All in all, the interview was going well. David still remembered the night he and Jim had played one –on-one in the backyard of his house, which led into a conversation about Jim’s glory days playing first string varsity in high school. That segued into a jocular tete-a-tete about the merits of the Sixers. David was a Celtics fan, a holdover from his own days at Tufts. Neither of them had much to brag about that season.
    “Hey, do you have your quarterly numbers?" David asked.
   Jim was happy to oblige. This quarter had been good. He was well over his quota. Dwight’s momentary departure had spread the leads round the office, and Jim had picked up the slack left by other members of the sales team. David also wanted the HR questionnaire. It surprised Jim that they asked him to fill one out before he even had the job. Preemptive. A good sign. Jim was looking for all the good signs he could get these days. He reached into his messenger bag and pulled out the folder.
    “Sorry to make you fill that out,” David said.
    “Oh no, absolutely.” Jim brushed it off.
    “Stupid HR formality,” David remarked.
    David kept talking, but something fell out of Jim’s folder, distracting him. A phone message taped to something. A yogurt lid. A yogurt lid? As Jim read the message, you could have knocked him flat: “Don’t forget us when you’re famous. Pam.” Pam. She must have slipped it into his bag yesterday, before he left Scranton with Karen. The note was simple enough to figure out. Just the well-wishing of someone with whom he had worked with for the last several years, someone who had subtly but distinctly encouraged him that he had more within him, that the best parts of himself were being left at the front doors of the Scranton Business Park every time he stepped inside the building.
But the yogurt lid? What did that have to do-?
    “How do you think you function here in New York?” David asked.
    Back to reality, Jim. But reality was distant, and David needed an answer to his question. Jim soldiered ahead with an answer that filled the space in the conversation, but Jim hadn’t the slightest idea what he was saying. The yogurt lid. He tried to place it in some kind of context. Gold. Like a medal. An Olympic Medal. Jim suppressed a smile as he flashed to a day, almost two years ago, when Michael left the office to close escrow on his condo. He took Dwight with him, leaving no one to even try to rule the roost. As with so many other times, a moment of playfulness with Pam grew to include everyone in the office as they played the “Dunder-Mifflin Games.” It was even the day when Phyllis came out of her shell, beating Kevin in that one game, what did Pam call it? Flonkerton! Yes! Phyllis started dating Bob Vance, Vance Refrigeration, a week later. They even included Michael in the fun, albeit without his knowledge, when Jim presented him with a gold medal for signing the papers on his condo. Jim’s eyes drifted back down to the note. "Don't forget us when you're famous. Pam"
    “You’ve been at the Scranton branch a long time. What have you liked most about that place?” David asked.
    He was still thinking about the “Dunder-Mifflin Games.” Toby racing Oscar around the office, full coffee cups in hand. Kevin eating as many M&Ms as he could. Learning how to play “hateball” from Oscar and Kevin. Dunderball, the game that Toby and Kelly played. That was a great day.
    "Don't forget us when you're famous. Pam" As much as life at Dunder-Mifflin Scranton was a dull, melancholy toothache in his life, there was no way he would ever forget a day like that.
    “The friendships,” Jim answered. One friendship in particular.
    “Okay. Well, we want the person who takes this position to be here for the long haul. So… Long haul, where do you see yourself in ten years?”
    Jim paused, considering the question. As he answered David's question, Jim knew it was over. He wouldn't get the job. During Jim’s senior year, his high school had made it all the way to the Area finals in basketball. Even though they had led throughout the first half, as the team made their way to the locker room, Jim knew that they were going to lose the game. He just knew it. By the end of the first half, Kennedy High, from Wyalusing, had applied a double team to Bobby Decker, Jim’s teammate and the best player their high school had seen in ten years. Kennedy covered the rest of the floor with a zone defense. They lost the game. All Jim could do was watch it happen. But high school was ten years ago. Jim was much better at dealing with disappointments. As he watched himself go down in flames, Jim didn’t feel all that disappointed.

He left corporate headquarters, feeling the momentary pull to reach for his cell phone. However, he paused when he saw Jeffrey, the director, and the rest of the second unit of the documentary crew across the street. It was strange. Sometimes he was so aware of them that it stiffled his impulses. other times, they were flies on the wall. Jim held onto his phone, but waited until he was out of sight before making the call. It rang twice on the other end before she picked up. “Hey Halpert.”
    “Hey. I just got done.”
    “How’d it go?” Karen asked.   
    “It… Can we meet? I need to talk.”
    “Sure. There’s a Starbucks down on the corner. Let’s meet there.”
