off and drops it on the chair.

“Hey guys,” I greet them.  I plug in the television while Jack settles himself on the floor and Jen flops unceremoniously onto Joey’s bed. 

Joey is flipping through the stations looking for the right channel and I offer to go get the snacks.

“Thanks, honey,” she says, distracted.  “There’s some cold soda in the fridge and bring back a few bags of chips from the pantry.”

I’m halfway to the kitchen when Jen calls out to me for Diet Pepsi and I’m filling my arms with snacks when there’s a knock on the back door.

When I open it, Dawson’s standing there and the smile on his face melts quicker than ice cream in July.

“Hey,” I say and turn back toward the kitchen, leaving the door open.  After a pause he comes inside and shuts it behind him.

“Hey,” he responds, just as blandly.

“Can you grab some soda from the fridge?  Jen wants Diet,” I say, my arms full of various bags of potato chips and cheese puffs.

“Sure,” Dawson says.  He looks inside the fridge for a moment and looks puzzled.  “Don’t they keep the soda in the door?”

“No, they hide them in the crisper from the over-caffeinnated kid,” I say, referring to Alex.

“Ah.”  He grabs an armful of soda, along with Miss Jen’s special request, and he follows me back to Joey’s room.

“Look who I found,” I tell everyone, and from where they’re lying side by side on the bed, Jen and Joey greet him.  Jack waves from where he’s sprawled out on the floor.

“Hi, guys,” Dawson says, handing out sodas. 

Stepping over Jack’s legs, I sit down on the floor and lean against the end of the bed.   Jen reaches over my shoulder and grabs a bag of Doritos and I offer Jack a choice of Cheetos or Pringles. 

“Toss it,” he says, indicating the latter.  He offers some to Dawson, who’s passed out the drinks and sits beside him.

Once we’re all settled in as comfortably as we can be in Joey’s small bedroom, someone hits the light and the movie starts.

A Christmas Carol is the classic holiday movie of our generation.  We’ve grown up with it, seen it multiple times every holiday season.  Which is why, only ten minutes in, the movie is completely forgotten in favor of conversation.

“Andie always hated this movie,” Jack says, laughing around a mouthful of Pringles.  “She said that it was such a pessimistic outlook on such a beautiful holiday.”

“How is Andie doing?” Joey asks, snaking a hand over my shoulder and into the bag of Cheetos on my lap.

“She’s good.  Our grandparents are meeting Andie and Dad in Paris and they’re going to spend the holiday there,” Jack tells us, his smile dimming noticeably.  He doesn’t want to talk about it.

“I, for one, have always loved this movie,” Jen announces, taking the focus off Jack.  “More so these past few years when I’ve watched it stone cold sober.  The jokes are funnier when you get them.”

“Speaking of your sordid past, why are your parents coming here for Christmas?” Joey asks rather tactlessly.  Gotta love her.

“Damned if I know.  They won’t be here until the 23rd, though, because of their annual Christmas party.  If they’re even still having them, I mean.  The last one I attended, I caused quite the scene,” she laughs, and the underlying bitterness in her tone is plain to one and all.

“What happened?” Dawson asks from where he’s sitting against the wall, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle.

“Do you all really want to hear this?” she asks. 

The chorused response is affirmative and she sighs.  “If I tell my sob story of Christmas past, I want one from each of you in return.”

I turn my head to look at her and make a rolling motion with my hand to urge her on.  “Come on, Lindley.  Spill already, I‘m dying of curiosity here.”

She makes a face at my impatience before taking a deep breath.  “Every year since I can remember, my parents have always held these elegant parties on the Saturday before Christmas.  Anyone who was anyone on the Upper East Side attended, and for a few years there, the Society columnist covered them for the paper.”

“Wow,” Dawson said, giving voice to everyone’s thoughts.  It’s hard to remember that Jen is a fallen wealthy debutante, she’s so down to earth and real.

“Yeah,” she agreed.  “Until a few years ago, Christmas for me meant that from the beginning of November, my mother would be even more distant than usual while she spent every waking moment planning the party.  And I have to give her credit, they are spectacular parties.”

“What are they like?” Jack asks, crunching his chips loudly. 

“As a little girl, I thought they were magical,” Jen says, sounding just a touch nostalgic.  “Every room had it’s own tree, decorated differently.  One would be done in white with crystal ornaments or decorated with strings of expensive hard candies and gourmet popcorn while another would be covered with actual candles.  Beautifully dressed guests danced to music played by the five-piece orchestra and waiters in tuxedos carried trays of rich hors d'ouerves.  And my mother, gorgeous in her designer gown, was always the belle of the ball.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Joey says, her voice wistful.  She’s never seen anything like what Jen’s describing, never had anything close to what Jen took for granted.  One day, she will.

