He can't believe he hadn't noticed it till now; the purple toothbrush standing alone in the teal, ceramic holder as he uses his.  He's still in the middle of brushing when he picks up it up to look at it, amazed that finding these little pieces of her almost two months later can still reduce him to a sentimental mess.
 
He makes sure to get to work early that Monday, wanting to return it to her without creating an awkward scene with everyone else around.  He decides to be bold and sit at her desk, hoping to make her laugh at the image when she walks in the door.  Sure enough as soon as she steps in, she shakes her head and smiles.
 
"Finally got that promotion?"

"How come you never told me you have an entire control panel back here?  It's like a Star Trek episode.  I had no idea you had so much power.”
 
She hangs up her coat and tries to mimic him as she leans against the desk.  But she's so small that it comes up to just to her torso so she doesn't have to lean over at all.  He's pretty sure he's never seen anything so cute in his life.
 
"So what are you doing here so early?  Besides stealing my job," she asks, taking one of her own jellybeans.
 
He retrieves the toothbrush from his bag, holding it up triumphantly.
 
"Now, I'm not sure what to make of this.  Because if it's been at my place this whole time, I'm a little concerned about your oral hygiene."
 
"I bought a new one, jerk," she teases, snatching the toothbrush from him.  "Thanks for finding it though.  I can't believe I missed it when I was--"
 
Silence settles around them now, as they both relive that awful day, full of boxes and tears and palpable tension that resonated throughout each other's homes.
 
"Well, anyway, thanks.  Hope it wasn't taking up too much space," she offers with a smile.
 
"Not at all.  See?  You were practically moved in, after all."  As he's saying the words he knows it's a mistake, and the expression on her face confirms it.
 
"Yeah, you're right.  Toothbrush, my entire home, totally the same thing."  He can hear the bitterness in her voice, but he can feel something inside snap and instead of backing down, he continues.
 
"Not like you were at my place every single night, anyway.  I can see where the transition would have been really difficult."
 
"I'm not getting into this, again.  I just can't--"
 
"You never got into it, never wanted to talk about it.  That's why we're here and not--"
 
Dwight comes in then, stopping short at the sight of them.  
 
"That's not your desk," he accuses.  Jim rolls his eyes, snatching his bag as he storms over to his desk to bury his face in his hands.  He tries to catch Pam's eye the rest of the day but she remains expressionless, focused only on her computer and barely making eye contact with anyone else in the office.  At the end of the day, he lingers as he puts on his coat, hoping his nearby presence will at least get her to look at him.  When she still doesn't look up, he finally breaks the nine-hour silence.
 
"Have a good night, Pam."
 
She looks at him with tired eyes, not even trying to attempt a smile.  "You too, Jim."
 
It's void of emotion or feeling, and all the hope he'd been storing up until that point vanishes.  He collapses on top of his bed as soon as he gets home, ignoring the bad taste settling in his mouth as he succumbs to exhaustion.

She stares at the E-vite, making sure that it is her name and not some new person he’s met named “Fam.”  But it’s right there, along with a cute animation of dancing hamburgers and hot dogs announcing that Jim is having another BBQ.  She’s surprised she even got an invitation, frankly, after the “incident” that, even two weeks later has still managed to have a painful hold on her.  She takes a deep breath, and hits the “accept” button, a rush of relief and anxiousness simultaneously running down her spine.

The night of the party comes much too quickly, and like a sixteen-year-old girl she stands in front of her bedroom mirror, trying on sweater after dress after blouse after top before sticking with a classic comfortable sweater and jeans.  She does take a bit more time with her hair though, justifying that she doesn’t get a lot of opportunities to go out anymore and there’s nothing wrong with making a little bit of effort.

She’s digging through her closet for shoes, the black strappy ones that are just nice enough for a party without implying anything, when she bumps her hand into it.  The box.  The box that she’s only looked at once, on the day that it happened, and poured her tears and probably some Kleenex into.  She’s feeling sentimental so she takes it out, carefully opens the lid and sees it all.  Little mementos, things she’s saved but can’t bear to get rid of.  Silly things like movie stubs, Post-its, flower buds, paperclips.  She holds them in her hand, like artifacts that might crumble if handled too roughly.  She finds a cheap, plastic horn from their first New Year’s together, and remembers the laughter and champagne and the way her heart went crazy with anticipation as the seconds inched closer to midnight.  There’s a pink and a blue one, since she’d stolen his and had intended on showing him her collection at some point.  They just never quite got there.