    He could hear the joke in her voice. “There’s a Starbucks on every corner of every street in America, Filippelli. Narrow it down.”
    “Liberty and Nassau. There’s one there. It’s closer to you, so save us a seat.”
    “You want me to order for you?”
    “Sure. The usual.”
    Jim arrived first, ordering a grande regular for himself, and a Venti iced mocha for Karen. He sat at a table near the front of the store. Privacy was nice, but this conversation needed to be as public as possible.
    Karen arrived with a smile he had seen before. It was an anticipatory smile, the same smile she’d used when he picked her up for their first date.
    “You got me the iced mocha,” she said, surprised.
    “Yeah,” Jim said.
    “I usually get the hot version.”
    “Really? I could get you another one.” He knew that she never got the iced mocha. If she were going to throw the drink in his face based on what he was about to tell her, he’d prefer it to be cold.
    “Nah, it’s okay. So how’d it go?” she asked.
    “I… don’t think I’m going to get the job. And since Michael’s our only competition,” he paused, “You should expect David’s call.”
    Genuine sorrow and disappointment crossed Karen’s face. This surprised him. “Damn,” she said, “I thought you’d be a lock.”
    “Really?”
    “Yeah, I mean, you’re a great salesman. You and David totally hit it off when the two of you met. You got the look down. If there’d been money riding on this, I woulda bet on Halpert. I woulda taken odds.”
    Jim remembered the day when he and Pam, and Daryl from the warehouse, had talked Michael off the roof of the building. Karen lost a lot of money that day. She would have lost more today.
    He forced the smile off his face and looked at her. The disappointment was still there, wondering what had all gone wrong. Jim realized this was not a standard-issue reinforcement talk from the girlfriend. She honestly thought he was going to get the job. Her pronouncements about a congratulations party for herself, pronouncements that had annoyed him so much on the drive down and, for him at least, killed what was supposed to be a fun night in New York, were just that: talk. Just a lot of smack talk, like when he and Mark would play one-on-one at the YMCA on Tuesday nights. Even if Karen had a flawed, ironic way of expressing it, she really did believe in him. It was one of the things that attracted him to her.
    Realizing this made breaking up with Karen much more difficult. Jim drew a deep breath and let it out. He felt helpless, wishing he could say what was true but paradoxically unable to say it, because the truth had become cliche, scripted, and absolutely unable to believe. Karen was a great person. She would find someone else. It wasn’t her; it was Jim. She deserved someone better for her. All these things were true, and there was no way she was going to believe any of them because they had been used to death since… whenever. He hated everyone who had ever used a line like that without meaning it, himself included.
There were so many things about Karen that fanned his attraction to her, but Jim couldn’t escape the foundation of that attraction. Those things all reminded him of Pam.
    “Jim, what happened at the interview?”
    “I realized I didn’t want this. Any of it.”
    “It’s a great job, Jim. It gets us both out of Scranton.”
    Jim took another deep breath and tacked in another direction. He asked, “Did David ask you the ‘ten year’ question?”   
    “’Where do I see myself in ten years?’ Yeah, he asked me.”
    She seemed about to say more, but Jim was making a point here. He needed to get this done. “Karen, I can’t do this anymore,” he said.
    “Do what?”
    Here we go. “This.” Jim paused.  “Us.”
    The disappointment melted off her face the way the faces of all those Nazis melted at the end of the Raiders of the Lost Ark. Terror remained, of the arrival of the inevitable. “When David asked me the question,” he trailed off before continuing, “I don’t really know where I saw myself, but it was… not here. I wasn’t in New York working at corporate. And I was with Pam.”
    She looked off and then up, avoiding eye contact. Jim worried that she would cry. That would be worse than pouring her mocha on his head. Or in his lap. He wasn't sure why it would be worse. It just would. He saw sadness creeping in around the corners of her eyes, but somehow he could tell it wasn't a prelude to tears. Karen wasn't the kind to cry. At least, she wasn't the kind to cry in front of people. She simply said, "Pam."
    "Yeah."
    "The elephant in the room," she added.
    Karen eyes still refused to look at Jim, and the silence between them became almost Pinter-esque. Jim wanted to say something, but like a Mirandised suspect on Law and Order, he remained silent, thinking it best to let her drive the conversation. She reached for her mocha, and in the moment before she took a sip, Jim wondered if dry-cleaners could get coffee out of a suit, how much that would cost, and would it just be easier to write off the loss and make another trip to the Men's Warehouse. Karen finally said, "I should have broken up with you a long time ago."
