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I wish she would stop.  It’s not a joke.  There’s something I need to tell her and she’s not making it any easier by laughing and teasing me and looking so God-damned beautiful with the dress and the hair and that shiny tint on her lips that’s either from lip gloss or from licking them too much like she does when she’s nervous. 

“I was just, umm…”

Her face falls a little, and I really want to look away but she’s looking me straight in the eye and considering what I’m about to do, I can at least do the same.

“Talking.  To Jan, actually and umm…wow,” I try to laugh to lighten the situation, but all she does is become more concerned as she inches closer.

“I’m transferring.”

“What?”  I can barely hear her, but I can see that she wants this to be a joke, another prank.  She wants me to laugh and say: “Just kidding!  Actually I was just inside playing roulette and I DID win, how crazy is that?”  But there’s no turning back now.

“To Stamford.  It’s uhh…it’s really good pay—“

“Jim—“

“And a promotion.  And maybe my own parking space, I don’t know, she was fuzzy on the details—“

“Wait—“

“So yeah, I start next week.  And I don’t have a place to live yet so that’s kind of terrifying.”

“Stop!”  Her voice bounces on the pavement and it’s enough to get me to stop rambling like an idiot.  I shove my hands in my pockets, because it seems like the right thing to do and this way I have that tiny flashlight on my keychain to play with while she inevitably chews me out for springing this on her.

But she doesn’t chew me out.   She doesn’t do much of anything. She stands there, rubbing her arms like she’s cold but it’s like, 75 degrees out here or something and I doubt that’s the reason all the color is gone from her face.

“Why?”  It’s a logical question; she’s certainly allowed to ask it.  Except I don’t like lying to her and really, that’s my only option because I can’t exactly respond with “Because you’re getting married and that kind of gets in the way of me being ridiculously in love with you.”

So I lie.

“You’re the one who’s always said that I needed a step up so…I’m stepping.”  It’s lame.  She knows it, I know it, but again, what else am I supposed to say?

“Stepping.  All the way over to Connecticut.”  It’s not a question; it’s just a giant strand of bitter.  But can I blame her?  I’m sure this is not what she had in mind when she thought about tonight.  Hell, it’s not what I had in mind either.  But Jan needed an answer, and I needed to get away.  Somewhere more permanent than the Marriott in Australia where Steve Irwin serves me lots and lots of alcohol.

“I know this seems out of the blue—“

“Damn right it does.”  Pam rarely gets angry.  I’ve only seen it a few times since I’ve known her; Roy’s usually the reason behind it and it’s usually a very obvious, nostrils-flaring, eyes-shooting-daggers angry.  But this is a scarier kind of angry, a subtle yet far more severe angry that makes me feel a little like my life is in danger.

“I’m really sorry to spring it on you like this, but I just figured you’d want to…know.”

“So what do you just—do you just not care about…here anymore?”  I really hate it when we talk in code; that secret code that we’ve developed over the years where we never actually have to say what we mean because God-forbid we just address what’s been in front of our faces the entire time.  I know what “here” really means and I know that. “care”…well, actually, I doubt it means that, but you got to love false hope.

“It’s just time for a change.”  That part’s the truth.

She nods, seeming to accept the answer whether she really believes it or not.

“When are you leaving?”

I let out a breath that relieves the tension in my lungs and shake my head.  “Soon.  Like I said, I don’t know where I’m living and since I start sometime next week I have to secure something so...”

“Wow.”  She’s staring at a spot behind me and there are a lot of things running across her face, like shock and disappointment and disbelief and frustration and I can’t keep up with them all.  And then I can actually see the truth sink into her.

“So this is goodbye.”

I know it’s selfish, but I’m glad she said before I had to because honestly I don’t think I could have done it without crying like a girl.

“Yeah.  I think it is.”

She doesn’t say anything else, just closes the space between us, with her arms around my waist and her head lying gently on my chest.  Normally this kind of physical contact would send me into some kind of seizure but I don’t want to ruin my last moments with her by panicking.  I just want to hold her.  So I do. 

She sighs, shifting more of her weight toward me and I know that the gold glitter on her dress is embedding itself into my sweater, and will probably stay there even after multiple washings.  I really don’t mind.

“I just,” she begins, her voice reverberating through me and I tighten my hold on her.  “I wish we had more time.”

And just like that a thought flashes through my head, something I’ve thought about before but never really in this context.  I usually just push it aside but I figure that I’ve already put myself out there, already made an absolute mess of the night, I might as well go for broke.

“What if we did?”

She pulls back, looking less angry and more scared than anything else.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…just give me a day.  After everything that we’ve…I just feel like I can’t say goodbye in a parking lot.”

This gets a laugh out of her, a laugh I’m grateful for because it means I haven’t completely screwed this up.  Yet.

“So, you mean like, lunch or something?”

Maybe it’s adrenaline or alcohol or just my tendency to be a greedy bastard when it comes to her but I shake my head firmly.

“No, I mean a whole day.  24 hours.”

This obviously surprises her.  I’ve never been this forward, I’ve never demanded this much from her, I’ve never been one to just forget the fact that she’s not mine to have for an entire day.

Which is why my stomach does a somersault when I see her nod and say: “Okay.”

“I know it’s a lot to ask so you just name the day and time and we’ll do it.  I may have to call the movers if it’s anytime later than Tuesday but it shouldn’t be too—“

“How about now?”

I must look like an idiot; jaw dropped, eyes wide, a little bit of spit forming at the corner of my mouth that’s threatening to fall to my chin.  But drooling would kind of ruin this momentum we’ve got going so I clear my throat and laugh.

“Now works.”

It’s like she’s never used a seatbelt before. She tries to pull it but it gets stuck, so that just makes her pull harder and yet she still can’t manage to get it buckled. I sit back, watching this fight with vinyl play out and I don’t bother trying to hold back a smile.

“Having trouble?”

She does her nervous laugh and finally manages to get the thing free. After a brief moment or two of her not knowing where the buckle is (“What is wrong with your car?”), she’s ready and clasps her hands on the dashboard.

“Where to?” Then it hits me that I really have no idea. It’s Friday night, but it’s Friday night in Scranton, and that means that everything decent closed an hour ago. But then a bigger concern dawns on me, and I almost don’t want to ask, but—

“Umm, do you need to call anybody to let them know that you’re—“

“Oh.” She says it softly and awkward silence settles in as we’re both struggling to find the balance between the right thing to do and the not-so-right thing to do. Story of my life; or at least the past three years.

“He’s probably dead-asleep by now, I don’t want to wake him.” It sounds a lot like a cop-out, but the thing about Pam is that she’s genuinely concerned about those kind of things. I was sick one day and didn’t come into work, so she called at about 9:30 in the morning, waking me from my Ny-Quil induced coma. The first ten minutes of that phone call were her apologizing.

I don’t really have anything to add, so I just nod and say: “Alright then. Where am I going, Beesly?”

She glances at her watch. “Well, we’ve got quite the day ahead of us. I’m going to need some caffeine.”

“Good call.”

So I carefully pull the car out of the parking lot, the lights and noise of a wannabe Monte Carlo fading behind us as we set out on the most spontaneous, ridiculous, and probably stupidest thing we’ve ever done.

Northern Lights is one of the few remaining establishments in Scranton that believe in staying open past 9:00. So we walk in, ridiculously over-dressed compared to the grunge, Converse-wearing kid behind the counter who takes our orders of cinnamon apple tea and a latte with hardly any enthusiasm. We grab a couple of oversized chairs by the window to look at nothing in particular while we wait for our drinks to cool and for one of us to gather up the courage to address just what the hell is going on.

“So I have to ask…” she begins, and my heart kicks up to a frightening speed because there are so many ways that sentence could end and none of the options that are running through my head are pleasant.

“What charity were you going to donate all your winnings to?”

A breath of relief comes rushing out and I chuckle. “You mean all my winnings that you stole from me? That was going to go towards Habitat for Humanity.”

“No concern for the Afghanistananis? I’m disappointed in you.”

“I’m more concerned about what Michael would have done had he won the $500.”

“He probably would have ‘accidentally’ spent it on a pinball machine or hot tub.”

“Oh God, mental image of Michael in a swimsuit. Thanks for that, Pam.”

She smiles as she takes a sip of her tea. “Could have been worse. I could have said ‘speedo.’”

I make a face which makes her laugh and for a second it feels like that first day at Cugino’s, when I was so blissfully ignorant of what was in store. I still wouldn’t trade any of it though, which sounds really corny, but it’s true. 9-5, Monday through Friday with her is better than nothing. I’m really not looking forward to having to face the “nothing” next week.

“What was this place before it was a coffee shop?”

“A restaurant maybe? I don’t know, I think it was family-owned.”

“Hmm. This town is changing a lot.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s all Dwight’s fault. He’s subjecting his farm to radiation. Before we know it, it’ll be Planet of the Beets.”

“There’s a terrifying thought.”

“Walking around, obeying his commands.”

“Get your hands off me you damn dirty beet!”

It’s the worst Charlton Heston impression I’ve ever heard, and I love her even more for it.

Her giggles stop and her expression turns serious.

“It’s just so different from when I was a kid. I took so much around here for granted.”

“I know. We’re in such a hurry to grow up and then…”

“Then we’re taking promotions and getting our own parking spaces.” She’s looking me right in the eye again, with a sad smile and her bangs falling across her face when she shakes her head.

The mature thing to do would be to talk about it.

“I said maybe my own parking space. I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

But humor is much easier and seeing her relax into a smile is reason enough for me to believe that tonight isn’t about being the bigger person, or acting our age. We’re just two friends saying goodbye the only way we know how.

And if there’s one thing Pam and I know how to do, it’s laugh.

So we share stupid things we did as kids, even though we’ve heard almost all of each other’s stories before, but there are some we haven’t and we sit there laughing till the teenager turns out the main lights without a word of warning.

“Guess that’s our cue, huh?”

I check my watch. “The little jerk is kicking us out early. We technically still have five minutes till they close.”

“Let’s not give him any trouble. He probably has some big, grown-up thing to do after this that he can’t wait to get to.” She winks at me for the second time that day and I hate that that’s all it takes for a tinge of red to go rushing to my cheeks.

“Well, we certainly wouldn’t want to keep him from that.” I hold the door open for her and watch as she makes an exaggerated exit, purposely making her dress swish dramatically at her knees. The motion is a little hypnotizing and I snap out of it just in time for her to look back my way.

“Are you going to unlock the car or are you practicing your telekenisis again?”

I start to move toward the car door but it dawns on me where we are and I step back onto the sidewalk.

“Actually, let’s walk.”

“Walk? I’m in heels, Halpert, I can’t exactly do a marathon.”

“It’s not far, I just want to show you something. Come on.” I hold my hand out to her as more of just a gesture than an actual offer. But she’s full of surprises tonight and gingerly takes mine in her own. And with a gentle tug, she’s walking beside me instead of following behind.

10:59

“Pretty scary neighborhood you’re taking us through, Halpert.”

“You know, for a girl who just got her tea paid for, you sure do complain a lot.” I give her a smile to assure her I’m kidding because, really, I’d buy her a thousand cinnamon apple teas if that’s what she really wanted. Hell, I’ll plant an apple tree in her front yard and grow cinnamon sticks if…okay, maybe that’s a little excessive.

“I just don’t want our time cut short.” Her words have an unexpected sting to them, and from the shock on her face, she realizes the implications of what she’s said.

“No, just because, someone could like…shank us or something.”

“Shank us? Beesly, have you been playing Grand Thef Auto behind my back?” I save the moment because there’s no time to be awkward. She looks relieved.

“Just trying to get some street cred.”

“Uh huh. Oh hey, we’re here.” I try to push the metal gate open, but it’s tightly locked with a number of chains.

“Damn,” I mutter under my breath, scanning the darkness for another way in.

“Are we…”

“Questions later, Pam. We’re going to have to climb over.” With little trouble, I scale the metal gate and hop over to the other side, Pam’s astounded face staring back at me through the wires.

“Are you crazy? How am I supposed to get over there in this?” She gestures to her dress, which is catching the little light that’s around and I have to keep myself from staring.

“It’s not that high. Just get to the top and I’ll help you down.”

She rolls her eyes and carefully begins to climb. “If this thing rips, you owe me a new dress.”

“Deal.” I move towards the gate, watching her every move to make sure she doesn’t misstep. She finally makes it to the top, swinging her legs around and holding on to the gate for dear life.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” I place my hands firmly on her hips while she grips my shoulders. Soon all her body weight has shifted on to me and I gently place her down on the ground. We stay like that for just a beat too long, till finally we break apart and smooth out the wrinkles in our clothes.

“We’re going to have to do that to get back out, aren’t we?”

“Mhmm.” It’s probably wrong that I’m looking forward to it. I really don’t care. “Okay, here we are.”

“A baseball field?” she asks, taking in her surroundings.

“Not just any baseball field. Young Jim spent a lot of summers here.”

“Little league?”

“No, just with my dad and brother,” I begin, moving towards the center of the diamond. “We’d throw the ball around for hours and then he’d always take us for hot dogs afterwards.”

“How very Norman Rockwell of you,” she says grinning.

“Thank you. Have a seat,” I say, as I plant myself on the pitcher’s mound.

“But that’s dirt.”

“I’m aware.

“You’re going to get your pants dirty!”

“So? I’ll wash them. The bleachers are right over there if you want to stay dirt-free.”

She makes a grunt of annoyance but still sits down beside me. Minutes go by in silence, the peaceful warm summer air and the sound of crickets chirping lull us into a quiet calm.

“This is nice,” she says finally.

“It doesn’t get much better.” I continue to stare at home plate, even when I feel her head turn towards me in peaked curiosity.

“So why here?”

“I’ve always—“ and I catch myself. In reality, I’d always wanted to take her here. I thought it’d make a good third date; coming here in the evening with a blanket and a cooler full of snacks and drinks. We’d lay out and huddle next to each other, trying to look for stars that are invisible next to the bright lights of the stadium. But we’d point up anyway and make up names of fake constellations.

“—just loved this place. Brings back a lot of good memories.”

“Hmm.” She looks away from me and plays with a few blades of grass.

“And now I get to add one more.” I finally look at her and am glad to discover that she’s smiling; a little embarrassed maybe, but happy.

“Okay, most embarrassing moment in sports. Go.” She wraps her arms around her knees and rests her head on them as she looks at me with genuine interest.

“I think it’s a fair toss-up between kicking the ball in the wrong goal when I was ten.”

“No way!”

“That was the end of that soccer career. Or accidentally crashing into the row of cheerleaders while trying to catch a pass at the junior homecoming basketball game.”

