"Oh no. No. Uh-huh." "What's the matter?" Jen asks, mildly amused. "You don't like creamed onions?" "No, man," he replies gravely. "They creep me out. I'm being dead serious here, too. Just, the thought of them makes me sick to my stomach. All creamy and --" (Oh-kay! Hold it right there! Gross mental images not needed, thank you very much!)
"Okay Pacey, how about this," she interrupts. "I promise to keep all offending vegetables out of your line of sight at all times. Good?" "You know Jen," he beings tactfully, "When I suggested we hook up today, this is not exactly what I had in mind." (alluding, of course to their recent Mutual Servicing Agreement, hereby referred to in this summary as MSA) Jen sighs. "Believe me, Pacey, I know. But unfortunately Grams' Thanksgiving feast takes precedence over our burgeoning sex life."
With a furtive glance around for stray friends or family members, Pacey corrects her. "We don't actually have a sex life yet, do we?" She looks at him incredulously. "What, and you actually think that that's my fault?" He nods, mildly annoyed. "Uh, yeah. I do actually think that that's your fault." "I'm sorry Pacey," she shakes her head, smiling and apologetic. "I just ... I just find it difficult to ... to watch you paw at me ... when ..." Jen dissolves in a fit of giggles, which understandably wounds Pacey's frail ego. "Foreplay is no laughing matter," he scolds. "How do you expect a guy to do his best work in the face of scorn and derision?"
Jen makes an effort to control her laughter, and explains that it's difficult because of the whole friendship thing: "It's just that we're friends, right? And seeing as how we ... we are friends, but now we're friends that ... do that ... um, it's just gonna take a little time to get used to," she finishes, flushed and embarassed, but not too much -- she still manages to discreetly suggest they could maybe find a moment later to finish what they haven't yet started?
Apologetically, Pacey shoots her down, explaining he has to go to his parents' for Thanksgiving. "Okay," Jen mumbles, her pride wounded. "I'm sorry," he says again. "I have to. I figured it's probably the right thing to do, seeing as they brought me into the world and all." She smiles sympathetically. "Gee, you sound so excited." "Oh, well, it's such a joyous occasion," he mocks. "Just imagine it -- the Witter women slaving over a hot stove all afternoon jut to be told the Butterall is too dry. And this coming from a guy who's been sitting on his derriere all day, getting drunk and watching football."
"Well, even despite the creamed onions, you gotta love Grams for offering an alternative," she laughs. "You do," he nods, then segues into something else which has been on his mind. "Speaking of ... you know, you never told me who else is coming." Jen's on to him, though. "Don't worry, Pacey. Andie politely declined the invite." He pretends he wasn't implying any such thing, but of course he was, and again, Jen can see through it. "Please," she rolls her eyes. "I think she's making dinner for Jack and her dad tonight."
"Sounds nice," he replies, but his tone belies his words. "It's good for her to have family on Thanksgiving." His heart pinned firmly to his sleeve, Jen feels genuinely sympathetic and sorry for her new playmate. "Come here," she says quietly, pulling him into a hug.
As they embrace, Pacey inhales the scent of Jen's perfume. "Good Lord, you smell good," he comments in a whisper into her hair. A giggling noise is heard, and Pacey pulls out of the embrace, bewildered. "What was that?" The look on his face is priceless, and this time, Jen full-out bursts into laughter. Pacey sighs, frustrated. "Oh, come on," he frowns, hurt. "Sorry," Jen replies, still giggling. "I'm sorry!" She can't control her amusement though, nor can Pacey control his lack thereof, as he sulks off into the depths of the supermarket, leaving a still-chuckling Jen behind.
From shopping for food to preparing it, the scene shifts to the Leery kitchen. In the background, in the family room, Armchair Coach Mitch (who doesn't seem to understand that his services leading the Minutemen to victory are not needed by the NFL) is yelling at the football game on TV -- "All right! Come on! Big play, big play! Come on! Go go go! Give him a block! Somebody!" -- while Gale is baking up a storm. Dawson enters the kitchen to find numerous pumpkin pies on display, as if waiting to be judged at a county fair. "So, what do you think?" his mother asks anxiously. "Tell me the truth. I want my contributions to Mrs Ryan's Thanksgiving dinner to be straight out of Gourmet magazine."
Dawson smiles. "Looks like the cover of their November issue to me." Gale beams at him gratefully, then decides to begin chopping up ingredients for her oyster stuffing (ewww!) while the pies cool. He thinks a moment, then asks how her apartment seach is going. "Oh, it's coming," Gale replies. "But you don't mind do you? I mean, me taking up temporary residence in the guest room?"
Her question is interruped by another profound sentiment from Mitch Ditka: "Go, go, go! Touch down! All right! Whoa!" Dawson chuckles at the familiarity of it all. "What," Gale asks. "Your father watching football and me in my apron?" On cue, Mitch walks into the room, enthusiastically informing his son he's missing a great game. He's about to launch into an explanation of just how great the game is, when he spies the pies and stops short. His mouth watering, Mitch asks Dawson to get a knife so they can see if they taste as good as they look.
Mrs. Coach calls interference, though. Gale whisks the knife away, and tells him to keep his mitts off. "Don't even think about it. I cannot show up at Mrs Ryan's with half-eaten baked goods." Mitch pouts good-naturedly. "Well, that hardly seems fair, does it Dawson? She invades the kitchen, fills the house with the scent of pumpkin pie, and then tells us we can't have any." "Fair or unfair, no-one is going to spoil their Thanksgiving dinner on my watch," Gale tells them both firmly.