    Jim said nothing. Their eyes finally met. He should have felt more hurt by what she said. After all, women had told him that before, using those exact words. However there was something in those clear, pretty eyes of hers that lacked malice or anger. She was simply stating the facts.
    "I knew you had feelings for her," she continued, "I mean, God, I asked you point blank. And you admitted it." She read the confusion on his face and clarified, "That one day, the day Oscar came back."
    "Yeah." Agreement seemed like a safe option.
    "Tell me something, Jim," she began, "What's she got that I don't?"
    It was a good question. Jim wanted to have an answer, a laundry list of reasons why he and Pam were a better fit. That she was warm and welcoming, funny, laughed at his jokes, joined him in pranks against Dwight and Michael, encouraged him to reach beyond himself, challenged him to not settle, thought he was brilliant, wanted the best for him. All of these things were true about Pam, but they seemed to be after the fact. In certain ways and certain contexts, they were just as true about Karen. What it came to was that he loved Pam, because she was Pam. And he was Jim. It was  as simple and uncomplicated as it was in junior high, when you carved your initials into the trunk of a tree. JH hearts PB. Like sodium and chlorine, they simply came together in such a way that something new and wonderful was the result. Jim rejected the idea of soulmates, one person for one another, and all that garbage, but this was how the universe had chosen to organize itself. Sodium and chlorine. Jim and Pam. No wonder they called it "chemistry."
    "I don't know," he told her. "I think you and I make it work. But it feels like it should be easier than this. And I don't know how to explain it except that she's who I want. I was wrong to string you along all these months, to put you in the middle of my... situation. And I'm sorry."
    "I almost fell in love with you Halpert," she said with a crooked smile, but without accusation. She said it as though it was something that she would have enjoyed but never got the chance to do, the way someone mourns not going to Europe after college.
    "Same here."
    "See, now you're just trying to make me feel better."
    He had to concede the point. "I hope you find someone, Karen. And of course you will. You are far too great to spend your life alone."
    The tears began to form, and she dabbed her eyes. "Shit. I hate doing this," she said.
Jim reached in his pockets for something, but came up short. He didn't know why he bothered. He didn't carry Kleenex or anything like it. Still, it felt like the chivalrous thing to do.
    "Jim, can you do me a favor?"
    "Sure."
    Karen stood up. She said, "I'm going to the bathroom. I'd really like it if you weren't here to see me like this when I come back."
    He gave her one last look before saying, "Yeah. Absolutely."
    "Thanks," she said as she grabbed her purse and walked towards the back of the store.
Jim remained in his seat for a few moments before realizing that she might not be that long. So he stood, cleared his part of the empty cups and used napkins, and left.   
It was time to return to Scranton.
 
    Years later, when the documentary miniseries finally aired, the producers chose to cut between Jim's interview and a conversation between Jim and Pam on the shore of Lake Scranton, after Pam had poured out her heart following a walk across a pit of burning coals. Jim could see why the producers had made such a choice. It suggested that the conversation was playing out in Jim's mind during the interview. The only problem was that it wasn't true. He never thought of that conversation during the interview. However, he thought of nothing else for the entire drive home, replaying it over and over again like a favorite song in the jukebox of his mind. One moment in particular. After confessing to Pam that he had felt like he had never really returned to Scranton, she simply said, "Well, I wish you would."
    As he sat in early rush hour traffic, all he could think about was "Well, I wish you would."
    He thought about it when the traffic cleared, just after he got on I-80. "Well, I wish you would."
    He was still thinking about it as, overwhelmed with hunger, he stopped at a diner outside Stroudsberg and was barely able to give his order to the waitress. "Well, I wish you would." He told the waitress about the last year, about dating Karen, Pam's invitation to coffee, the prank that prompted Andy to put his fist thorugh the wall, how she left with Roy at Phyllis's wedding, their conversation in the break room after Roy had tried to deck him, her heartfelt declaration that she missed him, their conversation at the water, and "Well, I wish you would." Wiping a tear from her eye, the waitress thought it was as close to a green light as a woman could give without posting a message on the Jumbotron at a Phillies game. Jim took that to heart. She wished him luck and gave him free fries. He tipped fifty percent.
    "Well, I wish you would." Jim arrived at Dunder-Mifflin Scranton just before four. He bounded up the stairs, two, three at a time, wanting the answer, wanting it as soon as possible. It was a question that he had been asking himself off and on for... well, since the day he met Pam for the first time. Most of the time he had asked it, the answer had been, "probably not." Certainly at times over the last year, he hadn't cared about the answer, though he was sure on one of those occasions that the answer would have been "yes." Now, for the first time that he could actually think of, he wanted the answer that he thought he was going to get. It thrilled him.