“Sure. ‘Accidentally.’”

“Mock all you want, I did not intend to do that.”

“Was one of them Katy?” She has a teasing tone in her voice, and I look over at her with a grin.

“I doubt it.”

“That’s a shame.” She ducks her head into her arms to try and hide a smile, but I don’t let her off that easily.

“Whoa. Not exactly a fan of hers, were you Beesly?”

Pam shrugs innocently. “I appreciated her fine sales skills.”

“Worst compliment ever,” I tease, gently nudging my shoulder into hers.

“I know, I’m sorry. She just…I never quite got you two.” She stares at me with a look of deep concentration, in clear anticipation of a response.

“I never did either. She was cute and all, but…” I let the sentence die right there, though the words “I’m more into the artsy type” are dangerously ready to leave my lips at any moment.

“Maybe you’ll meet some cute Connecticut girl.” She says it pleasantly, except for the word “some” which she spits out like it’s poison.

I try to think of some witty comeback, but the thought of there being someone else, someone other than the woman beside me kills all the humor in me.

So I just stick with: “I doubt it.”

Quiet takes over, and we sit in companionable silence for what seems like ages. Our shoes are dusty, my legs are asleep and I can feel yawns fighting their way out. But I push it all back because there’s still a lot to cover and I’m not about to back out now just because of a little fatigue.

“Ready?” I ask, bouncing up onto my feet in hopes of boosting a little adrenaline.

“Yep.” She holds out her hands to me and I pull her up in one swift motion. A small jolt of energy rushes through me from our clasped hands and I realize that this is what keeps me going. Not just tonight, but for the countless hours spent trudging through a dead-end job. She’s all the motivation I need, and it’s terrifying to think of moving on without that.

“Alright Beesly, it’s your call,” I say as we sink back into the car. “Where am I off to?”

She laughs and runs a hand across her head. “I have absolutely no idea.”

“Good answer.” I turn on the engine and start to drive in an unknown direction, certain that neither one of us is too concerned about which way we’re going. The point is that we’re just going.

11:59

“I’m hungry.” She says it in a breathy way, after ten minutes of silence and it startles me a bit.

“Tea not holding you over?”

“Shocking, I know. Seriously, my stomach is growling.” She pats her stomach tenderly with a mischievous smirk. I give her one right back.

“What?”

“Can’t you hear it? Growl….growl…” she flails her fingers out and begins to giggle and she’s just so damn adorable I can hardly stand it.

“Alright, you famished thing, any suggestions?”

“Let’s see, there’s not much around here--WAIT THERE’S WENDY’S!” My reflexes seem to be in good shape because I make sharp right and swerve right into the Wendy’s drive-thru lane.

“Nice move, Halpert,” she says, clearly impressed.

“I do what I can.”

Hi, welcome to Wendy’s, can I take your order?

I turn to look at her. “What’ll it be?”

“Frosty.”

“Okay, can I get two Frosties please?”

“And an order of fries,” she whispers.

“And an order of fries,” I repeat with a laugh.

$3.18 at the window please, thank you.

I see her trying to dig out some loose change in her purse and I place a hand gently on hers.

“Put that away.”

“But—“

“Put it away,” I repeat with a knowing look.

She pauses for a minute before breaking into a slow grin.

“That’s what she said.”

“Good God, Beesly, what has Michael done to you?” I chuckle and shake my head until something dawns on me; a sad, yet odd realization.

She sees the concern in my face.

“What?”

“I’m—I’m kind of going to miss that.” It’s weird and a little horrifying that I’m actually going to miss Michael’s sad excuse for humor, but it’s true. And just like I knew she would, Pam understands and just nods her head.

“Yeah, I know.”

We retrieve our food and without giving her warning, I start driving away from the city, up towards the hills. There’s a great lookout point in Scranton near the ritzy houses and a few minutes later, we’re off-roading as I pull the car across dirt and pine needles. It’s a clear night, and though it’s a small town, the lights of the city illuminate for miles.

“Wow,” she whispers.

I hand her the Frosty and French fries. “Not bad, right?”

“Yeah, it’s like one of those places you go to—“ she stops her sentence there, and I can practically feel the heat radiating from her cheeks. I decide to spare her the embarrassment and change the subject.

“I’m not exactly sure why you wanted French fries with your—oh my God.”

“Wha?” she says, mid chew with her Frosty covered French fries.

“Are you—are you dipping your fries in the shake?”

“Only the best combination ever. Have you ever tried this?”

“No. I’m a normal person,” I shake my head in disgust, dipping a spoon into my own Frosty.

“What? No, come on, you have to try, you’ll be hooked.” She takes a long fry and swirls it in the Frosty, cups her hand underneath to catch any spills and holds it out to me. I know exactly what she’s suggesting I do, and I don’t know what makes my stomach turn more: the thought of Pam feeding me or actually eating this horrid concoction.

“The things I do for you…” I say, leaning over to retrieve the fry. I really want to say that it’s an accident that the very tips of her fingers get caught as I gingerly bite down, but hearing her breath hitch and watching her eyes flare with alarm makes me think that this is anything but innocent.

I lean back in my seat and rather than address what just happened, the knot in my throat, or the way that all breathing in the car seems to have stopped, I turn my focus towards deeming whether this thing is actually edible.

“Okay…yeah, this is pretty amazing.”

She lets out a sigh of relief and her smile returns. “See!”

“I want another one,” I try to reach over and steal another fry but she swats my hand away.

“No way, buddy. Should have ordered your own.”

“Pam, are you really going to deny me this?” Our eyes meet and the silence that follows confirms that we’re both thinking about something other than French fries mixed with Frosties.

“Yep.” She beams, and takes a triumphant bite and just like that, the moment passes.

I give a small laugh and look back out towards the city. I start to get strangely nostalgic as I think back to all my time spent here, from childhood to college to the beginnings of a career I never intended to make for myself. But life has a funny way of veering into unexpected directions; it’s already veered me into three years of pining over an unattainable woman. And I refuse to believe that this is all out of my control; transferring is a good thing, a way for me to take the reigns and actually make some sense of my life.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

“Comfort food. Go.” Her voice breaks me from my thoughts and she’s looking at me with the same interest she showed at the baseball field.

“Oh, mashed potatoes, definitely.”

“You’re so boring. Everyone’s comfort food is mashed potatoes.”

“Obviously, you have not had my mom’s mashed potatoes. They are anything but boring.”

“Oh really?” She looks at me with amusement but also a great deal of affection, a look I’ve often seen anytime I bring up my past or my family.

“Yes, really. A description wouldn’t even do them justice. You have to taste to believe it.”

“I’d like that.” What hurts is that she sounds so sincere. And just the thought of her meeting my family, sitting down to dinner, laughing and getting along with everyone like I know she would; it’s a little too painful and all of a sudden I can’t swallow my French fry.

I don’t say anything, mostly out of fear of saying something I’ll regret like “I’ll totally call her right now, she’d love to make you some, and maybe if you fall in love with her potatoes, you’ll fall in love with me.” Instead I sit quietly, finishing the rest of my Frosty and casting another glance over sleeping Scranton.

“Alright,” she says finally, her spoon rolling around in her now-empty cup. “I’m well fed. I’m ready to move on.”

“Where are we moving on to?”

“That’s always the question, isn’t it?” she teases.

“Okay, so maybe I didn’t have this planned all the way through. Sue me.”

“No, it’s fine,” she says eagerly. “I’m…this is great.”

It does my heart good to hear that, and the nauseous feeling that has been brewing inside me disappears.

“Well, we could…are you up for a movie?”

“Yeah, definitely. Where though?”

“Umm…” This is where it gets tricky. How the hell do I ask her to come over without sounding like a presumptuous asshole?

“I mean…we could…there’s my place I guess…Mark’s gone so…I mean not that that matters, it just…” Yep, there’s one way to do it. Babbling idiot is at least a little better.

“Sure,” she says quietly, fidgeting with her necklace: a clear sign that she’s just as nervous as I am, like it’s prom night all over again and I’m holding the keys to a hotel room.

But we’ve committed now, so I clear my throat and put the car into drive, heading towards my place and concentrating on not speeding out of control.

“Hey,” she says after a minute or two and I turn to see her looking at her watch. “It’s after midnight.” She smiles at me. “Happy Saturday.”

My grip on the steering wheel relaxes and I feel like I can breathe again.

“Happy Saturday.”


12:59

I’ve been here before. I think. It doesn’t look like the office, but somehow I know that it is, despite the fact that the floor is slowly flooding with water and there’s hardly any light. Except for this one light, that’s coming from a single computer off in the distance. And she’s there, clutching a phone in her hand and muttering something that’s inaudible. I try to go to her, try to reach out to her even though she’s much too far away for me to grasp anything, but still I try. The water’s moving up to my knees now, making it increasingly difficult to move.

There’s this inexplicable urgency in me that’s screaming at me to do something, anything. But it’s muffled and loud and I can barely hear myself think over the din of sloshing water and her voice, heavy with pain, in the darkness. Then suddenly she’s right in front of me, her back turned away and her fingers pulling at a phone cord that seems to stretch for miles. She’s wearing the same dress she was earlier, and the rustle of fabric adds to the already overwhelming noise in the room, even though she doesn’t seem to be moving. I reach out again and still, I can’t touch her, which consequently makes me just want to touch her more. No matter how far I reach, though, I always come up short. The culmination of sounds is almost too much to take and then suddenly it goes into a deafening quiet. Then, out of the silence comes a voice, soft and reassuring.

"Are you in love with him?"

It didn’t come from Pam, and it certainly didn’t come from me, but what I’m most concerned with is her answer. I know exactly who “him” is, and my next steps, my next course of action relies solely on what she says.

“Yeah, I think I am.”

Then it’s just a series of moments, images that flash before me like a flip book: Coke cans, paperclips, yogurt lids, boxes of paper, paper doves, lip gloss, Dundies, white keds, margaritas, iPods, grilled cheese sandwiches, yearbooks, plane tickets, a teapot, a winning hand at poker. It all comes to a crashing halt as she turns around to face me with a tear-stained face.

“Where are you?” she whispers. I try to answer, but my voice is lost. My mouth can’t open and I’m starting to panic. “Where are you?” she asks over and over and I’m screaming on the inside "I’m right here, I’ve never left, I don’t want to leave, I’m still right here!" But she’s looking right through me, her tears falling into the flood that’s now at my waist. She’s floating away and I’m being pulled under and just when I think that I’ve lost her, I reach out one last time and I graze her hand.

The water moves over us and she’s coming toward me but I still am unable to speak. So I decide to tell her the only way I know how. I pull her to me, my hands at her hips, our faces inches apart. But it’s all too much and I feel like my lungs will burst if I don’t take a breath right—

I wake up to the sound of me gasping for air. My heart pounds out of my chest and I'm sick to discover that the back of my neck is drenched in cold sweat. I’m confused and disoriented until I see the movie playing and Pam still sleeping soundly on my chest. I lean my head back on the couch and take deep breaths, willing my pulse to return to a normal rate. Nightmares, they happen. They especially happen when you’re sleep deprived and have an engaged woman passed out on your chest. I go to move from the couch when I realize Pam has slung her arm across my stomach; slightly protective, slightly possessive, incredibly comforting. I gently unhinge myself from her weak clutches and run to the kitchen sink, all but dunking my head under the faucet to regain clarity. It helps a lot, and combined with the small amount of rest I managed to get, I’m actually feeling pretty good. Despite the weird-ass dream.

And it’s one of those dreams that I know I’m not going to be able to shake anytime soon because it was so damn vivid. Vivid to the point where I felt like I’d seen it happen a million times already, like some twisted form of deja-vu. As if I needed one more thing to distract me from--

“What are you doing?”

I snap my head up to find her leaning against the kitchen doorway, sleepy-eyed and hair going in every direction. The sight wakes me up faster than anything else possibly could.

“Taking a mini-shower. Do you mind?”

She giggles and scratches the back of her head. “How long was I out?”

“Not too long. I nodded off a little too, don’t feel bad.”

Her eyes are still squinty as she points to the coffee pot.

“Does that work?”

I nod and laugh. “Yes, it works.”

“Good.” And that’s all the permission she needs for her to start opening up cabinets, one by one until she finally finds the materials she needs. She takes the pot and pushes me out of the way to get to the sink.

“Whoa. Someone does not take kindly to the early morning hours,” I tease.

“I haven’t done an all-nighter since college, I’m out of practice.” She goes through the motions like she’s on autopilot, never once hesitating. When she hits “brew”, she leans against the counter and rubs her hands across her face.

“One cup and then I’ll be good to go.”

“I hope so, there’s a lot of day left. Unless…” and I really don’t even want to make this an option, but the dream is still fresh in my mind and seems to be calling the shots. “We don’t have to do this, you know. I can totally take you home.”

She furrows her eyebrows but her smile betrays any sign of anger.

“Are you backing out of your own deal, Halpert?”

“No, I’m just—“

“Trying to get rid of me?”

“No, not at all!”

“Listen buddy,” she jabs a finger into my chest and effectively pushes me up against the counter. She’s still smiling, but I’m still terrified and take a very audible gulp. “You’re ditching me in a few days, and that’s going to suck enough as it is, I’m not letting you ditch me now. Got it?”

I relax into a smile of my own. “Got it.”

“Good. Now are you boys civilized enough to actually have coffee cups or do you just chug straight from the pot?”

“What are we, cavemen?” I ask, going to a cabinet and retrieving two mugs. We drum our fingers impatiently as the coffee perkalates, watching the last few drops settle until she can’t take it anymore and pours herself a large cup. I start towards the fridge to get creamer, but stop when I realize she’s drinking it straight.

“Damn. You’re a little hardcore right now, Beesly.”

“I think I could chew espresso beans, I’m that desperate.” She lets out a content sigh as she takes another large sip.

“Alright, but when you start twitching from a caffeine overdose, I’m not taking responsibility.”

She grabs a nearby dish towel and swats me with it, and I can see the energy begin to surface and take hold of her.

“Okay, adrenaline is starting to kick in. I’m ready to roll.” She starts to do the running-man and I snort with laughter.

“Did you spike this coffee? What is wrong with you?”

“I just got a second wind, that’s all.”

“Mind sharing some of that second wind? I’m still feeling a little groggy.” It’s half-true; more than anything, I’m still reeling over the dream and can’t seem to shake just how real it seemed.

“Well, then we’re going to have to fix that.” There’s something in the way that she chugs the rest of her coffee, wags her eyebrows at me and jets out of the kitchen that scares me to death and makes me want her all at the same time.