Dawson, meanwhile, isn't quite sure what to make of this little Happy Family moment: "Why do I suddenly feel like I'm stuck in an episode of The Waltons?" The comment breaks Mitch and Gale out of the Ward and June Cleaver routine, and they exchange an uncomfortable glance at each other. "Honey, why don't you go and change?" Gale suggests, trying to smooth over the tension which has suddenly filled the air. Dawson looks at her strangely, knowing something is up, but not quite knowing what that something is. "Okay," he mutters and walks away.
Next-door, Jen brings her grocery shopping in to the kitchen, where Grams is beginning to plan the Thanksgiving feast. "Sam says 'hi'," Jen informs her grandmother with a twinkle in her eye. Grams' brow slightly wrinkles. "Who's Sam?" "You know Sam," Jen smiles. "The deli guy? The one with the bad dentures, liver spots and all that nostril hair." Grams looks agitated. "I think he likes you," she teases, her smile broadening.
Grams, however, isn't smiling. "Jennifer ... there's something I need to tell you ..." she begins anxiously. Jen's smile turns from one of kidding to one of patience. "Grams, I know. I know. I won't eat any of the food before the meal is served. I will clean out my closet to hang up the guests' coats in. And I will think of something to be thankful for, so I won't embarrass you in front of your prayer group." Satisfied with herself, Jen turns her attention to putting away the groceries.
"Uh, yes," Grams agrees, then stops herself. "Actually, no! No, that's ... that's not ... what I want to talk to you --" "Face it Grams," Jen grins. "You gotta relax. It's only a meal." "It's a meal with a long history," Grams begins cautiously, ominiously. "I'm sure it is." Jen nods. "I've got to go get ready. She leaves the kitchen, but Grams hurries after her, scrambling for words. "Jennifer, I just want you to bear in mind that ... that ... that --"
"-- Thanksgiving is a holiday with a tradition," Jen finishes as she climbs the stairs, Grams still in tow. "A tradition of people with differences," Grams elaborates. "Different ideas, different belief ... coming together, sitting down together, breaking bread together, in harmony --"
"Well, despite the fact that I learned all that in kindergarten when we made those little Indian construction paper head dresses, I really do appreciate the refresher course," Jen interrupts again. "But don't worry. I plan to stay as far out of your way on this thing as humanly possible --" She stops suddenly as she opens the door to her room, revealing an elegant yet nervous looking woman standing inside. "Mom ..." Jen says, stunned. Mrs. Lindley smiles wanly at her long-lost daughter. "Hello, Jen."
Meanwhile, at the Potter home, sisters Bessie and Joey are attempting to cook something to bring to Grams' later in the day. "Oh my God," Bessie exclaims. "I totally forgot ... I forgot that ... you know, I forgot that thing that goes inside the bird." She removes a browned turkey from the microwave (what the fug?). "What's it called?"
"What, the gizzard bag?" Joey repied, mildly amused. "Yeah," her sister winces, gingerly removing said object from the bird's inner cavity with a pair of tongs. "Oh, yuck." Joey wrinkes her nose. "I swear, I mean, if mom were still alive, she would probably have her own cookaying show on The Food Network by now, and look at us."
Bessie replies she's glad they're having Thanksgiving at the Ryans' as she puts the turkey back in the microwave (and I say, again, what the fug?). "Me too," Joey nods sadly. "I don't know, maybe it's just the holidays, but ... I just feel like any minute now she's gonna come walking through that door, and ..." she imitates her mother, "'Out of the kitchen, everybody'!" (Yeah, Joey. Siiigh. I know exactly what you mean.)
Back at Dawson's, Gale enters her son's room for a chat. "You're wearing a new sweater," she begins, all motherly, and gets all caught up in picking at it, adjusting how it fits him. "Mom?" Dawson replies quizzically, wondering what brought this on. She stops and apologizes, then brings up her real reason for the visit: playing Nosy Neighbours. "Um ... you know honey, I didn't want to say anything earlier in front of your dad, but. ... uh ... you're never gonna guess who I ran into this morning. Helen Lindley."
"Jen's mom?" he asks. Gale nods. "So what do you think that means?" "Well, why would I think what it means?" Dawson asks, not sure how to respond. Gale looks at her son, surprised. "You think it's not possible that this very moment the two of them could be discussing a certain half-sister?" Dawson gives her a small smile. "Well, I think it's highly unlikely considering Jen doesn't know she has a half-sister."
Gale is floored by Dawson's ability to keep the secret (as am I, come to think of it) "You didn't tell her?" "No," he admits. She smiles, proud of him. "Dawson, I'm impressed. I had no idea that you had such self-control." "Well, I'd like to brag and say it was self-control, but I think it was more gutlessness than anything," he answers truthfully (huh ... thought so)
Gale thinks a moment. "Well then, it's just a coincidence." Dawson gives her that look of confusion he does so well. "What's just a coincidence?" "Well, that one week you discover a skeleton in the Lindley closet ... and then the next the aforementioned family just happens to get together for the first time in over a year." With that, she leaves, as he wrestles with the notion internally.