    She wasn't at reception when he walked in. Instead he saw Ryan, who looked up at him with a smile as he walked in. Two things disoriented Jim. First, where was Pam? Second, why was Ryan smiling? It wasn't like Ryan to smile at work. Ryan hated working at reception almost as much as he hated dating Kelly. Maybe that was it. Ryan got an afternoon off from listening to Kelly hold court about everything. An afternoon away from Kelly would have made Jim smile. The day that Michael took over Jim's desk while Daryl and Roy ripped out the carpet in Michael's office had dislocated Jim to the desk next to Kelly for the entire day. It was the longest day of Jim's life. Dating her must have required Herculean effort, and Jim often didn't know whether to admire Ryan for his patience or pity him for lacking the courage to break up with her. Or put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger. For just a moment he disliked that he thought that about Kelly. She had the softest heart of anyone Jim knew. It was just that more often than not, it was turned in towards itself like a black hole of benign narcissism. She wasn't very smart, either.
    However, there was something about Ryan's smile that Jim found unsettling, as if he knew something that Jim didn't.
    "Hey," Ryan said, "How'd it go?"
    "The interview? Went alright."
    "You think you'll get it?"
    Jim shrugged. "Maybe I'm just being pessimistic."
    Ryan's brow furrowed. "Where's Karen?"
    "Oh. She stayed behind. Wanted to see some friends while she was in town." Jim felt Ryan's eyes probing him for clues and he wanted to change the subject away from Karen. "Is Pam around?"
    "She's talking to the guys in the Conference room."
    Jim had turned away on the work "conference," almost running into Stanley, who looked at Jim with the barest of awareness and without asking about the interview. The more things change... From the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Dwight and Andy (or was he still calling himself Drew?) painting Michael's office. There was probably a story there. He'd find out later. Jim could hear her voice from inside.
    "Pam!" Jim said, shoving the door open. "Sorry," he said when he caught their confused glance of Ken, the director, and Randall, the cameraman. Jim saw a thought pass over Ken's face and had a pretty good guess what was going through his mind, because win or lose, Jim was about to give them a moment of great television. "Um, are you free for dinner tonight?" Jim asked.
    "Yes," she said as though she completely missed the implication of what he was asking and simply answered the question.
    "Alright. Then it's a date." He couldn't help tapping on the door jam, needing to burn off the sudden flood of excitement pouring into him.
Jim closed the door and turned away. He tried to play it cool, avoiding the questioning looks from Kevin and Toby as he made a straight shot to the bathroom. Only when he locked the stall door behind him did he allow the unabashed smile to run riot over his face. He was going on a date with Pam. Jim could barely believe it. This day was never supposed to arrive. Jim was going on a date with Pam.
    "You okay in there?" The voice belonged to Kevin.
    "Yeah, Kev. Never felt better." He wasn't sure if that was true, but he felt better than he had in as long as he could remember.
    "Did you get the job?"
    "I don't know. I don't think so."    
    "Oh. That's too bad," Kevin said, but with a touch of happiness in his voice that Jim found complimentary.
    "Yeah, well, win some, lose some."
    "Is Michael getting it?"
    "I doubt it."
    "Karen?"
    "That would be my guess." The possibility suddenly struck Jim that the woman with whom he just broke up was going to be much higher on the chain of command than he was. If hell truly had no fury like a woman scorned, then this could make life difficult, but Jim pushed the thought out of his mind.
    "Okay," said Kevin. He shuffled out the door, leaving Jim alone once again. He stood there for a moment, hands in pocket, his heart thumping like John Bonham's kick drum. He was going on a date with Pam.
    As he walked back to his desk, he saw Ryan walking back to his desk. Purgatory, thy name is "Kelly." However, Ryan's expression belied where he was going. If pressed for an answer, Jim would have described it as the look of a prisoner who truly believed he was going to make parole. He didn't know why he would have described it that way. It was just a feeling.
    "Hey Jim," Ryan said as they passed.
    "Yeah."
    "I just wanted to say... whoever gets the job, I've enjoyed working with you. And of the three of you, I'd want you to get it."
    "Thanks, man." Jim offered his hand. They shook.
    "Let's get a beer sometime."
"Count on it. If you ever get free of Kelly."   
    "Yeah." Again, there was a tone in Ryan's voice. Jim couldn't get to the bottom of it. Anyhow.