“I’m guessing you have a plan,” I say, as I watch her gather her dress and high heels.

“Yep. We have to make a few pit stops first though. You good to drive?”

I take my last sip of coffee. “Yep, I’m good.”

“Alright then,” she says, tossing my car keys to me. “Let’s go.”

2:59

It doesn’t take too long for me to figure out that the directions she’s giving me are to her place.  I don’t say anything, just silently agree as I make all the correct turns until it’s finally in view and I slow to a stop in front of it.

“Two seconds,” she says as she opens the door and gives me a reassuring smile before jogging up the driveway and through the front door.  I know people always say “two seconds” when they’re going to do something quickly, but in this case, I really wish she meant it.  Because for every additional second she’s in there, it’s additional time for me to panic, worry, wonder why I’m extending this tortuous goodbye instead of just leaving it at the parking lot like I originally intended.  Part of me thinks that she might not come back; maybe this is her way of getting out of the evening and at this very moment she’s lying next to Roy and making up for the hours she’s spent with me instead of him.

Then she destroys every doubt in my mind as I see her running back down the driveway, dufflebag in hand.  

“Okay, let’s go,” she says brightly, buckling herself back in.

“Go where, exactly?”  

“Patience, Jim.  All will be revealed.”  She’s beaming and alive and I finally, truly believe that this is where she wants to be right now.

“Does it have something to do with my gym bag that you made me bring?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that it has something to do with it.”

“You’re being very mysterious, you know that?”  I look over to find her with her poker face, the same one she was sporting a just a few hours ago.  She’s horrible at it, but maybe that’s her strategy: charm people into making ridiculous bets that they know won’t pay off but make them anyway just to see her glow from winning.

More directions follow until she asks me to pull over onto a residential street.  It’s quaint, lined with big trees and old houses, humming with the early hours of the morning.  

“Okay,” she says.  “Change.”

“But I like the way I am.”

“Good to know you still have your humor at this hour.  I mean change your clothes.”

“Umm…why?”

She grins.  “Because we’re going running.”

I shake my head and chuckle. “You’re serious?”

“Oh, very.  Now come on, start stripping.”

Obviously, I know she’s kidding.  But that doesn’t stop my stomach from completely bottoming out at what she says.

“Unless you’ve got a portable dressing room in that duffel bag, I’m not exactly sure where I’m supposed to—“

“Just change in here.  I’ll wait outside.”  And with that she hops out of the car and turns away from me with arms crossed.

I never imagined ever having to dress or undress in my Corolla and as it turns out it’s not exactly the ideal place to do so.  But I make it work, albeit awkwardly.  I slide my button-up off and am reaching in to my gym bag to grab an old t-shirt when I look up to see a flurry of ponytail whipping back into place as her head turns rigidly away.

I start to push any notions of Pam trying to get a glimpse of me changing out of my head, when I realize that rather than me feel embarrassed, it’s a prime opportunity to call her out on it.  Or maybe that’s just 3:00 in the morning talking.  Either way…

“You know, Pam, this isn’t a free show.  I expect a lot of dollar bills if you’re going to watch,” I say loudly enough for her to hear me through the car windows.

“What? NO! I wasn’t—I mean, I thought I heard something…”

“No, it’s cool.  I understand.  I’m just a piece of meat for you to ogle and objectify, it’s what I was put on this earth for…”

“Would you shut up and finish getting dressed?”  She’s laughing and even facing away from me, I know she has to be thirty different shades of red.  Mission accomplished.

I’m dressed except for my shoes, and I get out of the car to join her on the curb as I tie my laces.

“I hate you,” she mutters, staring at the pavement.

“Come on, it’s not everyday I get to catch you—“ I step on my words, because the truth is, I have caught her before.  At her desk, in the break room, the conference room, the kitchen, my car as I leave for the day; I know she sneaks glances when she thinks no one’s looking.  But I’ve gotten so good at it that I recognize all the signs of covert glance stealing.  It’s not easy, but after five years of practice…well, if it were a sport, we’d both be in the playoffs by now.

“Anyway, I was just teasing,” I stammer in a lame attempt to drop the subject.

“I know, it’s fine. If anything, you should get in as much as you can now.  Don’t have too many more opportunities.”  She tries to joke about it, but her smile can’t mask the sadness in her face, and guilt starts to trickle in again.  But before I can say anything, she’s up on her feet.

“Better keep up,” she calls over her shoulder as she begins to jog down the sidewalk.  I catch up with her, our feet stamping the ground in sync in a steady, even rhythm.

“So, why here?” I ask after a moment.

“This is the street I grew up on, I wanted you to see it.”  There’s something so tender and vulnerable in the way she says it that it almost hurts to keep jogging.  But I just smile and continue beside her.

“It’s nice.  Which one was yours?”

“That yellow one on the left.”  The house absolutely screams “Pam.”  It’s on the smaller side, but with more than enough charm to make up for it.  There’s a porch with swing where I imagine her father sat reading the morning paper, still keeping an eye on his little girl playing in the front yard.  Or maybe Pam spent summer evenings on it, sketching or wrapping herself in Roy’s arms after a date.  Even now that she’s grown, everything about the house suits her: simple with a familiarity that makes you feel like it’s your home too.

We both crane our necks back as far as they’ll go before our feet take us around the corner and away from the sight of the house.  Under normal circumstances, I would never consider running at three o’clock in the morning, but the adrenaline is doing me some good and I can feel my body start to surrender to the fact that it’s not going to rest anytime soon.  Not to mention the fact that I’m running with Pam, which is pretty much the most important factor in this equation.  It’s oddly intimate, especially given our location, and it’s more than I ever could have hoped for.  

We remain silent for the rest of the run, circling her block a few times until she finally slows down when we reach my car.  She slumps against the passenger door to catch her breath, and she’s a different kind of beautiful: bright red face, messy ponytail, and the visible dew of sweat forming around her temple and neck.  

“That was fun,” she says in between deep breaths as I slide up next to her.

“I’m definitely more awake.  This was a pretty good idea,” I say, nudging her with my elbow.

“I was bound to have one eventually.  Although I feel pretty disgusting.”

“You don’t look disgusting.”  I catch her eye and for the first time in a long while, I don’t try to cover up the subtext.

She laughs nervously and looks away.  “Even still, I’m not going to be able to go the rest of the day looking like this.  Do you think…I mean, I know I’ve already imposed on you a lot tonight—“

“You’re joking, right?  I’m the one that kidnapped you; you’re allowed to impose.  The shower is all yours if you need it,” I answer the question she silently asked and I can see the relief wash over her.  

“Thanks.  Though you can have first dibs.”

“Nope. I like the smell I’ve got going on: Eau du Jim.  You’ll wash up and I’ll whip us up some breakfast.  You hungry?”

She nods eagerly.  “Starving.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” I say, opening the door for her before moving to the driver’s seat.  “It happens to be Pancake Saturday at Chez Halpert.  Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect,” she says, leaning back on the headrest with her eyes closed and the most content smile I’ve ever seen.

I store the image along with all the others I have of her over the years and smile to myself as I turn on the engine.

“Good.”  I pull out of the residential neighborhood and on to the main street, leaving Pam’s past behind and merging back into the present.

3:59

Important driving tip:  Do not think about the fact that the woman you love is going to be in your shower in approximately seven minutes while behind the wheel.  It may cause near-accidents and/or complete inability to breathe.  Luckily, she doesn’t seem to notice my slight swerving or the way my hands are gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles might just burst through my skin.  We soon pull up into my driveway for the second time that night, and I’m not feeling any less nervous than I was the first time.  If anything, it’s more nerve wracking.

I lead her to the bathroom and once again say a silent thank-you to God for giving me enough sense to clean it up the day before.  

“Alright, we’ve got soap, shampoo; you can steal some of Tracy’s if you don’t want to smell like Old Spice.  Here’s a towel, washcloth…anything else you need?”

She just smiles and shakes her head.

“Okay then, I’ll leave you to…do that.  And I’ll go make breakfast.”

We stumble into each other awkwardly, nervous laughter passing between us until I finally make it out of there alive.  I let out a sigh of relief, count to three, and then make my way to the kitchen, hoping that I do in fact have everything I need for pancakes.  I hear the water turn on and it almost makes me drop the milk all over the floor.   This isn’t good.  I need something to take my mind off of her.  In my shower.  Oh dear God. TV? Movie?  Music?  Music, that should work.  I flip through my CD collection, trying to find something that doesn’t have a million implications behind it.  I decide Wilco is mild enough for an early morning pancake breakfast and I hum along as I pour the batter on the griddle, trying desperately to drown out the sound of running water.

I’ve got a pretty good batch whipped up when I hear her pad barefoot into the kitchen.  Wilco must have worked because I don’t even remember hearing the water turn off, which is just as well because that would have gotten me thinking about…well, never mind.  She’s here now, in a clean change of clothes (hidden in her gym bag, I assume) and damp hair curling around her shoulders.  No make-up, hair un-done, skin still slightly red from the heat of the shower; it’s a sight I never thought I would see and I’m grateful that I got the chance.  Even if it’s only once.

“Feel better?” I ask.

She nods, and a damp curl falls in front of her eyes.  “Much.”

“Good.  Okay, so what would you like?   Orange juice, coffee, eggs?”

“Yes.”

“Not really a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question, Pam.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just really hungry.  You get the drinks, I’ll whip up the eggs.  Scrambled, okay?”

She moves with ease around the kitchen, and again, it all feels so right.  It’s this perfect picture of domestic bliss that I’ve imagined more times than I can count and for a moment I forget that this isn’t real, that’s she’s engaged to someone else, and that at the end of the day it’ll be like it never happened.

“You put water in your eggs?” I remark as she splashes a few drops into the pan.

“Makes them fluffier.  Trust me, you’ll never go back.” She grins at me while she stirs with the spatula and it’s all I can do to not kiss her right then and there.  So instead, I make coffee.

We eat at the dining room table, more formal than the usual breakfasts I have leaning up against the counter with a bowl of cereal.  We talk about the best form of potatoes in the morning (she says hash browns, I say tater-tots, we eventually agree that they’re basically the same thing), her mom’s French toast, my mom’s omelettes, how Sunday morning meant laughter, reading the comics, and chocolate milk.  I want to know everything; every detail went into making her the amazing woman in front of me: all smiles and syrup on her chin.

“So,” she says in between bites of pancakes.  “What are you going to do?”

I pause, fork mid-air.  “About what?”

“Your living situation.  You don’t want to be homeless in Stamford.”

Oh right.  That.  “I don’t know, I just figured I’d look around when I got there.”

She snorts and rolls her eyes.  “Great idea.   Meanwhile, where are you going to stay?”

“I don’t know—“

“Do you have family there?”

“Well, no—“

“Then how are you going to—“

“I’ll figure it out!”  My voice reverberates through the house and what follows is nothing but uncomfortable silence.  I yelled at her.  I actually raised my voice like a dad scolding his child and yelled at her.  She looks hurt, confused, and goes back to staring at her plate as she pushes around left over eggs.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly.  I get no response from her so I do something I normally wouldn’t under normal circumstances.  I take her hand.  That gets her attention and she looks me in the eye.

“Really, I’m sorry.  I’m just…sort of in denial.”

“I know how you feel.”  This time the silence stretches beyond uncomfortable, awkward, and gets to the point where it’s hardly silence anymore because all that’s not being said is all we can hear; words we’ll never say at full volume in the small space between us.  But as usual, we ignore it.  I let go of her hand and she takes sip of coffee, smiling behind the cup to let me know that it’s okay again.

“Well, I was thinking,” she begins.  “I don’t know how much of this day you had planned out…”

“Pam, I think it’s pretty obvious I have no idea what the hell I’m doing.”  Gotta love subtext.

“We should go to Stamford.”

That I wasn’t expecting.  “What?”

“We’ll find you a place.  Don’t laugh, I’m being serious!” she says, throwing her napkin at me.

“Do you know where Connecticut is?”

“Okay, so it’s a bit of a drive—“

“You think?”

“Come on,” she says, quietly pleading.  “We may not find anything, but if we do…I don’t know, I’ll feel better when you leave knowing that you’re somewhere that I helped pick.”

She never ceases to amaze me.  

“Is that weird?”  

Yeah, actually, it is a little weird.  The whole point of moving away is so I can start fresh, move to a place where I don’t have any memories of her to haunt me at every corner.

But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I can’t deny her anything.  And especially with the limited time we have left…

“No, it’s not weird at all.  I’m ready when you are.”

She stuffs the last remaining bite of pancake in her mouth, washes it down with coffee, and beams at me.

“Ready.”

4:59

“Music?”

“Check.”

“Coffee?”

“Check.”

“Obscene amount of junk food?”

She looks over at me with a sly grin.  “Very big check.”

“Then we’re good to go.”  I smile back before turning to look behind me as I back out of my driveway.  The sun is just barely starting to rise, and the tops of the trees are tinted with pinks and purples.  It’s a pretty gorgeous sight, and a reminder why even after 27 years I still love this town.  I wonder if they have sunrises as good as these in Connecticut.  I wonder if they’re better when she’s next to me.

Silence settles in and makes itself comfortable between us for the first fifteen minutes and it’s a little unnerving how we can sit like this for so long, not saying anything, and have it not be awkward.  Well, not as awkward.  I’m merging on to the 380 when she finally speaks.

“Do you know any games?”

“You mean road trip games?”

She shrugs.  “Something to pass the time, we’ve got a ways to go.”  She props her feet up on the dashboard and there’s something in her words that sound like lyrics to a song I would listen to.

“Well, there’s the license plate game, always a classic.  Or—“

“I spy!”

“What?  Five-year-old Pam, how did you get in here?”

“Shut up.”

“You should really get home to your mother, she must be worried sick,” I tease, taking my eyes off the road long enough to grin at her.  She’s seemingly ignoring me, but there’s a definite smile teasing the corners of her mouth in that adorable way.  

“Alright, we’ll have it your way.  I spy something—“

“You have to say ‘with my little eye.’”

“Pretty sure that's not an official rule .”

“Do it!” She demands, slapping me lightly on the elbow.  She’s lucky she’s cute.

“I spy with my little eye,” I say with gritted teeth.  It’s hard to pick something with the car moving fast on a completely empty freeway.  Then something catches my eye.  “Something tacky.”

Her eyes search the road in front of us until she breaks into a triumphant grin. “Hooter’s!”

“You’re good.”  We continue on like that for a few more minutes until countryside gets the better of us and really, you can only spy fields so many times.  She tries to fight it but eventually a yawn escapes.

“You holdin’ up over there?”

“I’ll be okay, just haven’t gone this long without sleep.”