Another one wrestling with the very same internal notion is Jen. Grams finds her down by the creek, collecting her thoughts. "You've been down here for nearly half-an-hour now, Jennifer. You have to come up sooner or later." "How could you not tell me that she was coming?" Jen demands, hurt and angry (and justifiably so!) Grams explains she didn't know, that Helen just arrived after her husband was detained unexpectedly in Europe on business. "Now that I can believe,"Jen says bitterly. "Probably tossing back a vodka martini about now, drowning his sorrows ... as if he actually felt any."
"Be generous, Jennifer," Grams cautions, but Jen won't hear of it. "Why?" she demands, her voice full of cold anger. "My mother isn't here because she really wants to see me. She's here because she's got nowhere else to go." "You don't know that," Grams replies. Jen snorts derisively. "You know what? You're right. I don't. How would I? The only contact that I've had with her in the past year is a phone call."
"You know what I think?" Grams says. "I think that underneath all this, you're really pleased to see her." (You know what I think? I think Grams has had her head buried in the Bible too long to remember one of the Good Book's chief tenets: Do Unto Others As You Would Have Them Do Unto You. I mean, why on earth would Jen be pleased to see her mother when her mother's made no effort to see her?)
Predictably, Jen shakes her head in a vehement fashion. "Well, maybe pleased isn't exactly the right word," Grams corrects herself. "Maybe it's more like prepared. You are prepared to deal with the past. You are prepared to ... start facing the problems between you." Jen is on the verge of tears. "I can't even look at her, let alone talk to her."
Grams suggests maybe her granddaughter can't find the right words because there's too much to say. "Jennifer, for the past 14 months I've been watching you. I've watched you change. You ... you're more serious now, you're ... you're at peace with yourself. It's ... it's like you've ... you've crossed some kind of a threshold."
"Threshold?" Jen repeats. "It's more like a crossroads, like I ... like I could just go either way." Grams smiles at her kindly, wrapping an arm around her in a supportive hug. "Well, I know that you will choose the right way." (Excuse me? Why should Jen have to be the grown up here? She's a teenager, she's supposed to make mistakes, and her mother's the adult, who is supposed to love her unconditionally!)
Jen looks down sadly. "But in the meantime?" "In the meantime ... one foot in front of the other, starting in that direction." Grams nods towards the Ryan home, as Jen looks over at it dubiously. "Come on, Jennifer. You can't stay down here all afternoon, people are starting to arrive. Besides, I'm willing to bet that your mother is just as nervous as you are." They begin to walk back home, hand-in-hand. "You think?" Jen wonders out loud. "Absolutely," Grams nods. "In some ways, the two of you are more alike than you know."
Speaking of those guests -- Jack and Andie arrive at Grams' door just as Pacey pulls up on his bike. There's a bit of awkwardness, then Jack offers him a heartfelt happy Thanksgiving. "Yeah, you too, man," Pacey replies, then looks over at his ex-girlfriend awkwardly. "Happy Thanksgiving, Andie." "You too, Pacey," she answers woodenly.
A deafening silence follows as Pacey and Andie stare at each other awkwardly. "I, uh, I thought you guys were spending the afternoon with your Dad?" Pacey eventually asks. Jack rushes to answer him. "Well, that was, uh, Plan A, but he got stuck in Chicago. You know, any other dad would find a plane, train, automobile (John Hughes reference there, heh) ... anything to see his kids. But not Joseph McPhee."
Andie, of course, rushes to her father's defense. "You know what, Jack? I'm sure he did everything he could to get here." Her comment sparks another round of uncomfortable silence. This time, it's Pacey who punctutates it. "What'd you bring, Andie?" he asks, nodding towards the pie she just placed on Grams' picnic table. "Apple pie," she replies tartly. (Tartly! Geddit? Apples are tart? Tee hee, sometimes I just kill myself, I'm sooo amusing! ... oh, never mind ... sigh)
Jack tells Pacey Andie made the pie herself, and Pacey rushes to compliment her on her baking, which she doesn't respond to. This causes Jack to try yet again to smooth over the palpable hostility which has settled in by asking Pacey what he brought along for dinner.
Pacey produces a can from a paper bag. "Um ... some cranberry sauce, in a can." He's a bit embarrassed in light of Andie's homemade offering, not to mention the disdainful look on her face, and he tries to cover it up with a self-depreciating chuckle and put-down. "A little on the
Generously, Jack tells him not to knock cranberry sauce, as "it's the backbone of any good Thanksgiving dinner." Pacey smiles gratefully, then takes a deep breath and decides to dive in, head-first. "So ... how you been, Andie?" "Me?" she shrugs dismissively with a tight smile. "Fine. Why do you ask?"
"Well, it's been a while since you and I touched base," Pacey replies. "I just wanted to check in, see how you're doing." He means it sincerely, but she's too wounded, deluded and embittered to see it that way. With a derisive laugh, she asks no one in particular, "Could somebody please tell me why guys always do that? I mean, you want to be the nice, polite friend after the break-up. You know what, Pacey? You made a decision. So at least have the strength to believe in your convictions."
He's saddened and surprised by her reaction (though he really shouldn't be). "You're right ... yeah, you're absolutely right," Pacey mutters quietly. He turns to Jack. "Um, listen ... I think, uh ... I'm just gonna mosey. You know, I ... I think I'm just gonna get off to my second stop on my Capeside tour of Thanksgiving."
Pacey picks up his bike and is ready to leave when Andie calls after him. "No, no, no. You know what, we were the ones who came at the last minute, so I really should be the one to, uh --" "Andie, I wouldn't think of it, it'll be fine --" he interrupts, ever the gentleman, but Andie finishes her thought, regardless, "-- be the one to leave."