“As I grew older, however, I began to realize that not everything was as beautiful as it appeared.  The beautifully dressed guests?  Smiled and waved to one another and spent the evening gossiping about their supposed indiscretions.  Alcohol flowed freely and since nobody noticed me, nobody noticed if I drank it,” Jen continued.  “That is, of course, until I stumbled into one of the more expensive trees and knocked it over into the orchestra.”

I’ve seen her fall-down drunk before, but I still can’t picture the scene she’s describing.  “Poetry in motion, eh?”

“Well, at least I made the party memorable.  Somehow, though, my mother wasn’t so appreciative,” she snorts indelicately, shaking her wavy blonde hair as she laughs.  “By the next year, I was here in Capeside and spent the holiday cooking with Grams.  I’m not saying that I was entirely thrilled listening to her recite passages from the Bible while I had my hand up the ass of a dead bird, but . . . it’s been a nice change of pace, these past few years.  Grams has been my saving grace.”

“Grams rocks my world,” Jack agrees and we all laugh.  We love Jen’s grandmother, and not one of us here hasn’t been touched by that woman’s kindness and loving nature.  “If not for you two, I’d be living alone and celebrating Christmas with the family fish.”

“We’re glad you’re living with us again, Jack, really,” Jen tells him.  “Grams has someone to cook for who eats like a horse, and I get to have my best friend around all the time.”

“I don’t eat like a horse,” Jack defends himself to a roomful of people who’ve seen him go back through the lunch line for seconds on Tuna Surprise day.  “I happen to enjoy her cooking, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Jen agrees.  “It’s just a good thing you work out so much, because those three bowls of Frosted Flakes you had this morning would go straight to your hips otherwise.”

“Seriously, though,” Jack says.  “It’s nice to spend the holidays with family, even if it’s not your own.  I remember the last time my whole family spent Christmas together, before Tim died and my mom got sick.  Andie and I got up really early and woke Tim, and then we went downstairs and sang Christmas carols at the top of our lungs to get to Mom and Dad, who had firmly told us that they did not want to rise before eight.”

He’s fidgeting and playing with the threads of the carpet and he continues remembering.  “Last year was so different.  “Tim was gone, Mom was in the hospital, I was out which Dad didn’t accept, and Andie was perpetually happy.  I‘m just saying . . . I‘m really thankful for you and Grams.”

All eyes are on him and he begins to grow more and more uncomfortable, so I do a little spotlight stealing. 

“I know where you’re coming from, man.  You’re not the only one who’s attached himself to an unsuspecting family like a stray dog,”  I say, and the girls’ laughter floats down around me. 

“Pacey!” Jen mockingly coos, rubbing the fuzz on my head.  “You’re not a stray!”

“You’re not a dog!” Joey likewise protests in an exaggerated girlie tone, winding her arms around my neck and rubbing my chest. 

“Thanks,” I laugh, taking Joey’s hands in mine as she rests her chin on my shoulder.  “You’re liars, the both of you, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“You haven’t attached yourself to my family,” Joey says.  “If anything, we sucked you in.”

“What?  That’s crazy talk, Potter.”

“No, it’s not,” she says, and I cut in before she can protest any further.

“Are you gonna let me tell my obligatory tale of woe or not, Jo?” I ask her, leaning my head against hers.

Jack throws a chip at us.  “Come on, Pace.”

“Okay, okay.  Last year around this time, I felt like things were finally going my way.  Like my life was beginning a well-deserved upswing, you know?” I said, jumping right in.  “Andie and I were passed the worst of post-breakup angst and well on our way to becoming friends.  Jen and I were better friends than we were before our brush with casual sex -”

“Mainly because every time we “brushed” I couldn’t stop laughing.”

“-and Joey and I were spending time together and finding out that we actually could, contrary to all laws of God and man, get along and even enjoy each other’s company,” I said, and Joey pinches me, laughing.

“Who knew that not only could you express thoughts and ideas in a coherent manner when you weren’t busy insulting me, but you could listen, too?“ she exclaims cheerfully.  “Not me.”

“And who would ever have guessed that once you get past the bitter, sarcastic hostility, you’re actually kinda nice?” I ask her.  As she plants a kiss on my cheek, I continue on with my story. 

“So even my father and I were getting along.  We’d been having actual conversations that had nothing to do with my grades or how once again I’d embarrassed him in the eyes of the community.  We’d been talking about going camping and doing some fishing, and he said that we should make a whole trip of it, just the two of us.  That came as a total surprise, because usually camping trips are reserved for him and Doug.  Never me.”