    Jim turned and headed back to his desk, tossing a glance over at reception. She looked up at him. Their eyes met and held. Hers were full of so many emotions. Jim had been in enough wedding parties to recognize that look. It was in the eyes those brides as they walked down the aisle towards the men who were about to become their husbands. Now, Pam was looking at him with that same mixture of hope, happiness, and possibility.
And it didn't scare him. Then she broke into a wide smile that Jim hadn't seen since he returned to Scranton. As a matter of fact, the last time Jim had seen it was during that casino night charity event when Pam took all of Jim's money at Texas Hold 'em. Trip nines were good cards. Usually.   
    When Jim logged in, he saw several emails waiting for him. A couple were from clients and potential clients. One was from David's assistant, thanking Jim for coming in to interview and informing him that David would make a decision in the next couple of days. THe most recent was from Pam.
    It said, "Welcome back."

    Jim was screwed, and he knew it. He knew it all afternoon while he surreptitiously surfed the net, trying to not look like he was on the Zagat site. He knew it driving home. He knew it in the recliner of his apartment, exhausted by the day, and knowing if it were any other woman, he would have cancelled. He knew it in the shower. He knew it while he leafed through his shirts as if they were the pages of a book. He knew it as his shirts lay in a heap on the floor of his bedroom, each one tried and rejected for reasons ranging from the completely practical (stained and hadn’t been washed since… whenever) to the completely absurd (too striped?! What the hell was going through his head?). He knew it as he made the drive to Pam’s apartment building, desperate to make sense of the map and directions she had written out for him as the day came to a conclusion.
Why, oh why, please God, why didn’t he just ask for the address and run it through Mapquest? There were many things about Pam that he loved. But he found her handwriting unreadable. He knew he was screwed as he circled the block three times, looking in vain for a place to park, getting pissed off more and more with each revolution. It probably didn’t help matters that he was blasting “Master of Puppets” over the car stereo. Metallica puts a man in many moods. Love and romance? Not among them. (“Cannot kill the Bah-tah-ray!” b-duhduhduhduhduhduh DUH! Duh duh duh duh duh DUH!). He knew he was screwed as he climbed the stairs to Pam’s apartment.
Jim was screwed because he had no plan, and a recent article in Men’s Health informed him that ninety-seven percent of women considered winging the date to be unromantic.
It wasn’t like he wanted to have no plan for this, the first of what he hoped was the beginning of many, many dates with Pam. It was that conventional wisdom said that you took a girl someplace nice on a first date. Try to impress her. Wow her. Show her that you've got originality. Style. Class. Wit. And money to burn. But not too much money, partly because you don't want to look like an asshole who's trying to use his wallet to get in her pants. Also, because you don't want to make her feel like she's got to let you in her pants. Anxiety is a date killer. Jim was plenty anxious.
    After how many years of working alongside Pam, she knew him. Not that there wasn't some need to impress her, but some of the pressure was off. Wasn’t it? Sure as hell didn’t feel like it.
    But this was not a conventional first date. Giving her the full court press and taking her to the nicest restaurant in Scranton might seem out of character.
    But Jim knew enough about women to know that he knew almost nothing about women. She might be expecting someplace really nice. That's what you did on a first date.
    But Pam wasn't high maintenance. She wouldn't really expect to go someplace with five stars.
    But he wanted to show her, right off the bat, that whatever they had was going to be different, better, much better, than what she'd had with Roy.
    But he also figured that as long as he didn't leave her at a hockey game, he'd be fine. It wasn't like Roy had set the bar all that high.
    But this was a date that both of them had been hoping for for a while. Expectations were what they were.
        He stood at her door, about to knock, while also wanting to turn around and go home. Strange that both desires and emotions waged war within him, neither one giving any quarter. Why had he asked her on a date, tonight of all nights? An interview, breaking up with Karen, a drive from New York, much of it during rush hour, and now he was trying to crowbar a date five years in the wanting into a day that had already been jam-packed with life altering events. Way to go Halpert. To think that there were those who thought that Jim lacked initiative and the capacity to take charge of his destiny. Today would prove them wrong.
    Still, he stood in front of her door. Not knocking. Not turning away. Strange. What was that you were just saying about initiative, Jim? Maybe he should have applied some of that initiative in coming up with a plan.
    How do you put your best foot forward with a woman who has seen you at your worst, when metaphorically speaking she's seen that you have two left feet? Where do you go to impress her when she is beyond first impressions? Jim wanted to debrief: call one of his buddies, get some chow and a beer and talk about the day. But that wouldn’t be fair to Pam, especially since on many occasions, Pam had referred to Jim as her best friend, and Jim honestly felt the same.