Jack's had enough, and decides to take matters into his own hands, pulling his first bona fide, out-of-the-closet, diva hissy fit: "Look!" he points at Pacey, "You're not going anywhere," the accusatory finger moves to his sister, "And neither are you! It's Thanksgiving. Now I think it's pretty cool of Grams to play host to this group of misfits, all right? Now if the two of you can't get over your history for just a couple of hours, and enjoy the company of your friends, you should be home eating a TV dinner under a bare bulb, okay? So get over yourselves, already. God!" And with that, he storms off in a huff.
The other guests begin to assemble for Mrs. Ryan's Thanksgiving dinner: Mitch and Bessie, Gale, holding Alexander in her arms, and then Joey and Dawson bringing up the rear. "It's weird to see your parents together," Joey comments innocently. Dawson snickers. "They seem to be getting along?" she suggests. Again, a snicker of contempt. "So it would appear."
Just then, Grams and Jen come out to greet their guests. Jen takes everyone's coats and carries them up to her room, where she finds her mother putting some lipstick on in a mirror. "Sorry," Jen says uncomfortably. "I didn't realise you were still here." Unceremoniously, she throws the coats down on her bed and heads towards the door, but her mother asks her to reconsider, suggesting they share, because after all, it is Jen's room now.
Jen's still upset though, and won't let her off that easily. "Nah. I ... I was just gonna drop these coats on the bed. I'm sorry." She begins to leave again, when her mother calls after her. Mrs. Lindley gestures to the back of the unzipped dress she is wearing. "Um ... would you mind?"
Hesitantly, her daughter goes over to her and zips up the dress. "Thanks," Helen says softly, watching them both in the mirror. "My God, you're getting so beautiful." Jen looks down at the ground, silently. The expression on her face changes from mild uncomfortableness to outright awkwardness.
"I'm sorry, did I say something wrong?" Helen asks, full of concern. "No, no," Jen answers quickly. "I ... I ... I was ..." She stops, flustered and unsure exactly what to say. "Tell me," her mother gently asks. Jen wavers at first, not sure whether she wants to share her thoughts with her mother or not, but eventually, she confesses them anyway. "I was just remembering ... how I used to watch you in the mirror when I was little ... watching you put on your lipstick, brushing your hair ... I studied your every move."
"Like I was the most important person in the world," Helen smiles. (okay, I know that was meant in an affectionate manner, but it came across as extremely arrogant to me!) "Something like that," Jen mutters.
Another wave of discomfiture settles in between them, and Helen breaks the ice. "Here, I have something for you." She rummages around in her suitcase and presents Jen with a small velvet-covered pouch. "Mom gave these to me when I was about your age, and I figured that it's ... um ... about time to pass them on."
Jen opens the pouch to find a set of pearls. "They're beautiful, Mom. You know I've always thought so." She stares at the necklace a moment. "But I can't." Her mother is taken aback. "Why not?" "Because where would I wear them? Yeah, I mean at home, maybe -- I mean in New York, maybe ... but here? This is where I live now."
Her mother suggests she save them for a special occasion. "Mom, you're the one who taught me ... pearls lose their lustre if you don't wear them." Jen regards her coldly. "I guess they're like people in that regard ... you should keep them close to your skin." "Jen, please," Helen begs, but Jen stiffly announces she needs to go help Grams in the kitchen and walks out of the room.
Seems the only kind of help Grams needs is of a spiritual kind. As she pulls dishes out of the cupboards, Dawson and Joey come in and offer their services. "Is there anything we can help you with, Mrs Ryan?" Joey asks politely. "Pray," Grams answers bluntly. Dawson smiles. "About anything in particular?" "General prayer will be fine," Grams states as she walks out of the room, dishes in hand.
As Grams walks out, Jen walks in, visibly upset. "Jen!" Dawson smiles. "Hey, rumour has it your Mom's in town?" "Yeah," Joey pipes up. "Are we gonna get a chance to meet her?" Jen begins tearing through the cupboards, looking for nothing in particular, just wanting to avoid her friends' eyes. "Um, I would love for you guys to meet her," she begins. "I ... it's just that we seem to be having a little failure to communicate right now. She's currently primping in the mirror ... I'm sure that she'll be down shortly."
Still avoiding their questioning looks, Jen crosses to another part of the kitchen and continues her mindless fumblings in the cupboard. Dawson asks if she knew her mother was coming. "Uh-uh," Jen replies, tight-lipped. "Big surprise. Guerilla style. Seems my mom is a graduate of the Ho Chi Minh school of parenting."
As tactfully as he is capable of asking, Dawson enquires if there may be any other reason other than Thanksgiving for the visit ... any news on the home front, perhaps? Jen slams the cupboard door shut. Obviously, she doesn't know what Dawson is really getting at, so she replies to what she thinks he is getting at. "What, you mean is she begging me to return home to the familial fold? I don't think so."
Typically, Dawson presses the issue. "Well, did you talk to her? I mean it's ... it's been a long time. She must have a lot to tell you." "Like what?" Jen demands. He shrugs, grasping at straws. "Maybe she misses you. Maybe she ... she's sorry she sent you away. You know ... I mean, I know she hasn't alway been there for you --" "Dawson, ever since I was 13-years-old, that woman has done nothing but stare at me with a look of mild disregard, like I was some stranger who spilled a cocktail on her carpet."