“Well, feel free to doze off, we won’t be in Stamford for awhile.”

“But then who’s going to keep you company?”  She’s so genuine it hurts.

“Oh I don’t know, we’ve got a pretty great selection of music here.  My buddies AC and DC will be good for conversation.”

“Let’s not forget Bono.”  She laughs and does that thing where she sticks her tongue in between her teeth.  It’s one of my favorite mannerisms of hers, and I have to remind myself that the road is much more important to look out than Pam’s mouth.  Well, that might be debatable.  

I’m zoning out on the road, hypnotized by the blur of yellow lines passing next to me when suddenly out of the silence comes a small voice.

“Ask me something.”

Well, there’s a dangerous request.

“Do you think Dwight’s a virgin?”

“Eww, so not what I had in mind, thanks a lot.”  

I chuckle and shake my head.  “So what did you have in mind?”

She gives an innocent shrug.  “Just trying to make the time go by.  What, are you scared?”  There’s teasing in her voice, but with a definite undertone of a challenge.  And instead of backing away from it, I face it head on.

“What’s been your favorite memory of the past four years?”

I can tell she’s a little startled by the question, but hey, she’s the one that wanted to do this in the first place.  And I keep it vague, though I really wanted to end the question with “together.”  But she shakes it off and thinks for a few moments.

“So many to choose from, you know?  Never really a dull moment with Michael…though, I’d have to say when we organized Office Olympics.  That was…you were in rare form.”  There’s a sadness to her voice, though I can tell by her face that she’s trying to keep this light hearted.  “You?”

How do I even begin?  How do I explain that the past four years would have meant nothing had she not been there?  I think very carefully about my choice of words before beginning.

“Honestly, and I know this is cheating but whatever, I don’t think I can choose.  I mean, there’s been a lot of fun stuff; pranking Dwight, goofing on Michael…but I couldn’t have done any of it without you.  I’m serious, you…you were great.  Always coming up with new ideas or ways to make my idea better.  I wouldn’t have known by first looking at you that you were so genius when it came to this stuff, but I learned pretty quickly that you were full of surprises.  So, I don’t know Pam, I guess I pick all of it.  There’s nothing in my mind that ranks better above the others because it’s all you and me, keeping each other sane in a job that pretty much requires you to lose your mind.”

Then I realize that I just said all of that.  Out loud.  I didn’t mean to, really, I just kind of got on a roll and damn it I should not be allowed to talk when I’m running on no sleep.  I’ve been staring at the road the whole time during my rambling and I’m absolutely terrified to look over at her; I’ve never opened up like that to her before.  So I look cautiously, just slightly turning my head to gauge her reaction.

And I’m pleasantly surprised to find her looking…happy.  Maybe even a little emotional but I don’t want to get cocky.  The point is she’s happy and not looking desperately for a way to get out of the car.  

“That’s…wow.  Thank you,” she says quietly, staring at her folded hands in her lap with a smile she can hardly contain.

“Whoa, that got a little heavy for almost 6 in the morning, didn’t it?”  I laugh nervously and tighten my grip on the steering wheel.  

“I don’t mind.”  It’s barely a whisper but I manage to catch the words dangling under her breath.

The track changes on the CD and “Beautiful Day” starts in over the speakers and I instinctively drum my fingers to the beat, watching as the state line approaches.  I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding as we leave Pennsylvania and pass by a sign welcoming us to New York.

5:59

“Connecticut is pretty nice.  Lots of trees.”

“Because we don’t have trees in Scranton?”  I tease, looking over at her with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m just saying, it seems greener.”

“Yep, that’s exactly why I put in for the transfer.  ‘Jan, I’m sorry, but Scranton isn’t cutting it for me in terms of greenness.  I need to go to Stamford immediately to get my fix of green.”  I quickly figured out that humor is the only way we can really talk about it.  Every time we start to get mildly serious about what this means, it gets awkward and uncomfortable and with almost half of the day gone, is that really how we want to spend our time?  

“Alright fine, smartass, I was just trying to be nice,” she swats my arm and pretends to pout but a smile eventually finds it’s way out into the morning sun streaming through the car.  It’s an absolutely beautiful day, and I actually get a little excited about the prospect of being in such great weather in a few days.  If it weren’t for the whole, you know, losing the love of my life thing.  We roll down the windows and let the cool air wash over our faces, a welcome relief from the fatigue that was all too present in the stifling confines of the car.  I wish I had Michael’s Sebring right now, purely for the fact that this seems like one of those top-down kind of moments.  Like we’re kids playing hooky from school and can’t stand to have one more barrier between the world and us.

“Okay, so I think this should be our plan,” Pam clasps her hands together in a conspiring way.  “Grab some breakfast—“

“You’re a hollow leg, aren’t you?”

“—get a paper and look through the housing listings.  It’s a Saturday, there’s bound to be something open.  I say we have time for three, maybe four if we plan our time right.  Do you have a price range you’re looking for?  Also, are you thinking apartment, condo, house?  You can probably afford it now with your salary, also—“

“Pam,” I say calmly, feeling brave and putting a hand over her mouth, my eyes never leaving the road.  “Slow.  Down.”

“Mmffay,” comes muffled out from behind my hand.  I smile and take it away, ignoring the tingles that are searing through my palm.

“Are we there yet?”  she asks.

“No, and don’t make me turn this car around young lady,” I say in my best dad voice.  She shoots me another mock glare and throws her hands up in exasperation.

“I’m bored,” she whines.
“Well, my idea pool ran dry with Twenty Questions so you’ll have to think of something.”

She makes a snorting sound of disbelief.  “And here I thought after the day of the fire that you were the expert at intense, psychologically revealing games.”

I shake my head and laugh.  “Man, that day…I can’t believe we played ‘Who Would You Do?’”  I’m hesitant to bring it up, but there are only a few miles left to go.  We’ll probably get there right around the time it turns awkward.

“You totally cheated at that, by the way.  Using Kevin as a cop-out for your real answer.”

Nope, it’s awkward now.

“Who says that wasn’t my real answer?  Kevin is a very attractive man, Pam.  Learn to look past the surface.  And you’re one to talk, you girls didn’t even give your answers.”

She looks like she got caught in a trap and gawks for a split second before collecting herself.

“Well…that’s…different.”

“Women fought for equal rights for how long?  And now you’re telling me the rules don’t apply to you guys.  Make up your mind, would ya?”  I cast a grin at her to reassure that I’m kidding, but she still looks quite panicked.  Does that mean—

“Alright, I’ll tell you if you promise to tell me.”

I lick my lips and consider.  This has the potential to be horrendously uncomfortable, but the typical male in me just wants to hear her say it.  Once.

“Deal.  Ladies first,” I say with a little flourish of my hand, causing her to roll her eyes with a smile.

“Okay, I said…Toby.”

I was not expecting that.  Let’s hope I can make it not so obvious in my voice.

“Oh…Toby.  Yeah, that’s…cool.”  Nope, the disdain is quite obvious.

“What?  Were you expecting someone else?”  She’s being coy and it actually kind of annoys me.  What the hell are we doing?  We can’t even be honest in a stupid game of “Who Would You Do?”  This is ridiculous.

“No, not at all,” I say bitterly.  “Guess I have to hold up on my end of the deal.  So it’s you.  Okay?  That was my real answer.”  I let out a sharp breath and stare straight ahead at the road.

The soft “oh” that escapes her makes it clear that she wasn’t expecting that either.  Or at least she wasn’t expecting me to actually tell this crazy thing called the truth.

“I’m really sorry if that’s weird but…it’s just a game, Pam.”  I manage to sound a little more light hearted and even force an apologetic smile in hopes it’s enough to cover my ass.

She gives one right back and I can feel a weight being lifted off the car.  

“You know, I only said Toby because of everyone else.  I didn’t want them to think—well, you know.”

I nod because yeah, unfortunately, I do know that the rumor mill in this office is lightning fast and I didn’t need a lumberjack of a warehouse guy coming after me.  

“And this is obviously assuming Roy isn’t in the picture because then of course I’d have to—“

“Pam, it’s just a game.” I repeat softly, wishing that we’d never done this in the first place.  Psychologically revealing, my ass.

“I know,” she says, ejecting the CD and flipping on the radio.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for what stations you get.  You’re going to need to change your presets.  A very important step when moving out of state,” she says with a genuine smile.

“Yes, I do believe that is above ‘finding a place to live’ on the priority list.”  We laugh amidst the sounds of static as she searches for music.  Before we know it, we’re entering Stamford and the quest for food begins again.

“That place looks cute,” Pam remarks, a red and white “Bedford Street Diner” sign appearing on the left.

“Fine by me,” I say, turning into the parking lot.  “Think Stamford is civilized enough to have French toast?”

“Hmm, maybe.  If not, I’ll be sure and introduce the natives to the delicacy.”  She throws a wink at me as she gets out of the car and I start to follow when my odometer catches my eye.  We’ve gone 150 miles.  150 miles away from Scranton, the office, home.  

“Jim, you coming?”  I hear her voice call out and I finally turn off the engine.

“Yeah, I’m right behind you.”  I jog up next to her and home suddenly doesn’t seem so far away.

7:59

Pam smoothes the paper out in front of her as our waitress stops to re-fill our coffee.  I smile as a thank-you and take a sip, watching as Pam’s eyes peruse over the dozens of listings.

“Okay, how about this:  1 bathroom, courtyard, access to fitness center, laundry facilities, putting green.”

She looks up to gauge my reaction.

“When have you ever seen me pick up a golf club?  Besides, how many bedrooms does it have?”

She glances down to check and frowns.

“Umm, it doesn’t.  It’s a studio.”

“Okay, thank you, moving on.”  I motion forward with my hand and she diligently goes back to the search.  It’s endearing how much she cares about this and just shows that she’s the bigger person in all of this; if it were the other way around, I’d be a poor sap with my arms around her knees begging her not to leave.  Actually, that’s probably what I’d do if I were going to be around for the wedding.  My mind wanders to the plane ticket sitting on my coffee table, unopened and the undefeated champion in the staring contests I’ve been having with it everyday since it arrived.  

I am such a coward.

“Alright, wait, here we go,” Pam says excitedly and I realize I’ve had a fork full of French toast mid-air while I was deep in thought.  I take a bite and listen for the details.

“1 bedroom, 1 bath, located near downtown Stamford with all the common amenities.  $1500 a month.”

I choke on my breakfast.  “I’m sorry, what?”

“What?”  she asks bemusedly.

“That’s…a lot for only one bedroom.  I couldn’t even have a roommate.”  Responsibility and obligation start clouding my head to the point where it hurts to think.  For so long I’ve lived the life of a kid in 26 year old’s body:  A cool house, living with one of my best friends, a job that often feels more like daycare that it does an actual job.  It occurs to me that this is really the biggest step I’ve taken since college.  And it’s terrifying.

“Well,” Pam begins, her tone soft and comforting.  “This is a promotion, right?  You’ll be making more than you are now.  You can cut costs and still live comfortably.”

I frown and run a hand through my hair.  She catches it as it comes down, causing me to look at her with subtle alarm.

“Hey,” she smiles.  “It’s going to be okay.  It’ll be…good for you,” she manages to get out and I can tell she’s not just trying to convince me.

“Yeah…yeah you’re right.”  I give her hand a squeeze and let it return to her coffee mug.

“We’ll finish up here and go take—oh, sorry.”  The sound of her cell phone rings through her purse and she scrambles to find it.  I have my suspicions of who it is and the look on her face confirms it.  She gives me an apologetic smile as she answers.

“Hey babe,” she starts and that’s all it takes to get me to move from our booth.

“I’ll go pay,” I mouth to her and she nods, obviously distracted.  I can make out her side of the conversation as I head towards the cashier.

“Yeah, no, I’m fine.  Did you get my note?  Yeah, I’m just doing errands all day, might go visit Mom.  I’ll be back kind of late.”

It’s not like I was expecting her to tell the truth; what good would that do?  No sense of turning this adventure into a fugitive situation.  It’s just unsettling to have that reminder that what we’re doing here is by no means innocent.  There’s no way to make this look good to anyone: An engaged woman miles from home with a guy who admitted to having a crush on her at one time.  At least that’s all he admits; the real time line is a bit frightening and let’s not even talk about the “L” word.

“$18.50,” the cashier says.  I break my train of thought and silently had him a $20.  

“Did you enjoy everything today, sir?” he asks.

“Wh—what?”  I stammer, confused and disoriented as I continue to try and eavesdrop.

“Your meal.  How was everything?”

“Oh, fine…it was fine.  Thanks.”  He hands the change back to me and I take my time walking back to the booth only a few feet away.  She’s still on the phone when I come back but is trying to wrap things up.

“Yeah, I can pick that up on my way home, sure.  What?  Sure, you should do that, you have the day free so…” she trails off, tucking her hair behind her ears nervously.  Her guilt is going to let him get away with a lot today, and she knows it.  It’s heartbreaking to watch so I focus on the change in my hands and try to calculate the tip.

“Okay, have fun.  I love you, bye.”  She flips her phone closed and forces a smile up at me.

“Sorry about that.”

I wave my hand and shake my head.  “Don’t worry about it.  Is everything, uh, okay?”

She nods quickly.  

“Yeah, he’s just checking on me, so…we ready?” She stands and slings her purse on her shoulder.

“After you,” I say, motioning for her to walk first.  She hurries out the diner door and I notice that I’ve rarely seen her walk with her head held up.  
 
The drive to the apartment is surprisingly short, and we’re greeted by an enthusiastic landlord smoking a cigarette in front of the main office.

“Morning,” she says, digging the butt of her cigarette with her heel into the ground.  “You folks sure got here early.”

“We wanted to get a head start.  I’m Pam and this is Jim,” she says brightly and I’m slightly taken aback at all this confidence she’s bestowing on to a perfect stranger.  It took her a lot longer than that to get to that point with me.  

“Nice to meet you both, I’m Lisa.  How about I show you around?”  She doesn’t wait for a response and starts to clack away down the main path and into the heart of the complex.  It’s a nice enough place; spacious, safe, not painted a terribly ugly color.  I note to Pam that it has plenty of trees and she shoots me a look that says “Be nice in front of your potential new landlord.”

We climb up a set of stairs and with a few jiggles of the key, Lisa swings the door open to reveal a bare apartment.  There’s nothing special about it, nothing to draw me in and say “Yes, this is my new home.”  But then again, I can’t find anything really wrong with it either, so when Pam looks at me to silently ask what I think of it, I respond with an approving nod.