    Hey… The answer spread out before him like a picnic lunch on a blanket at Lake Scranton (which in itself would make for a pretty cool date, given more time to get things together). It was so obvious. What Jim wanted more than anything was to have quiet dinner with his best friend, to talk about the day that had been, maybe burn off any haze from days past, and hash out the ones that would come, see if Pam was on the same page.
    He knocked.
    She answered.
    Jim caught sight of what she was wearing. The skirt was denim, falling several inches above the knee. Short enough to be alluring, long enough to not give away the store. The perfect length. The shoes were strappy and cute, but the blouse made the outfit complete for him. Red. Ish. Darker than what Jim considered burgundy. Slightly more blue, he thought. "Wow," he said, in a tone usually reserved for Michael's absurdity.
    "Thank you," she said as she slung her purse over her shoulder and closed the door behind her, giving it a push to make sure it was locked.
    "When did you acquire that?" he asked.
    "Um, you were in Stamford, I think."
    "But I've never seen you wear it to work."
    "Yeeeah, Creed made sure of that," she said, "I like your jacket."
    "Oh. Thanks." Jim touched the sleeve of his leather jacket. Though he'd never had the best taste in clothes, Jim knew he looked damn good in it.
    "Karen?"
    "Yeah."
    "She has good taste," Pam remarked. Sometime in the first few weeks after they made it official, Jim asked Karen's help in updating his wardrobe. That was a fun day, but long and expensive. They found the jacket at a thrift store in Westport.
    "You think?"
    "She chose you."
    "Nice, with the roundhouse ego-stroke, Beesly."
    "So where're you taking me?"
    "Russell's."
    "Always wanted to go there. Never could get Roy to take me."
    Small miracles abounded tonight, Jim thought. He had never taken Karen there. Surprising, since he had used it on past girlfriends. He may have taken Katy there, but couldn't remember for certain. Jim felt this all well and good. He would not have to share memories of the place with any past relationships. It would belong only to the two of them.       
    As they walked to Jim's car, he watched the way her skirt swished from side to side. Jim had never noticed much about women's clothing beyond whether the woman in question looked good in it or not. He never noticed the ways it hung from their shoulders and around their hips, moving on their bodies. At least he never noticed with any of the other women he dated, not to this extent. He noticed with Pam. He liked that he noticed. She turned and quelished a smile as she noticed him noticing her.
    He started the car and tapped on the gas a couple times. The engine had been somewhat sluggish on acceleration lately. Probably a mild clog in the fuel injection. It wasn't enough to have to take it in. Using a product from the auto-parts store with the word "miracle" in the title would be enough. Another errand for the weekend, which could never arrive quite fast enough. "So when I got back, Andy and Dwight were painting Michael's office," Jim said.  
    A laugh exploded from Pam. She began to tell him the whole sordid tale of becoming Dwight's double-secret assistant to the regional manager, or whatever it was that he called it. By the time she was finished, Jim had to blink back tears of laughter. "Oh, Wow! Sounds like you had a lot more fun today than I did."
    "I do what I can."
    "I don't know which one of them is more crazy, Dwight or Andy."
    "Andy, definitely."
    "You think?" Jim asked.
    "Dwight's just loyal to Michael. I think he'd made a great fascist."
    "Speaking of that-"
    "The Speech!" Pam said, her eyes bright.
    "How'd you hear about that?"
    "Angela put it on YouTube."
    "Oh, you gotta send me the link!"
    "You know it. Wait, how'd you know about it? Oh, okay, yeah. It had your feel," she said, answering her own question. “That was a good one.”

    Russell's was a quiet, out of the way place, known but not famous. The hostess led them past the oak and mirror bar, the finish on the railing worn through to the bare wood by forearms of years of patrons. Tony, a guy that Jim had known from seventh grade phys-ed was tending bar tonight. They weren't close friends, as most men aren't, and didn't pretend that they were, as men never do, but they often saw each other around town and always had time to throw each other a nod of the head. Tonight was no exception. Tony wiped down the bar while he checked out their waitress's legs. His nod to Jim confidently suggested that was, in fact, hitting that. Jim had to admire Tony's taste. She was pretty in a generic, blonde sort of way, obviously attempting the highly made-up Paris Hilton look and succeeding marvelously. Her legs were long and slender (a little too slender for Jim's personal tastes, but he could see the appeal), languidly leading Jim and Pam through the tables like pinballs navigating an arcade game. As they arrived at a table in the corner she gestured to it, asking if they approved. Pam nodded and took the seat facing the door. Jim helped her push in her chair. "Ooo, busting out the classy moves," she said.