He won’t look at her at work anymore, he gave up on that when she had reduced her morning greeting to a polite nod.  And she suddenly feels sick at the thought that even after all of that, he still had the decency to invite her, to at least extend a chance for them to get back to being friends.  Just friends, she thinks to herself sadly, and stashes the two horns into her purse.

It’s weird being at his place with everyone from work.  She remembers it only from before , when she was his only guest and the living room was used for things other than mingling and serving guacamole.  She goes to the patio, casually glancing around for a sign of him, and takes a beer from the cooler.  She spots Andy milling around, with a look that resembles some kind of wild animal on the prowl, and she turns to high-tail it back into the house when she runs into something tall and made of cotton.

“Careful,” he says, saving her beer from toppling over.  

“Oh, hey, sorry about that,” she fumbles.  “Andy,” she nods her head behind her.

“Oh, right.  Yeah, I think he’s used to women running in the opposite direction whenever he’s around.  Can’t imagine why…”

They laugh but soon there’s awkward silence, and they can’t quite seem to make steady eye contact.  But they can’t seem to move from their place either.

“Great party,” she offers.  

“Thanks.  It’s kind of a relief knowing that no one’s going to break into my room to snoop.”  He grins at her and she marvels at their recovery time from fights, even after all this time.

“I don’t know; you get a couple of tequila shots in Kelly and who knows what will happen.”

“Which is exactly why I didn’t buy any hard alcohol.”

And then it happens, the eye contact that she’d been so scared of and yet so hopeful for.  It lasts for seconds that feel like minutes and she has to say something before she drops her Heineken for the second time that evening.

“Oh!  I just remembered…” she says, digging into her purse.  “This is going to sound kind of lame, but I found this,” she says, presenting the blue horn to him.  “And I thought ‘Hey, what’s a party without party favors?’”  Her sentence echoes in her head and she starts looking for a hole she can crawl into for actually saying that out loud.

“But it’s not New Year’s,” he says with a crooked smile.

She mistakes her embarrassment for bravery and shrugs.  “You never know.”

She walks back inside, and smiles as she hears him nearly choke on his drink and begin to cough roughly.  

“Beesly,” he calls, and she whips her head around with a little flourish.

“How about a tour?”

She frowns.  “Umm, I pretty much know—“

“Yeah, but I did something with that spare bedroom, finally.  I want an artist’s opinion.”

Her breath hitches but she nods, and she jumps a little bit as he hand presses gently into the small of her back as he leads the way.

He opens the door for her and she’s now more confused than ever, as the room looks exactly the same as it did before, except for the soft shade of green that now covers the walls.

“You painted.”

“I, uhh, actually did this before we…you know.”  He shuffles his feet and looks down at the ground.  “I guess green is supposed to help fuel creativity and I thought that it would work for an art studio, or something…”

Her head spins and she can feel a familiar lump start to rise as she takes in what he’s trying to say.

He gives that half-smile again and starts to move towards the door.

“Something to think about.”

xxx

She only stays in the room, her room for a few minutes before she moves determinedly through the house to find him.  She sees him talking to Oscar and forgetting any sort of manners, she interrupts them.

“Can I talk to you?”

Oscar gives them both a look and moves away quickly, hiding a smile behind his wine glass.  Jim stares at her before shoving his hand in his pockets and looking away.

“I know, it’s probably too much and I shouldn’t have shown you—“

“Remember when you got the place with Mark?  How I helped you move in?”

He nods slowly, eyebrows moving closer together in confusion.

“I was kind of hoping you could return the favor.”

He’s only confused for a split second more, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“I mean, my stuff’s not that heavy, and there’s not much of it, probably wouldn’t take too—“

He seems to have forgotten about the party, or the way her bottle is digging into their stomachs, or the fact that everyone is blatantly staring at them.  It’s Kevin’s cat-call that finally breaks them apart, but they still don’t look at anyone but each other.

“Would it be really rude if I just ended the party now?” he asks a little breathless.

“Yes,” she says, slipping her hand into his.

“Damn.”

“You’ll live.”

He winks and squeezes her hand, taking her with him to find Oscar and resume their conversation.

They don’t let go the rest of the night.