Lisa rambles on about the details of the place and I don’t bother to listen to closely, and instead make my way down the short hallway to check out the one bedroom and bath.  It’s a small space and voices carry, which allows me to accidentally overhear a conversation I wasn’t meant to hear.

“So, is this your first place together?”  Lisa asks casually.

“Oh, umm…” Pam begins to stammer and I prepare myself for the reiteration of what I already know to be the sad truth.

“Yeah, actually.  It’s uh—it’s pretty exciting.”

What the—

“Congratulations.  I know this may be a ways off, but the complex also has multiple bedroom units, in case someone else comes along.”  Her tone is so suggestive it’s hard not to know to what she’s referring.  I’m reeling not just from her presumptuous attitude but from Pam.  What is she doing? Playing house when she thinks I’m not listening?

I decide it’s gone far enough and poke my head out from the hallway.

“Alright, thanks for showing us around Lisa, can I have your card?”

She pulls one seamlessly from the tiny pocket on her blazer and hands it over, positively beaming.

“Great.  Come on, honey,” I say with subtle sarcasm as I take Pam’s hand.  “We have a lot of ground to cover.”

We make a hasty exit and I practically fly down the stairs, Pam’s voice trailing behind me.

“Jim!  What was that?”

“I feel like I should ask you the same thing.  What are you doing, Pam?  Telling realtors that we’re together?  Does that make this more fun for you?”

“You tell me, you’re the one who told the policeman I was your girlfriend.”

Uh oh.

“You—I thought you were asleep,” I mumble, nudging the loose gravel of the parking lot.

“I was, sort of.  I was awake enough to hear that part.”  She crosses her arms and waits for an explanation.

“Look, I’m sorry, I just figured that was an easier answer than ‘she’s actually just my best friend that I kidnapped for a day who is helping me look for houses since I’m transferring from my old job.’”  This gets a laugh out of her and the tension on my heart eases a bit.

“It’s complicated, isn’t it?”  she asks and I can hear the apology in between her words.

“Yeah, that’s my fault.  Sorry about that,”  I crook the corner of my mouth up, hoping it’s enough to ease things over.  She just gives a small nod and I breathe easier; another awkward moment we can put to rest.

“So, the hunt continues?”  she asks, moving toward the car.

“I guess so.  Can’t settle on the first one I see, right?”  I swallow the double meaning behind the sentence and climb into the driver’s seat.  

“Right,” she answers determinedly, flipping the newspaper open once more to find our next destination.  

Like I said, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.

8:59 

“Okay,” she says, snapping her cell phone shut.  “We have an appointment with the realtor at 11:00.”  

“Looks like we’ve got some time to kill,” I say, realizing that this was usually the line I used back in college when I wanted to make out with my girlfriend in her dorm room.  The circumstances are just a tad different this time.

“Oh!” she says suddenly, clasping her hands together.  “Let’s go to the branch.”

She can’t be serious.  

“Are you serious?”

She nods excitedly.  “Why not?  We’ve got time, and I want to see the offices of Mr. Big Time Assistant Regional Manager.”

I snort.  “Oh yeah, I’m sure they’re really classy digs.   Besides, I’m pretty sure it’s on the other side of town.”  

“It can’t be that hard to find. Come on, let’s do it.”

And like so many other times in the history of our relationship, I let her win.  We call information to obtain the address and after only a couple of wrong turns, we pull into the Dunder Mifflin Stamford parking lot. It doesn’t look much different than the one in Scranton; same boring paint job, same lettering and double doors that lead to what I assume is the lobby.  I’ve barely turned off the engine before she’s out the door and walking boldly towards the main doors.

“Pam!” I call out, jogging to catch up with her and grabbing her arm.  “What are you doing?”

“I want to look through the glass.”

“Because the lobby of Dunder Mifflin Stamford is actually the magical entrance to Narnia?”

“Wow,” she shoots me a look and shakes her head.  “Dork.”

“Shut up.  Seriously, we look like we’re about to break in.”

She snorts in sarcasm.  “Yeah, we’re going to break into a paper company in the middle of broad daylight.  I’m sure that’s what everyone suspects.  When did you become such a wuss, Halpert?”  She winks and cups her hands around her face, peering through the glass doors.  

I roll my eyes and grudgingly do the same.  But instead of seeing a lobby, I see a khaki trench coat headed straight towards me.

“Oh, sorry—“ I say, moving to the side to let a petite, olive-skinned woman pass through.  She’s in a hurry to get out and how can I blame her?  She’ working on a Saturday for God’s sake.  My stomach sinks as I see a glimpse of my future in this random woman’s sour expression.

“It’s fine,” she says over her shoulder, clacking across the pavement and into her car without another word.

I turn back to give a look to Pam but instead of seeing her beside me, I find her on the other side of the door, wagging her eyebrows at me.

“Let’s check out your new digs.”

The directory points us to the fourth floor and after an awkwardly silent elevator ride up, the doors slide open to reveal the main offices.  It’s much nicer than Scranton, with an air of professionalism that you can actually feel in the dark oak desks and newer equipment.

Pam strolls by reception, running a friendly hand across the countertop before she walks by the main row of desks.  She lets out a long, exaggerated whistle.

“And you thought it wouldn’t be classy.”

I smile and shove my hands in my pockets, feeling unusually exposed.  “Guess I was wrong.”

She stops by one desk, empty except for a lone cardboard box on top of it.  

“I’m guessing this one will be yours.”

My stomach sinks even lower than before as this all starts to become much too real.  Pam must notice because she looks around nervously for a change of subject.  She points to the windows.

“Never thought you’d have an ocean-front office,” she waves me over to look out over the nearby marina.  She wasn’t lying; it really is a gorgeous view with the sailboats rocking in the harbor, cutting through the small waves that loll against the dock.  

“It’s a nice view,” she says in almost a whisper.

“My view in Scranton wasn’t too bad,” I reply in an equally hushed tone.  We’re leaning on the windowsill, our arms barely brushing each other and I can feel her whole body stiffen.  Another moment pushed too far with my dumbass mouth.

“Don’t deny it, Pam.  Creed is one sexy man.”  She lets out a relieved laugh and while I manage to choke one out, I’m mentally kicking myself.

She’s right; you are a wuss.

She moves from the window and boosts herself up onto my desk, kicking her legs absentmindedly.  I swallow hard, using every ounce of what little energy I have to push back every thought I’ve had about this very scenario.  Granted, it was a different desk but I’ll take what I can—

“So,” she interrupts my thought process, much to my relief.  “As Assistant Regional Manager, what will be your first order of business when you get here?”

“You know, I haven’t given it much thought,” I say bemusedly, leaning against the desk across from her.  

“Well, you have to find somebody to prank.  Obviously,” she says with a teasing smile, like I’m an idiot for not thinking of it first.

“Of course.  There’s gotta be someone annoying enough here to make it worth it.  Though…oh man, I can’t believe I’m going to say this.”  She stops kicking her legs and looks mildly concerned.

“I’m kind of going to miss Dwight.”

She bursts out laughing, clutching her stomach to try and catch her breath.

“I’ll tell him you said that,” she says between fits of giggles.

“No, please, don’t.”

“Nope, I have to.  It’ll make his day.”

“Pam,” I warn.  “You wouldn’t dare.”

She just gives me a tight-lipped smile, similar to the one from earlier in the evening (technically yesterday, wow) and it makes me want to fold, just like I did with my three measly nines.

“Alright, I won’t tell.  But in return, you’ll have to pull a prank on him from here.”

“Here?”  I point down to the ground.  “As in—“

“As in here.  Stamford.  I have faith in you,” she says in a way that’s meant to be a joke, but the sincerity behind her words is all too evident.  And it makes me feel brave about this whole thing since I first talk to Jan.  It’s a weird feeling.

“I’ll do my best,” I assure her and she gives a single nod in approval.

“Okay Beesly, let’s get out of here before we get arrested for breaking and entering.”

She slides off the desk in silent agreement.  “Good point.  Though it’d make for a cool story.”

I just smile to myself.  It already is.

9:59

She’s unusually quiet when we get back in the car, her arms wrapped protectively around one knee as she gazes out the passenger window. She looks so vulnerable, so deep in thought and I rack my brain for something to ease the all-too consuming silence.

“Hey,” I say gently and she turns her head toward me. “There’s the marina.”

Her face lights up at the sight of the water. “I didn’t know you were so close to it.”

“Yeah,” I trail off. “Neither did I. Wanna go check it out?”

She nods earnestly and I pull into a nearby parking lot. The sun is climbing higher into the sky and taking the temperature with it, causing Pam to ditch her light cardigan and reveal freckled shoulders covered only by thin straps. I kneel down to roll up my jeans and look up towards her.

“The pier might be dirty, you don’t mind sitting in grime?” I tease, calling back to her aversion to dirt.

She shakes her head proudly. “I can take it. You’d be surprised how much I’ve changed over our little adventure, Jim. I’ve evolved.” She exaggerates the word and all I can do is roll my eyes is laugh.

“Good for you and your evolution. Now come on, dork.” I sling my arm around her shoulders playfully, and in a pleasant surprise, she doesn’t stiffen or pull away. If anything, I feel her relax more into my grip as we walk towards a string of shops lining the marina.

We exchange hellos with other people passing by, couples walking their dog or a mom jogging as she pushes a stroller. The normalcy of it all, the warm weather, getting to see the ocean for the first time in I don’t know how long; it’s more than enough to make my mood sky rocket and before I know it, I’m grinning like an idiot.

I’m not the only one who notices.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Pam remarks with a grin of her own to match mine.

“I know. I can’t really explain it but I’m just…really happy.” I beam down at her, my arm still slung over her shoulders as we continue to walk with our eyes still locked on each other.

We pass by a convenience store and I halt in my tracks.

“What’s up?” Pam asks, troubled by the sudden stop.

“Wait here,” I say, jogging into the store, a small ding of a bell announcing my arrival. I head straight to the disposable cameras, grabbing the first one I see and hastily paying for it. She’s sitting on a bench just outside the store when I return, looking up at me curiously. I hold up my purchase proudly.

“I figure we need some visual evidence of this insane day.”

“Very nice! Good work, Halpert.” She unwraps it and winds it quickly, snapping a shot of me without any warning.

“Hey, we’ve only got 25 of those, gotta make them count.” I steal the camera from her and hold it up to my eye, willing her to pose. She giggles and blows and exaggerated kiss.

“Perfect,” I say, stuffing the camera into my front jean pocket. “Now let’s go check out that pier.”

We take off our shoes when we get to the end of it, dangling them over the water and dipping timid toes in every once in awhile.

“So,” I say after a few moments of silence. “What do you think of the day so far?”

“You want the truth?” She says it with such seriousness that I straighten up a little and forgo trying to makes shapes in the water with my foot.

“It feels like a date.” My only reaction is to cough a little and try and turn that into an innocent laugh. She’s smiling, weakly I admit, but still a smile so it can’t be all that bad.

“Well, yeah,” I stumble. “It does have some date-like qualities to it.”

“So if this were a date,” she continues and I wonder where in the hell this newfound confidence is coming from. “How would it end?”

The tricky part is trying to answer as though I haven’t thought of this a million times before.

“Let’s see…well, for starters, you would have had a bouquet of sunflowers by now because, you know, they’re your favorite. But uhh, I dunno, we’d probably eat a few more times because that’s what we do apparently.” She laughs and blushes a little but urges me to continue with pleading eyes. “Then I don’t know…maybe a movie? But an obscure one so no one would be in the theater and we could provide running commentary all we want, Mystery Science Theater 3000 style. Then it’d be getting late and I would know that I should take you home but I’m having such an amazing time that I’m going to be selfish and not even suggest it. We’d just…walk around, talk about things we’ve already talked about a million times before but it doesn’t matter because it always feels like a new story with you. But then it’d be like, really late and I’d know that I couldn’t just keep you up…much like I’m doing now.” I laugh nervously but she’s still looking quite serious and I continue. “So I’d take you back and walk to your door and umm…” Like an involuntary reaction, my eyes flee to her mouth and without thinking, I lick my lips.

“Then what?” she says quietly, and there’s such certainty in her voice that we both know exactly comes next.

And I could explain it to her. Sure I could, verbal communication is a good thing.

Then I catch a whiff of cherry chapstick and think that maybe verbal communication is over-rated.

Showing her would leave a much better impression.

So I lean in, my eyes leaving her mouth for just a moment to catch her eyes, to see if she’s recoiling in fear. But she’s not, and unless I’m seeing things, I’m pretty sure she’s leaning in too. My eyes drift close, my heart nearly exploding out of my chest, and our faces just inches apart so that I can almost taste the chapstick.

And then her phone rings.

The noise scares us both, causing us to jerk back in surprise. She fumbles in her purse with shaky hands for her phone.

“Hello?” she says a little breathlessly. I run a hand through my hair, catching a few dewdrops of sweat that collected on the back of my neck. What the hell did we almost just do?

“Uh huh,” she continues, fiddling with her necklace. “Yeah, sorry. We, umm, lost track of time. Okay, thank you.” She flips her phone shut and clutches it to her chest. “That was the realtor, she wanted to make sure we were still coming.”

I merely nod, keeping my head down and attention focused on the ripples projecting from my toe in the water.

She gets up before I do, walking a few steps away.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” I say hoarsely, realizing just how dry my throat is. At the moment I kind of just want to throw myself into the marina and be done with it. But there’s an appointment to keep and my best friend, the woman I’m in love with, the cause of the dull ache now settled in my heart is standing anxiously in front of me, willing my feet to move.

And with unfaltering obedience, they do.

10:59 am

“Pam—“

“We really have to get a move on if we want to make that appointment.” She’s fiddling with the car door handle, believing that if she pulls on it enough times it’ll magically open.  

“Pam—“ I start again.

“The realtor didn’t sound too happy, hope that doesn’t mean you’ve lost the place.”  Her casual tone betrays the fear and panic in her wandering eyes, settling on everything around her but my own.

I reluctantly unlock the car and she’s in and buckled before I can even open my own door.  With an aggravated sigh, I slide in and start the engine, intending on ignoring her for as long as possible because if she’s going to act like a kid about this, then so can I.

That lasts for about five minutes and I feel like I have to say something cool and casual just to break the unbearable silence threatening to ruin the past thirteen hours.

“We’re just tired.”

I hear her neck crack as she whips it to look at me.

“What?”

“We’re. Just. Tired.”  And I say it exactly like that, slow and easy as if I’m speaking to a five-year-old or perhaps someone standing precariously on the edge of a cliff.  “We haven’t slept in God knows how long, it’s hot outside…don’t worry about it okay?”  What else am I supposed to say?  That maybe it’s crazy enough to believe that our delirium from no sleep and intense heat is actually making us think more clearly than ever before?  Yeah, that’d go over well.