“Doug camps?” Dawson asks, surprised.  “I’d think roughing it in the woods would be just a little too . . .”

“Manly?” I suggest.  “Yeah, it’s not one of his favorite activities.  But if Pop wants to camp, they camp.”

“So what happened?  Did you two fight?” Jack asks. 

“No, but I think that was because he and I both realized that it was Us against Them.  My house was crammed full of Witter sisters and their daughters, which made eight women in the house ranging in age from 4 to 44.  Mom, Gretchen, Kerri, and Maggie, and my nieces; Natalie, Erin, Megan, and Amy.”

“Wow,” Jen comments.  “No wonder it never creeps you out when Joey and I discuss cramps right in front of you.”

“Jen!  God,” Dawson whines, and we all laugh.

“Yeah.  Moving right along in the conversation to much more pleasant topics, like humiliation in front of my entire family,” I say.  “For the entire month I’d searched for the right present for him.  And I found it in the form of a really nice, really expensive fishing rod.  On Christmas morning, screaming munchkin girls dragged me downstairs and we opened our presents.  When he opened mine, the fishing rod never connected in his mind to the conversations we’d had about going camping when the weather warmed.”

“What did he say?” Joey asks, toying absently with one of the buttons on my shirt.

“He said, ‘Well thank you, Pacey.  A fishing pole is a great thing to have in the middle of winter.’  I don’t know if he was joking or not, but the girls sure thought it was funny.  Even my Mom laughed, and she knew what the damn thing was supposed to mean,” I say.  “I went outside and built snowmen with the girls, who just really have way too much energy and love to scale Mount Pacey two at a time.  I didn’t care, as long as I was away from my father.  And then you called, and invited me to open presents and have Christmas dinner with you.”

“I hadn’t seen you since school let out for winter break, and I missed you,” Joey says.

“Funny how ‘I miss you, Pacey’ came out sounding a whole lot like ‘If you don’t come over and distract me, I’m gonna kill Alex.’ But I had missed you, too, and I figured nobody would care if I spent Christmas evening with you all.  I was right, they didn’t,” I tell her.  I can remember hearing Alex screaming his head off in the background when she called me.  I knew she missed me and I knew those words would just not ever pass her lips that day.  “So I left for your house and I was damn glad I’d bought you a CD and not something mired in meaning.”

“You got me Fiona Apple’s When the Pawn.  I’d been wanting that for awhile but didn’t have the money since it came out around the holiday buying season,” she says.

Jen pipes up at the mention of angry chick music.  “I love Fiona.  Nobody can make you want to wallow in your own misery and angst better than she can.  Except, perhaps, for Sarah McLachlan.”

“She’s great to listen to when you’re alone and bitter for want of a man,” Joey agrees.

Jack laughs, saying, “Yeah, that reminds me.  Thanks again for lending it to me, Jen.”

“Anytime, girlfriend.”

“Can I finish here?” I cut in, laughing along with the rest.  “I get to Joey’s house and I knock instead of walking right inside like I had for the past few months while working on the B&B.  When Bessie answered the door, she pulled me inside by the coat and put Alex right in my arms cause really, I guess I have ‘I’m A Wonder With Kids’ written on my forehead.  Joey was setting the table and Bodie was pulling a turkey out of the oven.”

I take a drink of Joey’s soda before continuing.  “Dinner was delicious and nobody insulted each other and I was actually included in conversation.  It was then, sitting around their table, that I felt like I was spending the holiday with people who gave a damn about me.  With family.  And that theory was only reinforced when Bessie made me do the dishes.” 

“But I dried them,” Joey says.  “And then we all watched Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in the living room.  When you were about to leave, I ran to my room to get your present and then out on the porch, we exchanged gifts.  I was so surprised that you remembered me mentioning that I wanted the CD.  I loved it.”

I smile, remembering the gift she’d given me. “You got me this really great shirt. You knew the size and everything.  Of course, it was ugly as hell in your opinion, but that was just you giving my questionable fashion sense a nod.”

“You looked so delighted that I’d gotten you anything at all.  And then you hugged me and . . . it was what I really needed.  To be held tight by a good friend on Christmas, of all days,” she says, and there’s a certain sadness in her voice that I’ve heard before.

“Cause of your mom,” I say gently, and she squeezes my hands a little tighter.

“Yes,” she says quietly.  With our heads resting together, I can’t see her expression.  But I’ve seen her face when she speaks of her mother, and it’s hard for me to deal with.  I can’t make the pain of her mother’s death go away, but I hope I can make it easier for her to bear.