    "Figured I should bring the A-game. You brought yours." Meaning her outfit. She smiled again.
    Paris returned to take their drink orders. Jim took a glance at the wine list and ordered a twenty-five dollar bottle of red. Pam ordered an iced tea. As Paris made her way back to the kitchen, Jim took a visual sip of Paris’s calves and butt before settling back into the menu. Nice.
    "You like that, don't you?"
    "Hmm?"
    "Our waitress."
    "Paris?"
    Pam looked over to where Paris had been, as if analyzing her own memory, and nodded. "Okay, I can see that. Guys like that, don't they?"
    "What's not to like? But it's too obvious of a look."
    Pam looked back down at her menu. She was thinking about something. He could see that, but Jim could read her well enough to know it wasn't bad. Unlike many women Jim had known over the years, Pam didn't say everything that crossed her mind. He knew this already, but it reminded him that he was making the right choice.
    "So when did you learn about wine?" she asked.
    "It was in the center of the list, so I figured it was probably pretty good. And two years of French in high school..." Pam nodded, understanding.
    Paris returned with their drinks.
    "I like it," Pam said when she tried a glass of the wine. Jim agreed. It was fruity but not too sweet, although Jim figured that the Paul Giamatti character in that one movie, the one that also had the guy who'd been that wierd plane mechanic on that NBC show "Wings" and was also Sandman in the new Spiderman movie (which Jim still hadn't seen), would have probably turned his nose up at Jim's choice. No matter. Pam liked it. That mattered.
    "Are we ready to order?" Paris asked.
    Jim ordered the lasagna. Pam ordered the spaghetti carbonara. Paris sauntered off to the kitchen. "So..." Pam began, "Are you gonna tell me what happened in New York?"
    Jim leaned in and began talking. Pam asked a lot of questions. What the building looked like, where it was located, trying to pin down the location based on what she remembered about New York from a trip her class took in junior high. Pam had never been to Corporate. There was no reason why she would have. But Jim sensed a longing in her questions. He had always felt that longing within Pam, not a sexual longing, but a striving towards something, the desire to become. He noticed it most strongly on a day when Jan came in to Scranton and, in the course of the day, mentioned an art internship in New York. Was that the same day that Michael dragged the guys down to the warehouse? Yeah, it was. Jim remembered that Pam didn't end up pursuing the internship because Roy said it wouldn't amount to anything. God, even now he wanted to deck that guy!
    “So tell me, what was the job?”
    “Actually it was Jan’s job.”
    “Really?”
    “Yeah, funny story there.”
    As he began telling the story of Jan’s meltdown, Pam gazed at him, rapt. She was so involved in Jim’s telling that when she put her wine glass down on the table, she left her hand next to the glass.
    He saw the moment and seized it. Without prelude or hesitation, Jim reached over and took her hand. She glanced down, surprised at the touch, but not wanting to ruin the moment by calling attention to it. Neither did he, so he kept on holding her fingers in his, never breaking off the telling of the story, simply tracing his thumb back and forth over the knuckles of her middle and ring fingers, occasionally dipping down to stroke the web of flesh in between them.
    Paris returned with their entrees. Too soon, in Jim’s opinion. By the look in her eyes, Pam felt the same way, though she was happy that dinner had arrived. Pam ate spaghetti carbonara with child-like enthusiasm, sucking noodles up like a vacuum cleaner, seemingly unaware of things like napkins. Perhaps Pam had been having the same inner conversation that Jim had, the one about putting the best foot forward when the other person knew that both of them were left, and had decided that if Jim were going to cut this one loose he had better reasons than the willingness to eat pasta with reckless abandon, sauce on the cheeks be damned. Or maybe she just liked spaghetti carbonara that much. Jim liked that he both wanted the answer and knew he would have the chance to fin out the answer. In between bites of lasagna, Jim told her the rest of the story of Jan going thermonuclear.
    Before he knew it, Paris brought the check. He paid it, and as they walked to the door, he asked, "D'you wanna get some ice cream?"
    "I would love to."
    It was one of those perfect evenings in late spring when the sun had almost finished its languid descent into the horizon, casting a fiery glow over everything and turning the cumulonimbus clouds to the north every shade of the spectrum. A light breeze pushed south, tossing a strand of Pam's hair in her face. She brushed it away. Rain was coming. So was summer. Jim loved May. Always had. May was the month when you began to really notice the warm weather and increasing daylight. May looked forward to the end of the school year, reminding boys and girls that the hard times were almost over and infinite opportunities for fun were on the way. May was anticipation and possibility, hinting at what was to come. May was foreplay.