Jen's sharp words cause all three to reflect for a moment. Jen's too angry to continue, and Dawson and Joey aren't sure how to respond. Finally, Joey decides to try and reach out to her former nemesis. "Jen ... um ... we're all strangers to our parents," she says as delicately as possible, trying to control her emotions. "I mean, they love us, but they don't really know us. And sometimes, before we get the chance to know them, they're gone. So we can't ask them all the things we want to know about turnips or turkey gizzards, or ... you know, what they were like when they were young."
Suddenly, Jen clues in to her own thoughtlessness, and at the deeper meaning Joey was aiming for. She apologies. Joey tells her it's okay, but Jen says sorry again, feeling guilty for forgetting Joey's motherless state. Joey doesn't want her sympathy, though. "No, look. What I'm trying to say is ... would you give her a chance? She's your mom, and um, the reality is is that she came here today to talk to you, and ... to be with you. And I think you owe her that much."
A short time later, Mrs. Lindley is reflecting on her last exchange with her daughter, by the creek. Dawson walks up to her and introduces himself. They exchange pleasantries about the weather, and Helen comments how she sometimes forgets how magical Capeside can be.
Dawson's not here for the small talk, though. "Um, you should know that ... that Jen and I ... actually dated for a little while. We are ... we're still very good friends, and I care very deeply about her." Mrs. Lindley is mildly amused, but pleased, by his confession. "Well that's nice to hear, Dawson. I'm glad that Jen has a friend in you."
Plucking up his courage, Dawson tells her there's something else she should know. Helen waits expectantly. He draws in a deep breath. "All right, it's not going to be easy to say this, so I'm just going to say it, and you can tell me if I'm out of line."
Of course, Helen has no idea where the conversation is heading, so she humours him, her expression a cross between amusement and curiosity. "A few, uh ... not too long ago," Dawson begins, "I met a girl who was just passing through Capeside, and I, uh ... got to know her a little bit, and it came out that she had been given up for adoption. Um ... she'd just recently discovered this and she was determined to find her birth mother."
Suddenly, Helen's expression changes from bemusement to cool detatchment. "What does this have to do with me, Dawson?" Dawson swallows nervously. "Mrs Lindley, this girl was carrying a picture of you." Jen's mother's tone of voice betrays the icy calmness on her face. "And, uh ... where is she, is she still here in town?" she asks, trying to sound casual.
"No," he replies quietly. "She's not. By the time I'd realized who she was, she'd left." Helen bristles almost imperceptibly, a flicker of guilt flashing over her face. Dawson stares at her. "So it's true?" Instead of answering, Helen asks if Jen knows anything about the situation. "No," he smiles sadly. "I ... I wrestled with telling her, but I ... I ultimately decided it was not my place, which is why I'm really glad you're here."
Instead of being grateful for his discretion, Helen coldly informs Dawson that this is a very difficult and personal issue. He begins to reassure her. "I'm sure it is --" "And as you said, the girl is gone," she interrupts. "So I don't see any reason for Jen to know anything about this." Dawson blinks. "That's not entirely true. I mean, there's nothing preventing Eve coming back into town, and --"
"Eve?" "That's her name," he explains. "Eve Whitman. And for all I know, she could approach Jen herself. Something tells me that this information would be much better coming from you than from her." Mrs. Lindley doesn't take kindly to being told what to do by teenagers who have dredged up long-dead skeletons in the family closet. "Remember when you asked me to tell you if you were out of line?" She regards him with an air of calculated superiority.
Instantly, Dawson is apologetic. "Look. I ... I'm not an authority on functional families, all right, but ... but I've seen what happens when families keep these kinds of secrets from each other. I just don't want to see Jen get hurt." "Neither do I," Helen counters icily, walking away.
Back at Grams', Jack and Pacey are setting the outdoor (in NOVEMBER?) picnic tables for the meal, as Andie looks at Pacey wistfully from the porch. "It gets easier, you know," Joey sympathizes, walking up to her. Andie looks puzzled. "What does?" "Being in the same room as him," Joey answers softly.
"Does she every ask about me?" Pacey asks, searching Jack's eyes for the truth. Jack looks sad. "What do you think?" "I'm thinking she'd probably hate me right about now," Pacey says miserably. "Nah," Jack smiles. "Only every other day." Pacey looks over at the porch as wistfully as Andie looked over at him only a few moments earlier.
Joey tries to impart some sisterly advice to Andie as a "veteran of multiple break-ups with the same boy." She wants Andie to know she understands, and that the dark nights will pass and eventually Andie will find peace. "I wish I could believe you, Joey," Andie whispers, almost in tears. "Because sometimes, it is so unbearable ... and it's like this feeling of being uncomfortable in my own skin, and it's like I have to keep busy, because if I stop, even for just one minute, all I can think about ... is how badly I hurt him and how badly I got hurt."
A few feet away, but safely out of earshot, Jack and Pacey are still getting the table ready for dinner. "Well, it's not a judgement, it's a fact," Jack states. "I mean, you broke my sister's heart." "She broke mine," Pacey counters. "Okay," Jack nods. "So ... imagine how much pain she's in." (Nuh-huh. Sorry, Jack. I know she's your sister and all, and I'm glad she's feeling remorseful, but what she did was unforgivable)
By this point, Andie and Joey have gone into Grams' living room to continue their conversation. "So ... uh, you guys have gotten to be pretty good friends lately," Andie suggests lightly, but you just know she wants the dirt on her 'competition.' "Yeah," Joey nods. "I mean, Pacey's a doofus, but you know, he has his moments."