“My mom always loved this time of year.  Out of all the holidays, Christmas was her favorite by far.  She loved singing the carols, loved the cheesy decorations, loved curling up with good books on cold winter days.  I remember this one year, Bessie was maybe my age and I was seven or eight,“ she says wistfully, her voice beginning to quaver a little.  “Mom woke us up at six in the morning on a school day to go outside and play in the first snow of the season.  It’s . . . hard for me to see snow falling sometimes, because I want to share it with her so badly.  I know that must sound stupid.”

She pulls a hand free from where our fingers lie entwined on my lap and wipes her eyes. I’m quick to reassure her.  “It’s not stupid, Jo.  It’s nice that you have those memories of your mom.”

“Yeah . . . “ She takes a deep breath and she takes a moment to compose herself before continuing.  “And last year, I woke up earlier than anyone else and I went out to the living room and I cried.  I tried to be quiet and I don’t know if I was what woke her, but Bessie came out and she found me sitting there in front of the unlit tree. We sat there together, going through old photo albums and talking about Mom.”

“I can’t imagine how hard the holidays must be for you guys,” Jen says softly.

“It’s easier when you have people in your life that care about you.  Even if they haven’t suffered the loss you have, they empathize, they comfort . . . and that was why I called Pacey.  At that time, Dawson and I had just started to really talk again.  Jen was deep in the throes of her Freshman-boy phase, and Jack and Andie were in their little McPhee bubble.  Pacey and I had gotten closer and closer while we worked on the B&B together, and it actually wasn’t all that horrible to realize that he was my best friend,” she says, her tone warm.  Laughing a little, she adds, “And thinking of him wearing that God-awful shirt I’d gotten him cheered me up a little.”

We all laugh, glad she’s broken the mood.  Nobody here enjoys seeing Joey Potter cry, least of all me.

Joey sniffles delicately and I motion to Dawson to toss the box of Kleenex from the shelf above him.  I catch it easily, nodding my thanks. 

Holding a tissue to her nose, I say, “Blow, Potter.”

She does so, loudly, and I toss the tissue in her little tin garbage can.  “Feel better?”

“Less snotty.”

Dawson snorts with laughter.  “Well, that’s good, too.”

“What about you, Dawson?” Jen asks.  “Where’s your depressing story?  You’ve been quiet all night.”

He shrugs his shoulders, smiling somewhat sheepishly. “My story is corny and trivial, at best.”

“We’re not expecting something of astounding cinematic proportion here, Dawson,” Jack says.  “Come on, man.”

“It’s required,” Jen reminds him.

“Okay, but remember.  I told you it’s corny.”

“Just get on with it, Dawson,” Joey encourages.

“Last year was awkward at my house, to say the least,” he begins.  “My parents had just recently had their divorce finalized and it was the first Christmas they’d spent not as a couple in over twenty years.  So how did they spend it?  Together at the Leery house, so that I wouldn‘t be shuttled between parents on Christmas.”

“That had to be weird,” Jack comments.

“Well, yeah.  They kept remembering past Christmases, then trying not to remember them.  Laughing and talking, then politely arguing.  It was a mess and horribly confusing all the way around.  Dad got Mom a cookbook, and Mom got Dad a tie.  Mom rarely cooks, and Dad doesn’t wear ties.  I wanted to crawl in a hole.  I wanted to go to Joey’s house like I had when we were eight,” he says.

Dawson looks into her eyes then and I know he’s doing his best to concentrate on her and not the fact that her chin is resting on my shoulder, that her arms are snaked over mine in a continuous hug. 

“Remember?”

“Vaguely.  We waited up for Santa, right?” she asks.

An expression passes over his face so briefly that I can’t name it.  Embarrassment?  Resentment?  Jealous I’ll-never-get-over-it angst?  I don’t know.

“Yeah,” he answers.  “We fell asleep around one a.m., having ate all the cookies and drank all the milk we’d set out for Santa.  My mom came and got me first thing in the morning, and I remember we were so upset that we’d missed Santa.”

“I remember that,” she says.  “You were crushed.  You wanted to film it.”

He looks nostalgic as he gazes toward the window, a small smile on his face.  “I miss the days of being able to wholeheartedly believe in Santa. Of being able to believe in that magical legend who brings presents to every child from an endless bag of gifts.”

Jack is trying hard to keep his face composed, and Jen isn’t having much luck containing her mirth.  Giggles escape her and soon we’re all laughing, so hard that tears stream down our faces and our sides ache.

Jen desperately tries to get herself under control, and manages to only long enough to ask, “You still wait up for Santa, don’t you, Dawson?”