“Yeah…I know.”  She’s swinging the charm on her necklace back and forth so hard I think it might break.  She’s a blatant nervous train wreck and why this of all things makes me feel a little better, I have no idea.  But it does.  Maybe because at least I know I’m not the only one feeling foolish.  Serves me right, I suppose.  I should know better than to actually pursue a signal with Pam.  Unless I’m crazy, and I don’t think I am, we’ve got three solid years of signal exchange and every time it’s led to awkward silences and nervous laughter.  That’s just the line we’ve drawn because I’m too nice of a guy (or too cowardly) to actually do something about it.  Even if it killed me, I always made sure that she could feel safe and comfortable around me.  

And now, as I watch her practically make a noose with her necklace, I realize I’m really tired of being the nice guy.

“So,” I start, wheeling the car in front of the apartment complex.  “We can drop that whole couple act if you want.  Wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything.”  I realize that the pleasure I’m getting out of watching her squirm is bordering on cruel but for some strange reason, I just don’t care.

Pam gawks at me, her mouth bobbing like a fish and eyes getting glassy as she’s not sure how to respond.  I raise my eyebrows, challenging her to come up with some kind of witty retort or maybe none at all.  Then she closes her jaw firmly and her eyes narrow till I can only see little slits of green.

“No, it’s okay.  Whatever gets you the place, right?”  Now she’s just being cruel, pushing right back with as much force as me, if not more.  

“Right.”  I spit it out and we both hastily climb out of the car, shutting the doors with a satisfying slam.

The realtor is outside looking hurried and impatient but still manages a polite, albeit annoyed smile.

“So good of you to come.  Brian Meyers,” he extends his hand and Pam cuts me off and reaches for it first.

“I’m Pam, we spoke on the phone.  And this,” she says, smoothing her hand down my arm to take my hand in her own.  “Is Jim.”

“Halpert,” I add, feeling cocky and confident from the adrenaline of this unspoken game we’re playing and I shake his hand a little too hard.

“Alright Jim, Pam, let’s uhh, show you two around.  You folks from around here?”  he asks as he leads us towards the complex.

“Scranton, Pennsylvania actually,” Pam replies.  “Yeah, you know, it’s where we met and fell in love but for some reason he just felt the need to move on to greener pastures. So to speak.”  She darts me a quick look and I can feel anger start to stir uneasily in my stomach.

“Right then,” Brian clears his throat uneasily, fumbling with some keys as he opens the door to one of the model apartments.  “Well, this is one of our standard units: one bedroom, one bath, kitchen and living area.  Very cozy place.”

I release Pam’s hand and take a turn around the living room.  I whistle, long and exaggerated.  “Well, there’s not a ton of room.  It’ll make having the guys over a little difficult, but Pam’s used to entertaining for big crowds, aren’t you Pam?”  She folds her arms and stares back at me, hurt masked behind increasing aggravation.

“Well I try and let him take it easy on big game days.  Eight hours a day, five days a week at a job selling paper?  I always said he deserved to do better.”
Wow, low blows.  From the looks of it, neither one of us are going to back down from all this pent up rage anytime soon, and even though it feels like I’m getting the crap kicked out of me, I push on.

“How could I do better?  I have you, babe!”  I saunter over to her, noting Brian out of the corner of my eye adjusting his tie and looking awkward as hell.  I slip an arm around her waist and give her a tight squeeze.  She looks like she might be sick.  “See, Brian, we’ve been together for—gosh, how long has it been—three years now?  Getting this place together is just the first step towards the big ‘m’ word—marriage,” I clarify though it’s pretty obvious all parties were following along.  “It’ll happen eventually, you know that…right, Pam?”  

This time she actually looks like she really will be sick; pale face, wide eyes, the cherry red of her lips fainting into a soft pink hue.  Which is why it’s no surprise when she excuses herself and runs out the door.  The second loud slam of the day leaves just me and Brian, shifting uncomfortably.

“Well, uh…perhaps you folks would like to come back another time.  Here’s my card,” he holds it out to me and all I can do is stare at it, my own feeling of nausea bubbling within me.  I make a rude exit, not even saying “goodbye” or “thank you” or even “we were just rehearsing for a play.”  I run out of there, my eyes scanning everywhere for a sign of her when down the street I see a small figure waving frantically at something in the middle of the busy traffic.  I sprint towards her, my heart thumping in time with my feet and I’m out of breath and a little sweaty by the time I reach her for her hand.  

“Pam—“

“Just don’t, Jim, okay?  I’m done.”

“What are you talking about?“

“Is this what you had in mind?  Huh?”  She’s practically hysterical, yelling at me on the sidewalk with tears choking her voice.  “Is this what you had planned for this day?  Trying to kiss me?  Insulting me? Making a joke of my engagement in front of a complete stranger?”

No, quite frankly, that wasn’t my plan.  I don’t even know what the hell my plan was except to delay the inevitable.  And as she stands there, breathing harder than I am and her so much emotion packed into one beautiful face, I have no answer for her.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she says bitterly as though reading my mind.  She returns to her frantic waving until a lone taxi finally pulls up next to her.  

That’s when I panic.

“No, wait, Pam, stop—“ short, monosyllabic words fly out of my mouth and yet none reach her as she quickly slides in and takes off, bright yellow merging into the blue ahead.

11:59 am

Bedford Street Diner isn’t much busier than it was when we ate this morning.  People mill in and out and that’s about the only detail I notice.   I’m too absorbed in my own misery taking the form of my reflection in cup of coffee that’s too small and too cold.  I need sleep.  Maybe I’ll just buy the next apartment I look at and nap there.  Yeah, because that’s not creepy at all.  You know what else isn’t creepy?  Getting a booth by yourself facing the door, just in case.  I attempt to read the newspaper but every time the little bell jingles announcing another customer, I snap my head up so fast there’s a distinct possibility I’ll get whiplash.

Tink-a-link-a-link

I look up.  A man with a small girl on his shoulders, about five or so, comes in and he ducks low enough so she doesn’t hit her brunette head.  It makes my heart hurt and I’m not even sure why.  He orders coffee, she orders chocolate milk, and I go back to pretending that today’s comics are funny.

Tink-a-link-a-link

I look up again.  A couple.  Great.  Perfect.  Fine.  Fall all over each other and don’t mind the poor sap about ready for death by a fork in the neck.  He takes her hand and kisses the modest, but brilliant, diamond adorning a silver band on her ring finger as they slide into an open booth.  Next to each other.  Of course.

“More coffee, hon?”  A green-eyed blonde in a simple uniform masks mild concern with a smile.

“Oh, yeah, thanks.”

“Can I get you anything else?”

I pretend to think.  “A giant bottle of tequila?”

She laughs and winces.  “Already?  Must be a hell of a day you’re having.”

I just shake my head.  “You have no idea.”

She gives me a sympathetic look and leaves me to my second, no wait, third cup. She reminds me of my sister a bit; spunky attitude and a smile that lets her get away with it.  Suddenly aching for a voice from home, I flip open my cell and dial a number by heart.

“What did you do?”

“Hi to you, too, sis.”

“What did you do?”

“Why are we automatically assuming I did something?”

“Because, dearest little brother of mine, when you were in college, you’d always call me on Saturdays to tell me what dumbass thing you did on Friday.”

“No longer in college, you know, in case you didn’t hear.”

“Quit stalling.  What’s up?”

I spin my spoon around the table with my finger.  “Nothin’ much.  Just hanging out in Stamford for the day.”

“Connecticut?  What are you doing in Connecticut?”

“You haven’t talked to Mom lately, have you?”

“You mean have I heard how my house sucks, my job sucks, and how we're not going to be there for Thanksgiving?  No, haven’t had the chance to chat.”

“I’m, uhh, moving here.  Job promotion.”

“Jim, that’s great!  Why do you sound all mopey?”

“I’m not mopey.”

“You’re mopey.”

“Your face is mopey.”  I roll my eyes at my own pathetic comeback.

“Mature.  Seriously, though, are you just scared of moving or what?”

“Not so much scared as it is completely terrified.  And I’m not even really sure I’m doing it for the right reasons and—“

“I’m going to guess the next part of your story rhymes with ‘ham’”

“You’re good at this whole ‘my brother’s so pathetic thing.’”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to tease.  But Jim, this move sounds good.  I’ve known about it for two minutes and already it sounds a lot better than the situation you’re in now.”

I let out a deep sigh because really, she has no idea about the situation I’m in now.  The far worse, potentially illegal (what if she goes missing and winds up on Dateline?) situation.

Tink-a-link-a-link

Old man with a cane and an old-fashioned newspaper boy cap.  He moves slowly to a table, and by the warm callings of his name extended to him by the staff, I presume that it’s his regular table.  Familiar and claimed as his own after months, perhaps years, of sitting there.  Routine.  Tradition.  

“Still there?”

“Yeah, sorry. Look, I don’t even really know why I—“

“Don’t apologize.  It’s half-time and I just got done giving my soccer mom pep talk to Maddy.”

I smile at the thought of my cleats-clad, nine-year-old niece.  

“Is Gary still coaching?”

“Not so much coaching as it is waving a clipboard around and buying ice cream for the team when they win.  Or don’t win.  I’m pretty sure he’s just in it for the ice cream.”

I laugh and I can feel the death grip on my heart release.

“Well, thanks for my pep talk, Larissa.  It helped.”

“No problem.  Let me know if you need help moving.  Oh, wait, real quick, Maddy did said the funniest thing yesterday—“

Tink-a-link-a-link

“Larissa, I have to call you back.”

“No, seriously, two seconds—“

“No, I really have to call you back.”  I drown out the rest of my sister’s protests with a click of the phone and sprint to the door.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

1:59

She looks calm. Too calm. Maybe calm enough, I don’t even know, but I gesture to my booth and she slides in cautiously.

“Did you get my messages?” I ask, avoiding her eyes as I pick at my paper napkin.

“All seven of them? Yeah, I did.” She doesn’t sound exactly happy, but not seething mad either. There’s an unsettling indifference about her that makes me feel like for all my talk about knowing her, I haven’t a clue who she is.

“Pam, I’m so sorry. Like, you have—I’ve been a wreck. I was ready to use the ‘it’s happy hour’ somewhere excuse so that I could start doing tequila shots—“

“Jim, stop. No jokes, okay?” She raises her voice loud enough so that the lovey-dovey couple actually turns around to look at us. “Can we just please, please, for once in our lives have a normal, adult conversation?”

Ouch. I ignore the stabbing pain in my stomach and let her continue. She has every right to be mad, and I have no room to try and stop her.

“Where did all of that come from? All that anger…I had no idea, Jim. None.” There’s panic in her eyes and I can tell she’s starting to wonder if there are other things she has no idea about. “If you have something you need to say to me just say it. No more of this passive aggressive bull. Just say it. Please.”

I think I might throw up. It would be so easy; so easy to do as she asks. And she’s looking at me with those eyes, still a little angry but mostly nervous, and all I want do is just say it.

“I just want what’s best for you,” is all I manage to choke out and I feel even more nauseous. Roy may not be the right guy for her but at least he had the balls to ask her out once upon a time. That’s more than I can say for myself right now.

“That’s it.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement dripping with disgust. “After all of that, you just want what’s best for me?”

“Pam—“

“No, I’m serious. I mean after all the yelling and humiliating, you would think that there might be something other than ‘I just want what’s best for you.’” Each time she says it, it’s like a punch in the stomach. I know she’s egging me on, really looking for some kind of confession that will make my earlier outburst seem vindicated. Justified.

But I can’t. I just swallow hard and shake my head again.

“No, I…I really want you to be happy. And if this is what makes you happy then…” I shrug, hoping that’s enough to finish the words I can’t bring myself to say.

She just nods, drops her head a little bit like she’s disappointed, though about what I can’t even begin to guess. Disappointed in me? That’d make two of us. Once again I find myself completely and utterly stuck. Nothing more than a stupid cliché: damned if I do and damned if I don’t. All I can do is try and salvage what’s left of this day, make it so that she doesn’t completely regret every saying yes to this ridiculous idea.

We sit in silence for a bit, fidgeting with napkins and cutlery till the tension becomes unbearable.

“So…what did you do?”

“To be honest, I was planning on just going back to Scranton. Then I figured out what that would cost and had the cab driver drop me off at a park nearby. I just needed time to think, you know?”

I nod, and almost let the subject drop at that, but curiosity gets the best of me. “What’d you think about?”

She makes a defeated sound and looks at me with a bittersweet smile. “How you were right.” My eyes go wide and she quickly corrects herself. “Not about everything, I mean, a lot of what you said and did was really crappy but…I’m kind of a doormat. Not just with Roy, but at work, too. I don’t speak up for myself because no one will even hear me, and the one person who does hear me…” she gestures toward me and I feel my cheeks burn. “You’ve called me out on it before and the fact that you had to call me out on it again means that I haven’t really done anything about it so…thanks. I guess.”

“You’re welcome?” I make it a question because really, I don’t deserve thanks. What exactly is worth thanking: the fact that I stand by and let her be treated like a doormat by the man she’s supposed to marry? For as happy as she makes me feel, I also feel sick, torn between wanting to constantly save her and letting her do what will make her happy. Even if that means marrying Roy.

“So,” she says flipping through the menu. “What does a girl have to do to get a cup of coffee and a chef salad around here?”

And there it is. Back on shallow, yet solid, ground.

“Chef salad? No, I’m sorry, not allowed.”

“What? Why not?”

“Pam, we are on a road trip. An adventure, if you will. Have you ever heard of someone eating healthy on an adventure? It’s all about survival, and you cannot survive on mixed greens and assorted deli meats.”

She giggles and throws her hands up in defeat. “Fair enough. What would you suggest?”

“Let’s see…chocolate chip pancakes are always a good choice. Or if you’re in a lunch-y mood, the Tex Mex burger sounds dangerous.”

Her face becomes much more interested. “Guacamole?”

“You and guac, I swear. You’ve got California blood in you.”

"So do I actually get to have this burger or are you just going to tease me all day?"

“The waitress and I are good buddies now, I’ve got you covered.” I motion towards the waitress and place our order. Pam and I make mild, meaningless conversation; the kind you make right after a huge fight when nothing’s been really resolved but you decide to go on with your lives anyway. Outside our little booth, the unspoken truth glares at us, desperate and itching to makes its way through the safe, laugh-filled bubble we’ve created for ourselves. But we don’t let it. We eat our Tex Mex burger and tuna melt (a first for me, I’m not sure I like it), talk about reality TV, and evaluate whatever stupid thing Michael did the other day. It’s how we exist; whether inside the office or at a diner in Stamford, Connecticut, this is us. And I’m starting to realize that will never, ever change.