"So ... uh ... so ... does he talk about me?" Andie asks her hopefully. Joey looks uncomfortable. "Not really, Andie." Her words almost bring tears to the other girl, so Joey quietly explains herself. "I mean, you know Pacey. If he can't come up with a clever quip about something, then he goes stoic. The way he feels about you, he keeps that close to his heart. It's really precious to him, Andie."
A little while later, the entire gang -- plus three or four weird strangers who I'm guessing constitute Grams' aforementioned prayer group -- has gathered around to eat their Thanksgiving dinner. Ever the gracious hostess, Grams asks for everyone's attention, then instructs them to stand and join hands to say grace. (AFTER the meal? Oh-kay ...) It's to be a round table, person-by-person recount of what each person is grateful for, and Grams volunteers Dawson to start.
"I would like to give thanks for the wonderful food that was just on our table," he begins. "Great cranberries," Mitch whispers to Pacey, who chuckles to himself. Dawson continues. "Um ... I'd also like to give thanks for the opportunity to gather with friends and family, who, in the best of all worlds are the one and the same."
Everyone is suitably impressed, and the torch gets passed along to Pacey, who wants to express his thanks to the the ladies of the Ryan brood for "an outstanding meal, and an afternoon of peace, both of which will be sorely lacking from the noisy, dysfunctional feast I'll be having in about 45 minutes."
Sympathetic laughter ensues until Andie speaks somberly about what she is thankful for: "First of all, I'd like to thanks Mrs Ryan for her kindness, and for welcoming me into her home at the last minute. But I guess what I'm most thankful for ... is my friends. All of you around this table have helped me in so many ways that you'll never know, and without you I'd be lost," she finishes on the verge of tears.
Jack's turn. "Uh ... I'd like to give thanks ... for the kind of people that take strays into their life. You know, the kind of person to whom it doesn't matter whether or not you're family. Just that you have a home." (awww!)
Grams smiles benevolently at her "grandson." "It's my turn, I guess," Joey says next. "I guess I'd ... I would just like to give thanks to all the people we love who aren't necessarily here with us today for whatever reason. Just because they're not here doesn't mean we love them any less."
"It's your turn, Jennifer," Grams prompts. (you can just imagine her crossing her fingers under the table, praying that Jen's words won't be too disrespectful!) "Let me think," Jen sighs. "Well, in keeping with the theme I guess I'd like to give thanks for second chances. For the opportunity to try and rebuild bridges once thought beyond repair. And for the promise of many more Thanksgivings to come."
Grams is as pleasantly surprised by Jen's eloquence as Helen is upsetby it. "Excuse me," she whispers, leaving the table in a hurry. Grams stands up to follow her daughter, but Jen tells her grandmother she will go instead.
Jen catches up to her mother back in the fields by the creek, where Dawson talked to her earlier. They walk side-by-side in silence for a bit. "I didn't mean to upset you by what I said," Jen explains. "I was just being honest." Helen shakes her head. "You didn't upset me. I was just thinking."
Jen frowns. "About what?" "Well," Helen replies, a faint whisper of emotion creeping into her voice. "Maybe I did something right for a change." "What do you mean?" "Sending you to live with Grams," her mother says simply. Jen shot her a pointed look. "Sending isn't the way I'd put it."
Helen nods. "Fair enough, Jen. But I don't think you realize how lucky you are. I've been searching in vain for friends like that all my life." "Well I'm glad that makes you feel better, but ... as good as friends as they are, they're not family," she replies, then stops to face her mother, who admits Jen may be right.
Inspired by her mother's small concession, Jen uses the opportunity to tell her how she really feels, how her life has been devloped since being sent to Capeside: "I mean, this past year has been anything but easy for me. I've ... stumbled and picked myself up, and stumbled and picked myself up, over and over and over, with no safety net."
The subtle accusation isn't lost on Helen. "I know I should have been there for you ... I should have written or called." The tears shine in Jen's eyes. "So why didn't you?" she asks quietly. Helen has no defense. "I wish I could tell you that. For a thousand different reasons ... I kept wanting to." "You have no idea how much that hurts," Jen tells her, her voice full of pain. "What did I do that was so bad? What was so wrong?" "Nothing, Jen," Helen tries to reassure her daughter. "Nothing so wrong." "Then what?" Jen demands. Helen sighs. "Let me try and explain this ..."
Mitch and Gale are sharing a seemingly cozy after-dinner chat outside at the dinner table, when Dawson asks if he can join them. His mother tells him she was very proud of what he said over dinner, while Mitch pipes up that Dawson should try his mother's pie.
Ozzie and Harriet Leery go back to munching on dessert and chatting amiably, but Dawson's had enough of the confusion. He eyes them critically. "All right, guys, that's enough." A frown washes over Gale's face. "What's wrong?" "You two, acting like Rob and Laura Petrie," Dawson replies. (okay, close enough) "One more moment of false sitcommy good cheer and I'm gonna throw up your oyster stuffing."
His mother is taken aback. "We're just trying to become friends again, Dawson." "Friends, or more than friends?" he criticizes. "Mom, you move back into town and you take up residence in our guest room. What is that supposed to mean? Are you part of the family, or are you a tenant, or ... what?"