    "Wow. You're really quiet," Pam said, "What're you thinking about?"
    "I... was just thinking this is my favorite time of day at my favorite time of year," he remarked, "And I'm with my favorite person."
    Shy delight rose out of the corners of her eyes and descended through her cheeks, coming to rest in her smile. She hadn't expected him to end the thought like that. Truth be told, he hadn't expected to say that either, but the set up had been like an alleyoop pass from a teammate. You had to take a shot so perfect. "I like that I finally get to say stuff like that out loud," he said.
    "Me too."
    His hands were shoved deep in his pockets. So she took the initiative this time, curling her arm around his elbow, encircling his upper arm and resting her head on him.
    They walked several blocks to the nearest Carvel. Over a banana split with two spoons, Jim told her about hitting it off with David, how it all felt like a lock. Then he leaned back and looked off into the ether. "And then..." he said.
    "Yeah?"
    Jim paused before he went on. "Did you know I'd find your note at that moment?"
    "That was when you found it?"
    "Yeah," he said, "What made you do it?" He read the furrow of her brow. "How’d you know he was gonna ask for my numbers?”
    “I didn’t.”
    “You had to. I mean it was perfect timing."
    "I wasn't thinking about that, I guess... I just..." Pam paused and sliced off a piece of banana with her spoon. "I knew you'd probably be going over them on the subway, or just before the interview. Maybe the night before, you'd be alone in the hotel room for some reason." She stopped, as if embarrassed by considering the obvious things that men and women do in hotel rooms. "I mean, maybe Karen went down the hall to get ice, or something. I know Karen's your girlfriend. Was. Was?"
    "Was. We can talk about that later."
    She nodded. "I just thought that you mighta needed that. Like in that moment, whenever it was, to know that someone was pulling for you. That's all." She smiled as if it had been nothing. "Do you think you might get the job?"
    "I doubt it. And even if I did, I don't think I'd want it."
    "Why not? Jim-"
    He cut her off. "Because I'm tired of paper. Right now, I go home, and I don't have to think about paper, or selling paper, or dealing with Dwight or Andy, or anyone else there. I'm not sure whether that would be the case if I took this job. And I don't know who I'd end up becoming if I took it. I mean, David's a great guy, and I think he makes it work, but I don't think he totally happy there either."
    "Really?"
    "Yeah, it's just a feeling I get."
    "Hmm." There was something else on her mind. Part of him wanted to probe that something. But he let it ride for the moment. Maybe later. Maybe not.
    "Yeah, and..." Jim paused. He wanted to say this right. "So I'm sittin' there with this yogurt lid in my hand..." He laughed at the thought of it. Pam laughed too. "And I realized, after everything that's happened between us, and I mean everything. Going back to the day I met you. If I took this job, then that would be the end of whatever this is. And what it was would be the most it could ever be. And I didn't like that. If I took that job at corporate and rose all the way to wherever it is, I would always wonder about this." He motioned to the space between them. "And what it could have been. But if this," he said, once again motioning to the space between them, "goes the distance, I don’t think I’ll wonder about the job."
    "All that from a stupid yogurt lid," Pam said, wiping away a tear. He stuck the landing. Nice.
    Jim was going to reach for her hand again, but instead reached for her spoon. He dished the sludge of chocolate sauce and melting ice cream over the banana, scooping a slice for her, pointing the spoon towards her. Pam opened her mouth to receive it. "Why didn't I wear the waterproof mascara?" she laughed as the downpour of tears began.

    That night, they kissed for the second time in their lives. This time, Pam initiated the kiss, grabbing the lapels of Jim's jacket. This kiss lacked the desperation of the first, but it was warmer, filled with more promise. "Can I call you tomorrow?" Jim asked.
    "It's Friday. We have work."
    "I'd lost track. So I'll see you then."
    "Bright and early."
    Pam didn't invite him inside. Jim would have declined if she had. This was quite alright. Time was on their side. As Jim walked down to the car, he marveled at the turn of things. One day. In many ways like every other. But he could not have forecast a better ending to this one, could not have planned it. He still didn't have an answer to David's question, but he felt like he wasn't alone in the search for that answer. What a relief, because for the first time in a while, Jim didn't feel like he was spinning his wheels. Tonight that was enough.
    Several drops of rain hit Jim on the head as he unlocked the car. He anticipated how the world would smell tomorrow morning, how the rain washed the air, leaving the world clean, fresh, and new. The drops became more frequent. The rain would wash away the garbage of the past. Summer was coming.
    Jim loved the month of May.