“Well,” she says, pushing her empty plate away from her. “I’m full.”

“I’d say so. Your plate looks like Gettysburg.”

“I’d throw a napkin at you, but I can’t muster the strength.” She holds her stomach with a content smile but I can see in her eyes that no sleep is catching up with her.

“You’re tired. How about we just drive around for a while? See the sights?”

“The sights of Stamford?”

“I happen to know for a fact, Beesly, that Stamford is home to late night comic genius, David Letterman.”

Her face breaks into an infectious grin. “You’re kidding!”

“It’s true. We can drive by his house like a Hollywood tourist.” I smile proudly, happy to see that the day may be salvaged after all.

“That settles it, we’re stalking him,” she says, sliding out of the booth.

“Spoken like a true fan.” I reach for my wallet and feel a gentle hand on my arm.

“Hey, I got this one.”

“Are you sure?” I ask skeptically. “I really don’t mind.”

“I know, it’s just…even with all that’s happened today…” her mouth hangs open as she shakes her head, searching for the right, careful words.

“I owe you one.” She shrugs and gives me a smile that lets me know we’re okay. For now.

I smile back in thanks as she throws down some money on the table. She chatters excitedly about how we’re going to find the house, joking about finding a kiosk that sells star maps. I open the car door for her, laughing in all the right places and I think that this is enough.

For now.

2:59 pm

“So,” I start proudly because this is it, this is the fresh start we needed, wrapped in the superficiality of stalking a celebrity.  “I doubt he’s listed in the phone book, so let’s just start heading towards the nicer part of town and, I don’t know, we’ll look for a house with a dog doing stupid tricks in the front or…”

But this isn’t it.  Far from it.  Pam is just staring straight ahead in the passenger seat of parked car, waiting for scenery to magically pass by.

“Pam?”

“Huh?”  She speaks before she rips her eyes away from the dashboard, meeting me with vague interest and attention that’s obviously somewhere else.

I smile sadly.  “I’m guessing you don’t really want to go stalk the king of late night television, am I right?”

I can see her try to muster up the energy to protest but she lets out air of defeat.

“Not really, no.”

“Hey, look, it’s fine.  Probably was a bad idea to begin with.  Don’t want to spend the rest of our time in jail, do we?”

She laughs meekly and fidgets with the charm on her necklace.  She starts to say something else, but I already know what it is and I’d rather spare her the awkwardness of being the one to say it.

“Wanna go home?”

She looks up quickly, a look of relief seeping through her body and pushing the corners of her chapped lips into grateful smile.  I nod and start the car, the engine seeming to rev up in a way so different than all the other times.  It no longer roars in possibility and opportunity for the road less traveled.  It speaks of finality and echoes the anxiousness to leave this strange place and go home, though it’ll be back in only a week.  As I go to put the car in reverse, I feel her hand settle gently over mine.

“Hey,” she says softly and I look up in obvious panic, worry, and most pathetic of all, hope.

“Let me drive,” is all she says, and I let all the hope out in one long breath.

“What?  No, it’s fi—“ but then a yawn sneaks up on me and I hear her scoff.

“Yeah, you look fine,” she says with obvious sarcasm.  And suddenly I can feel it; the burn of my eyes as I try to keep them open, the heaviness of my limbs, the fog muddled through my head making all thoughts blur together with no sign of comprehension.

 “Seriously,” she says again. “Let me drive.  Or do you not trust me with such a luxurious automobile?”

“I’ll have you know, Pam, this is a really nice car, okay?  A Corolla in case you didn’t know.”  I start to laugh but then I see that smile slip off her face.  

“What?”

She waves something invisible off with her hand.  “No, it’s—nothing. Just umm…” she licks her lips and I really hate that that’s all it takes for hope to come back.  “I remember you saying that.  To Katy, remember?  The first day she was here…”

The memory of it comes in a flash and it’s like I’m looking at it on a movie screen, completely separate from myself.  And I do remember; I remember saying it to her and causing her to giggle but feeling even more satisfaction in knowing that Pam was watching from an old pick-up as it drove away with her gaze trailing behind.

“Huh,” I choke out from the back of my throat.  “Good memory, Beesly.”

She blushes and looks away as though she’s been caught.  “Yeah well, it’s hard to forget Pam 6.0.”  

“Hey,” I say gently.  “Katy was—“ I shake my head, exhaustion furthering my inability to speak as well as think.  “She’s like, a downgrade, Pam.  You’re—“ I gesture towards her, as though the reason Katy is so obviously a downgrade should be as clear as the glass window behind her.  

“I’m what, Jim.”  And there she goes again, egging me on, whether she knows it or not, but she must know it, because she’s looking at me the same way she looked in the parking lot, the baseball field, the pier as I leaned into kiss her and it’s absolutely intoxicating and in my delirious stupor it’s damn near impossible to not do it again…

So I do it.  No ringtones to interrupt me this time, only a surprised whisper of “Jim?” before my lips are on hers and it’s so heartbreakingly real that I don’t even breathe as I kiss her once, twice, and then it’s an uncountable series of them, one right after the other in quick, stolen succession.  They’re never more than a breath apart before they’re happening again, each more urgent and passionate than the last. It seems cliché to talk about time stopping but in this case, it feels true.  We’ve been up for almost an entire day, the clock working against us with every second that ticks by, but in these moments, when I catch her bottom lip with my teeth, when she kisses the corner of my unshaven jaw and it sounds like sandpaper, when I push her head to the side with my nose so I have better access to her cheeks…those moments hardly seem to count against the limited time we have left.  It’s all those moments that add seconds, minutes, maybe even by some miracle hours to our day. Her hands move to my cheeks, tentatively but with firm resolve as they settle there, and I take it as permission to carefully clasp the back of my neck, willing her to never, ever take her lips from mine.

But she does, eventually.  Her hands fall limply to my shoulders as our foreheads rest on each other while we struggle to catch our breath.  I open my eyes and she’s looking at me with one big green eye since we’re so close and my vision can’t focus.  It’s awkward and unnerving and not like anything I ever imagined the thousands of times I’d imagined it.

It’s refreshing.

“You’re shaking,” she says simply.

I smile.  “Sorry.”

Seconds of silence pass, neither of us having moved and all we can manage at the moment is to try and slow down our breathing until finally she speaks.

“So, can I have the keys?”

“Keys?”

“To the car?  I’m still driving, you know.”

Oh. That.  Right.

“Yeah, no, definitely.”  It seems to take a gigantic amount of willpower on both of our parts to pull back from each other, to slide our hands off of shoulders and necks, and my body feels numb when I’m no longer touching her.  I fumble with my seatbelt and can’t quite grab the door handle and I must look like a complete idiot.  Apparently kissing Pam is detrimental to my motor skills.  We switch places and I smirk as I watch her slide the seat up as far it can go.  But then I really look at her, study her face, and it’s blank.  No joy but no nausea or panic either, so I chock that up to a good sign.  She remains quiet as we pull away from the diner parking lot, navigate side streets until we see the freeway.   If we head north, we’ll eventually reach the state line and from there, who knows.  South means Scranton, back home to a once familiar ground that now seems anything but.  

She turns on the blinker with a flick of her wrist.  Left.

Scranton it is.

3:59

It’s beyond awkward.  Two grown adults, one engaged to a man that doesn’t deserve her, and the other who’s convinced that he’s the one who does.  She’s got a better poker face on now than at the casino thing, with her hands gripped tightly on the steering wheel and her eyes never leaving the fast-moving road in front of us.  I have to give it to her for keeping so cool; I’m trying my best to do the same but it’s hard to keep down a grin when I can’t stop thinking about how a fantasy I’ve imagined more times than I’d care to admit actually came true.  Granted we were in a car, and there was definitely less clothing in the fantasy, but I’m not picky.  

Minutes tick by and neither of us has said a word, but we don’t seem to be too anxious to say anything.  What would we say anyway?  So, do you always use that much tongue?    

“So,” I start, because well, that’s something right?  “I think I need a better coat for Stamford.  I mean I’m by the water, so that must make it colder—“

She’s pulling over onto the side of the road, cutting off a few cars in the process, which earns us some angry honking.

“Uhh, Pam, is there a reason you’re—“

And then the lips are back, pressing hard against mine to the point where it almost hurts.  Her hands are clasped against my cheeks holding my head in place, and when I try to take them in my own, it seems to snap her out of it.  She pulls back breathless and sits back in her seat, once again staring straight ahead.

“I cheated on Roy.”

Oh.  Okay.  

“Look, Pam…we don’t need to do this.”  I swallow back the bile and pride that’s rising in my throat as I speak, and I hate it, but it’s my only option.  “We can just forget it happened and I’ll move and—“

“No.  No,” she states solidly.  “I’m not talking about…us…I mean—It was awhile ago.”

My head swivels toward her with surprise, my mouth gaping open like a fish.  It’s not the most tactful response, but learning that Pam has a history of infidelity is undeniably intriguing.

“Some stupid party in college.  Roy and I had gotten into an equally stupid fight, I ran into a guy from my art class, I had way too much beer and then…” she trails off and lets a shrug finish the story for her.

“So you….did ‘it’?” I ask with a laugh, because I sound like I’m in seventh grade all over again, scared to know the answers to all my questions in health class.

“It’s not funny,” she answers sharply and I hang my head in embarrassment.

“And no, I didn’t let it get that far.  We fooled around a little bit but when the moment of truth came, I panicked.  I went running back to Roy the next day, took the entire blame for the fight, and he never found out about what I did.”

I try to picture it: Co-ed Pam, shy and inhibited as she always is, being reckless for a few scandalous hours in a dorm room.  Cardigans and turtlenecks discarded on the floor along with reason and logic.  It seems completely out of character, but what occurred less than an hour ago along with this anecdote from the past seems to say contrary.

“Why are you telling me this?”  I ask, though I suppose it’s pretty obvious.

“I don’t know,” she admits quietly.  “It doesn’t make what just happened any better, I know it makes it worse.  But…I’m sensing a pattern.”

Pattern.  As in those kisses we just shared were nothing more than the next stitch in the pattern she’s woven for herself in two instances of unfaithfulness.  Nothing special, nothing unique, every bit as meaningless as a drunken night of fooling around.  I can feel myself starting to glare at the glove compartment as my thoughts begin to fester and I try my best to create a look of indifference.

“Pattern,” I repeat, trying hard to mask the bitterness on my tongue.  

“Yeah, you know, like…unhappiness leads to people making bad decisions.  But those bad decisions are really based on one previous, ultimate bad decision.  Does that make sense?”

“No, not really,” I chuckle.

She sighs in exasperation.  “I just…I’m wondering if these choices I keep making revolve around Roy.”

Obviously.

“I…don’t know what to tell you, Pam.”  

She mutters a “hmm” in return, turns the car on with a decisive nod and merges back on to the highway.  And that basically confirms all of my fears:  It was nothing.  Meaningless.  We can sweep this under the rug like every other stolen glance and “innocent” hand brushes and seconds of silence passing between us.  Unless…

“For the record,” I interject, refusing to let the subject change.  “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

She presses her lips together tightly out of…anger?  But I can see the corners start to turn up and maybe this was a good idea after all.

“How long?” she asks, her voice just barely cracking.

Even though it’s wreaking major havoc on my nerves, I love this new game we’re playing.  Like now that we’ve crossed the most dangerous threshold, and there’s no going back, we might as well enjoy it.

“Since your first day?” she pushes further.

I swallow and stare ahead at the road, hoping she can see enough out of her periphery to catch my slow nod.  

“Yeah,” she chuckles softly.  “Me too.”

It’s a small victory, but after five years, I’ve finally gotten some truth out of her.  

“Yeah?” I move my hand carefully toward hers where it’s resting on her thigh and curl my pinkie around her own.  She licks her lips and lets a long breath out of her nose.  Even if it was meaningless, there’s at least a small comfort in knowing that the smallest touch can have this effect on her   I bite my lip to keep from smiling as I start to graze her palm with my fingers.

“You’re going to make me crash this car if you keep that up.”  She tries to sound forceful, but it comes out strained, like she’s trying to ignore the fact that my thumb is tracing circles on her wrist.

I shrug innocently.  “Okay, I’ll stop.”  And I do.  I stop work on her hand move up her bare arm to the back of her neck, my fingers doing what I wish my lips could.

“Jim,” she warns, but I ignore her.  

“Do you blame me?”  There’s a darkness to my voice that should surprise us both, but after all that’s happened today, I don’t think much surprises us anymore.  Even still, the slow shake of her head, and all the implications it holds, is enough to send chills all along my back.

But the tension lifts as she straightens her back and gives the road the attention it deserves.  The moment passes as quickly as the cars beside us and while I can’t deny my disappointment, it’s for our own good (and safety) that we let this drop.  For now.

 I feel the car start to accelerate.

“In a hurry, Beesly?”

“Yeah I just…kind of want to get out of this car.”  

I take my hand away from her neck and settle into the passenger seat.  “Not too long of a drive, we’ll be in Scranton soon.”

“Good,” she says quickly.  I look over at her curiously, wondering how to take this sudden sense of urgency.  

She notices and assures me: “No, I just…I think we should really talk when we get back.  I mean, we could talk now but I feel like doing that while operating a car is a poor choice.” She smiles in hopes that I’ll understand, and even though I don’t and have no idea what the hell she wants to talk about (or maybe I just don’t know where she wants to begin), I smile back.

“Sure,” I say, closing my eyes and resting my head on the seatbelt.  “We’ve got time.”

4:59 pm

There’s a “Welcome to Stamford” sign that looks a lot like the one from Las Vegas. Retro, but with more lights, if that’s possible.  The buildings I’ve spent almost a whole day with are distorted and look like something out of Dr. Seuss.  Weird trees and illegible street names plague me with doubt and confusion, because this is not the place I’ve come to know in only a few hours. Suddenly I’m at the dock, the dock where we almost kissed, and she’s standing there in a wedding dress.  And there’s actually guests sitting in chairs that seem to float on the water.  And the guy standing with her is…me.  And yet I feel as sick as though I were looking at Roy.  Like even this guy who looks like me still doesn’t deserve her, for whatever reason. I try to call out to her but it comes out a jumble of noises and sounds.  She turns towards me but starts to slowly walk backwards to the end of the dock.  She mouths something that I can’t make out and I try to run to her.  But my legs betray me and stay still, as if rooted to the wood planks.  She’s still walking backwards, approaching the edge and my panic mounts.  I reach out my hand but she ignores it, still walking steadily back.  She calls out something and I can finally hear her.