"It's not that simple, Dawson," Papa Mitch responds. His son sighs heavily and sits down to join them. "It never is with you two. All right, look. I'm obviously out of the loop here, but maybe that's for the best, okay? I mean, because the last I want to do is get caught in the middle of your drama. But guys, if there's something going on that affects me, then I need to know about it, okay? You guys have to be honest with me." It's a fair call albeit an uncomfortable one, as Mitch and Gale share an uneasy glance with each other and begin to broach a very difficult subject indeed.
As the Leerys begin to tackle a tough topic, the Lindleys are just finishing one up. "Okay, let me see if I understand," Jen begins, her face full of disbelief. "Mother finds daughter in compromising situation, and, instead of sharing her own experiences as a teenager when ... when she actually got pregnant and had a child, mother instead turns into a hypocrite and sends her daughter into exile?"
"It wasn't only me, there was also your father to consider," Helen explains. "Just for a minute, try to put yourself in my place." Jen is unrelenting in her anger, and justifiably so. "Why didn't you tell me this earlier? Didn't you once think that maybe it would help with what I was going through, that you would make something easier on me, instead of pushing me away and turning your back?"
Ever the ice queen, Helen calmly informs her daughter, "It was a shameful secret, a secret I've had to carry for over 20 years." (A-HA! So NOW we know how old Eve is, the lil'cradlerobber!!) Jen returns her mother's cold and aloof glare (hereditary, maybe?) "So the answer was to then make me fell dirty and ashamed?" Helen hurriedly tells Jen that was never her intention.
"You know what I think?" Jen asks angrily. "I think you're just afraid of Dad finding out about your indiscretion. The story of my life -- just waiting for the day that you decide to take my story for once over his." Then Mrs. Lindley delivers the one line which in my mind makes her a truly evil, unfeeling bitch: "You can think what you want, Jen. But I was not, and am not, prepared to wind up alone." (Nice. Rather than defend her own flesh-and-blood to her husband, she sides with him for security's sake and pushes her daughter into oblivion so it won't remind her of her own former transgressions. Nice mother, no?)
Fortunately, Jen's response not only puts her mother in her place, but it shows once and for all, just how strong Jen is and how far she's come since moving to Capeside. "And that's the difference between you and me, Mom," Jen informs her. "Because I would rather be alone than in a pathetic, loveless marriage." With that, she leaves, despite her mother's pleading for her to stay.
Jen turns back to face her. "Mom, you are the most intensely selfish person that I have ever known." Helen is as remote and composed as ever, even in the face of such criticism. "God, I mean look at you!" Jen continues contemptuously. "You can't even cry! Something's taken that away from you. You're numb, and you know what? You look grateful for it. You know why you're so afraid of being alone? Because the day you are, you're going to have to look inside of yourself and you're going to see what I've known for a long time ...there's nothing there." With that, she leaves for good this time.
Whilst on the subject of leaving -- Bessie is ready to depart after the dinner, Alexander in tow. Joey begins gathering up her things, but Bessie tells her to stay with her friends just as Dawson approaches. After her sister and nephew depart, Joey turns to Dawson. "So ... I, uh, saw you huddled up with your parents over there. What's going on with them?"
"The final chapter of the Mitch-Gale saga," he says sadly. Joey asks for clarification. "The divorce is final," Dawson explains. "The Leerys of Capeside are officially finished as a family." Joey's eyes speak of all her heartache for her best friend. "You know how sorry I am." He nods sadly. "I know." "So ... what did you say to them when they told you?" "I really let them have it this time," Dawson tells her. "I lookayed them both in the eye, and I said ... Congratulations."
Joey gives him a sad half-smile. "Good for you, Dawson." "Yeah," he replies, returning her smile, "But you know what? I figure after a year of iffing and butting, any decision is a good decision. Right?" Joey agrees wholeheartedly, and he continues. "You know, I mean, besides ... the only homes we have are the ones we make ourselves." Joey nods, the same sad, strange smile still on her face. "I know what you mean."
Enough of that, Dawson wants to change the subject. "So! What do you say we really cut loose tonight?" Joey casts a suspicious look at him. "Yeah," Dawson reassures her. "Act out our teenage ennui in wanton, destructive ways." Joey grins playfully. "What do have in mind?"
"Sex ..." Dawson lets the word linger in the air long enough for Joey to give him a questioning look, before finishing with, "... drugs ... rock 'n' roll." He laughs. "Or, we could just sit right here and have a mind-blowing three hour conversation."
Pacey is leaving the party, headed for the Witter house of horrors, when Jen ambushes him and pulls him by his shirt. "Uh ... where are we going?" he asks, a tad nervously. "To the gardening shed to play in the enriched potting soil," Jen growls, dragging him into Grams' garden. Pacey's confused. "Did I, uh ... miss something here?" "No. We agreed to be available at a moment's notice," Jen replies firmly, dragging him into the shed. "Besides, don't you like getting dirty?"
"I ... I ... I do, but you see ... I ... I don't want to seem like a prude here, Jen, but I actually," he glances down at his watch quickly, "I really can't do this right now." Jen's in no mood for excuses and begins tugging off his jacket. "Come on, Pacey. I can say with absolute certainty that there will be no giggling right now."
She moves in to kiss him, but he pulls back and frowns. "You ... you, just, uh ... need to give me a second to catch up here." "Pacey, our arrangement precludes any sort of emotional foreplay," Jen informs him in an agitated tone. "Yes, it does," he agrees, removing her hands from his shirt. "Which, by extension, also precludes the idea of angry sex." Jen gives him a hurt and cross look, but remains silent. "Now you want to tell me what just happened with your mom?"
"Nothing." Pacey won't buy it, though, and his silence forces her to fill the air with more words. "Okay ... long-story-short, like mother, like daughter. Seems I'm not the only girl in the Lindley family who can't say 'no'." Pacey nods sympathetically. "Ah, well. Wake up and smell the sanctimony, Mom." Jen nods back bitterly. "My sentiments exactly. I plan to file it under I wish I never knew."
Pacey tells her not to be so hasty. "For what it's worth, as a guy who has just gone through this himself, what just happened to you is a defining moment. When you come to see your parents as human beings, with their own problems, it is, Oddly ... kind of liberating. And when you realize they're way more messed up than you are, it's not worth your time or energy to go on despising them for it." His words strike a chord in her, and Jen begins sobbing as he hugs her closely to him.
A short while later, Hurricane Helen is ready to blow out of Capeside. Jen walks up to her just as her mother is about to get in her car. "Leaving so soon?" Ever-calm, Helen tells Jen she thinks she's wreaked enough havoc for one holiday, and begins to get in the car. Jen studies her a moment. "If you're worried I'm going to spill your little secret to Dad, don't. I won't get in the middle. It's your marriage, and your life."
"Jennifer --" her mother begins, but her daughter overrides her. "But I don't regret saying any of the things that I did. I won't take them back." "I deserved them," Helen tells her sadly. "I deserve everything that happens to me." (Anyone feel any pity? ... Nope, me neither.)
Jen asks her mother what she means by that. "Don't marry a cold man, Jen," Helen advises ruefully. "Don't wake up at 40 and realize that one false move and everything you've built your life around could be pulled out from under you." Jen shakes her head, not comprehending her mother's true position. "Why don't you just divorce him?" "I can't." Jen asks why not. "Because do you realize what happens to women like me when their marriages fail? The charity events stop, the social register inexplicably loses your address, and you disappear. You just disappear." (Oh boo-freakin'-hoo. My heart bleeds buckets for you)
Something suddenly dawns on Jen. "Since you put me on that plane I always thought that you hated me. But you never did, did you?" Her mother sadly shakes her head. Jen nods, understanding it all now. "If anyone, you just hated yourself. God, if I had realized that, the past year would have been so much easier for me."
Her mother tells her she's sorry, and this time it almost sounds heartfelt. It does to Jen, at any rate, who accepts the apology graciously. Helen smiles at her daughter wistfully. "I guess now I have to stop worrying that you'll turn out like me ... because you're already so much stronger than I ever was."
Grams walks up to them at this point, and the three generations of Ryan women stand there with their arms around each other. "I guess I should be going," Helen finally announces, and Grams bids her daughter goodbye. In turn, Helen bids her daughter goodbye, promising to call sometime (Jen, don't hold your breath) and drives off into the night. "You all right?" Grams asks her granddaughter. "Yeah," Jen nods. "I'll be fine."
In the distance, Joey and Dawson and Andie and Jack are sitting drinking mugs of tea and hot chocolate around a small bonfire. Jen begins walking towards them, when a familiar figure sidles up beside her on his bicycle. She turns to him, smiling broadly.
"Pacey ... what are you doing here?" He shrugs. "I just couldn't do it. You know, I got right up to my front door, and I thought to myself, 'What the hell am I doing here?' I mean honestly, who would I rather be spending my time with -- my family, who thinks I'm an idiot, or my friends, who think I'm an idiot?"
Jen smiles as they start walking towards their friends. "Well, I'm glad that you're here." "Yeah?" he says, returning the smile. " No hard feelings for this afternoon?" Jen blushes a little. "Except the ones of utter embarrassment. No, I'm sorry about what happened."
"Sorry?" he repeats incredulously. "There's no need for you to apologize to me. I know this may be a little hard for you to believe, but actually, it's not everyday that a beautiful woman throws herself at me." Jen laughs out loud, then seriously thanks him after her giggles have subsided. He looks at her in confusion. "For what?" "Conduct above and beyond," she grins. He grins back. "Ah, it was nothin'." Jen laughs again. "Pacey, you're a 16-year-old boy -- that must have taken superhuman restraint." His grin broadens as he drapes a friendly arm aroud her shoulders. "Oh, Jen ... you have no idea ..."
The pair of them approach the other four at the bonfire. Pacey notices an empty spot next to Andie and politely asks if the seat is taken. "It is now," she tells him, smiling. Dawson surveys his friends. "You know what I'm thinking? It's been kind of a while, you know, since we all ended up in the same spot together. I must say, it's nice."
Jen nods in agreement. "You know Dawson, you're right. I feel like I'm in the middle of, uh ... A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving Special." Andie jumps in animatedly. "Oh, I loved that one! That's the one where they all eat on the ping-pong table, but it keeps collapsing, and then they end up making the popcorn!" Pacey gives her a silly, sweet look.
Ever the cynic, Joey notes a group hug might be a little premature. "I'm sure we'll find a way to be estranged again in no time." Dawson smiles at her honesty, then proposes a toast with his hot chocolate. "Well before we do, I would just like to say that in a world where people who raise you end up letting you down, it's an honour and privilege to have you guys to turn to."
"Well, I can't wait for the Oscar speech," Joey quips. "I mean, there's not going to be a dry eye in the house." The others laugh good-naturedly, sip their beverages and chat as we ...
Fade to black ...