“Jim,” she says gently as her foot takes the final step back, with nothing to support her but air.

“Jim?”

I wake from my dream shaken and out of breath.  I look through squinted eyes around me to determine, yes, I am in fact not dreaming anymore .  I’m in my Corolla on the highway.  And the detail clinches it all: Pam.  Not in a wedding dress, but in her pink camisole, her bare shoulders the same color.  

“Huh---wuhuhwe…”

“We’re just outside the Pennsylvania state line.  Shouldn’t be too much longer.”

I shake my head roughly in an attempt to wake up.

“Man, intense dream.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

“Yeah, you were tossing a little while you slept.  What was it?”

Well, damn.

“Uhh…I don’t really remember, the details are all fuzzy…”

“Don’t even lie to me, Jim Halpert,” she says with laughter in her voice.  “You have a freakish ability to remember your dreams.  No one can recount running a zombie marathon quite like you can.”

She’s totally called me out and I sigh in defeat as I face my doom.

“Well, if I remember correctly—“

“And I know you do.”

“You were in it, actually.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“Really?”

“Yeah…” I continue, because at least she doesn’t look completely terrified.  “It was that dock, the one where…anyway you were in your wedding dress.  Well, the wedding dress that my subconscious thought up, anyway.”

She scoffs.  “Probably much better than the real one.”

I look over in concern as she visibly struggles with what to say next.

“No, I mean…that came out wrong.  I love my dress, really.  It’s a little, uh, frilly, but what wedding dress isn’t?  I’m convinced that the objective in designing them is to make you completely unable to move.”  She’s smiling and even though we’re talking about her wedding dress of all things, I’m smiling too.

“You know that’s why brides always buy two dresses, right?” she continues.  “One for the wedding and one for the reception.”

“So that if the groom decides to smash the cake into her face…”

“It doesn’t matter because it’s not the actual wedding dress.”

“And do you have a reception dress?”  I ask because apparently I enjoy this kind of torture.

“No, we couldn’t…it’s a waste of money.  Besides I don’t really need to move, right?”  She smiles dejectedly.

“Moving is highly overrated.”  Then the double meaning of the words hits and now neither one of us are smiling.

“Speaking of that, do you need help or…” she trails off.

“No, I think I’m okay.  Mark’s going to help, and I think Sam is going to meet me at the new place to get me situated so…thanks though.”

“Sure,” she says sadly, muted disappointment stretching across her face.   “Just thought I’d offer.  Not like I could do heavy lifting or anything.  But I’m very good at standing around and telling you where to put stuff.”

“Well, that’s where I need the most help. Like the fridge, I’m completely clueless.”

“The bathroom.  Obviously.  So when you’re in the shower, you can make a Mai Tai and pretend you’re in some exotic location, drinking under a waterfall.”

I laugh and it’s this; this is why I love her.  Because only Pam would suggest drinking Mai Tais in the shower.  Because we’re both looking for that escape, every day with everything we do. Except now I’m the one who’s actually escaping, for the most pathetic and cowardly reasons.

A few minutes pass before she speaks again.

“You know, you totally broke our deal.”

This should be good.

“And what deal is that?”

“You’d just started.  And we were in the break room, complaining about our jobs and I said that I was just ready to give up and quit.  And you looked at me and said ‘Beesley, think carefully about that decision.  You jump, I jump.’”

“And then you teased me for quoting ‘Titanic.’”  

“Well, really, Jim, who does that?”  We laugh but then I remember that Dwight does that, and that’s just a terrifying thought.

“What about that time you tried to push me over to Maryland?” I tease because enough time has passed that we can do that now.

“Oh, did I not mention there was an opening in reception there, too?”

“Mmm,” I feign deep thought.  “No, you never mentioned that.”

“Oops.  My mistake.  Anyway, I totally planned on going with you because I would never break such a deal.  You on the other hand…” she clicks her tongue in mock disapproval, which is a bad idea, because now I’m thinking about her tongue and how—that train of thought needs to end immediately.

“It’s too bad you can’t come with me, now,” I say softly, my eyes on my lap since I refuse to look at her while I say it.

“Yeah,” I hear her say in equally hushed tones.  “Too bad.”

5:59

In my groggy state, crossing the Scranton city limits feels kind of like dreaming.  Except it’s a nightmare, because we’re back and everything’s changing.  No more pretending or fooling ourselves into thinking that what happened is anything resembling permanent.  I keep wrestling with regret, desperate to determine if this road trip was a good idea.  I don’t think I ever meant for it to go this far; we started at a coffee shop, somehow wound up in Stamford of all places, and now we’re back. Right where we started.  Except now it’s worse.  Now I know all the little details about her that working at Dunder Mifflin never afforded me.  Like how long it takes for her to get sunburned. Or what she looks like fresh from a shower. Or what it’s like to kiss her. Multiple times.

  “Home sweet home,” Pam says, turning onto familiar roads.  “We’ve still got four hours until you turn into a garnet.”

“A what?”

“Garnet. It’s the state mineral of Connecticut.”

“So garnet is equivocal to a pumpkin in this case?”

“Shut up, they don’t have a state fruit.”

“How do you know all of this?”  I rub my hands over my face, my drowsiness replaced by laughter.

“Honestly, I have no idea. Jeopardy, maybe.”

This day has been broken up into moments of our old banter and silence, and now, after talking about state minerals, we’re back to silence.  It’s funny how we can feel so lost even though we’re back home.  

“Hey,” she says finally. “We’ve still got that camera.  Should we get it developed?”

“Didn’t we only take, like, three pictures?”

“Yeah, but, I don’t have much use for a disposable camera. Do you?”

“Nah. I mean, I already tried to convince Dwight that he was the inspiration behind ‘One Hour Photo.’ What else is there left to do?”

She giggles as she pulls the car in front of Rite Aid that’s already stamped with the late afternoon sun.

We drop off the cheap Kodak at the picture center and wander down the aisles, looking at ceramic cat figurines (“Buy it! Something to remember Angela by”) and cheap DVDs in an attempt to make the estimated hour go by quickly.  Or maybe just to savor it.  After almost no sleep in the last twenty-one hours, things aren’t as clear as they used to be.

“Still going to Australia?” she asks, leaning lazily on the cart as we stroll, appropriately, through the office supplies aisle.

“Yeah, I don’t see why not. Don’t really want to be out hundreds of dollars.  Why?”

She shrugs, running her fingers along highlighters and Sharpies.  

“I thought maybe it was one of those impulse buys, you know? Like the time you thought you’d look cool in a bomber jacket.”

“Hey, I did look cool in a bomber jacket.” I nudge her arm playfully before shaking my head.

“And to be honest, it was an impulse.  I don’t know, it was like I just needed to be…not here for a while.  Plus, the only place I’ve been out of the country is Canada and that hardly counts.”

She tries to laugh but I can tell she’s still troubled by it all.

“I don’t know.  I just…if you’re looking to escape, don’t you think Stamford is far enough?”

“Pam…” I warn, the strain of fatigue wearing on my nerves.

“Jim, I’m not stupid, okay?  You obviously booked that trip to miss the wedding so…I mean, you’re moving. Isn’t that punishment enough?”

I stop, utterly confused.  “Who exactly is being punished here?”

“Me.  When you told me you weren’t going to be there, I felt so…”

My contacts are beginning to dry, and now is really not the time for it to look like I’m crying.  

“Lost,” she finishes after a moment.  She looks at me, breathless, her face loaded with fear and expectation.

I throw my hands up in exasperation.  

“Pam, I don’t know what to tell you.  I know it’s a big day and everyone’s going to be there but it’s not my job to keep you feeling…not lost.  I can’t drop my whole life just to hold your hand on your wedding day.  And frankly, if you even need hand holding on your wedding day then—“  

I’ve said too much, and judging by the look on her face, she knows exactly how that sentence is going to end.  She starts to get angry but then something else comes over her.  Something softer and understanding and before I know it, she’s got her arms wrapped around me with her head on my chest.

“I know,” is all she says.  All the guilt I was prepared to feel dissipates and I’m content with holding her in front of the toilet paper display.

“You wanna…” I jerk my head towards the exit as we pull away.  She nods and we silently agree to forget about the camera, forget about all the hurt, and forget that there’s still technically three hours left of our day together.

It’s time to go home.

6:59 PM

Considering all the driving we’ve done today, it’s the ten minutes from Rite Aid to her place that feels the longest.  I mean, I could be driving slowly on purpose. No one could prove it, not even her, and from the way she’s absently staring out the window and tangling her fingers in her necklace, I doubt she even notices.  Would she notice if I turned right instead of left? If we pulled into my driveway and not hers?  If she spent today, and every day, for the rest of her life in my day dreams?

But I figured out a long time ago that no matter my dreams or how badly I want it, deep down I know better. Which is why I turn left, onto her street and pull up next to her house.  The brown one with a lawn that needs to be mowed, and Roy’s truck planted in the driveway.  

“What a day,” her voice croaks from the passenger seat, her eyes still staring out the window.

“No kidding.  I hope you…I mean, I know this was all really crazy, but I’m glad…” I’m past the point of incoherency, but it’s a language that both of us understand in our groggy state.

“Me too,” she says, finally looking at me.  There’s something unreadable in her expression, but that’s been the theme of the past twenty-something hours. One contradiction after another, all contained in the same person that said “how about now?” so many lifetimes ago.

“So…”

She makes no move to leave, instead toying with the frayed edges of the seatbelt.

“Gonna go home and pack?”

“Yeah, I guess I need to do that, huh?” I mutter, though it’s the absolute last thing I feel like doing.     

“Okay, well, if you need anything or, you know, whatever…” she’s unbuckled her seatbelt now, reaching for her duffel bag in the backseat.  My mind briefly wonders how she’s going to explain it to Roy, if he notices, if she’ll tell the truth, whatever the hell that may be.  

“Thanks.”  

She smiles, her fingers on the car handle.  

“Any last words?”

I don’t have to think about it too long, the answer is pretty obvious.

“I am so unbelievably tired.”

She looks at me like she’s about to say something, or like she knows that I don’t just mean physically tired, but the kind of exhaustion that comes with the last game of the season.  You’ve rooted for your team, cheered and screamed and booed when things didn’t go their way, but your support wasn’t enough to bring them to victory.  Except this time, you’ve had enough, and you won’t be back next season.

And though I’d like to be selfish and do so much more, I settle for kissing her softly on the forehead.  I don’t have to have my eyes open to know that hers are closed, maybe even squeezed shut because her body is tense and I know she’s trying not to cry.  I pull away to look at her and the dew on her eyelashes tells me I was right.

She moves out of the car, shutting the door and mouthing “bye” as she walks toward her door.  And even though it’s a coward move, I don’t wait to see her let herself back into the life she’s settled for.  My tires all but squeal as I drive off, supposedly towards home, but I don’t want to go there just yet.  All my body wants to do is collapse into bed, but my brain, specifically the part reserved for Pam and all things pertaining to her, doesn’t want to give up on our day.  The passenger seat is empty, but that hardly seems significant.  With everything that’s happened today, it’s easy to believe that she left a permanent, albeit invisible, mark on this car, Stamford, me.  But I guess that last one has been there for much longer than twenty-four hours.  

So I drive around the city, trying to find places and see things that aren’t familiar, things that are new to me even after living here for twenty-seven years.  A street that I’ve never been on, an auto parts store I’d never seen, anything to reassure me that life still has its surprises embedded into the well worn fabric of suburbia.  

I can’t say I’m not going to miss this place.  And sure, the easy thing would be to stay because there’s safety in routine.  But Stamford isn’t just a promotion anymore; it’s proof that I haven’t completely lost myself in Pam.  All this time I thought I was stuck being in love with her, stuck watching her be with someone else, stuck doing both at a ridiculously mundane job.  Not to use really corny Wizard of Oz analogies, but it’s like I finally woke up and realized I had the power to get unstuck all along.  Taking this job isn’t an option, it’s an absolute necessity.

Referring to classic movies of my childhood is a sure sign I’ve lost it, so I find my way out of the residential neighborhood I’ve driven into and head back home.  I feel like I haven’t seen it in weeks and my heart aches a little bit when I turn the key to let myself in like I’ve done so many times before.  No sign of Mark, and I’m a grateful for the solitude.  Keeping a constant watch on your thoughts to make sure they don’t get out in front of the women you love is exhausting, and it’s nice to let my brain run free without consequences.  

I desperately need to pack, but I’ve earned at least an hour of mindless TV before that horrible process starts.  I’m one beer down and fifteen minutes into Goldfinger when there’s a knock on the door.  I don’t let myself hope that it’s her, for self-preservation’s sake. It’s probably just Mark who forgot his key, yet again, and considering a random summer storm has moved in, I decide to be a good roommate and let him in rather than make him pay for his absent-mindedness.

But it’s not him.

It’s what I wouldn’t let myself hope for.  Granted, it’s drenched and looks petrified, but it’s there.

With a bag and a noticeably bare left hand.

“Pam?”

She lets out a breath she’s been holding for who knows how long.

“I’m unbelievably tired, too.”

 7:59 pm

I’m an ass.

I’m an ass because I’m too busy staring at that damn left ring finger, blinking to make sure that no, there is no ring, that I’ve forgotten it’s pouring and she’s soaked. She doesn’t wait for an actual invitation to come inside; I guess spending a whole day with someone entitles you to barge into their home, no questions asked.  Or being best friends for five years while suppressing unrequited – or maybe not so unrequited – love gave you the permission.

“Sorry I’m getting your carpet wet,” she says, flinging the excess water off of her hands.

“That’s, like, the least of my concerns right now.” But I go to the hall closet because I finally remember how to be polite and hand her a towel.

“Thanks.” She wrings out her hair, rubbing her hands along the fabric. “This is really soft. Where’s it from?”

“Umm, I don’t know, maybe my mom got it for me?”

She nods. “Cool.”

No, this is not cool. Talking about towels to avoid the other million things we have to talk about is definitely not cool. But I’m not going to bring it up. I know better than to scare her off with any sudden moves.

So I wait.

She goes to twist the absent ring and I can see that, wow, neither of us is used to it being gone yet. How could we? It hasn’t even been two hours since I dropped her off. Goldfinger is probably longer than that. Which reminds me that the movie’s still on, and I don’t really want to have whatever conversation is about to happen while there are gunshots in the background. I click the TV off and the absence of noise seems to remind her of the fact that she’s here and an explanation of some kind is needed.  

“Can you, um, not stand?” she asks. I sink into the couch behind me, my eyes never leaving her.

“Okay.” She starts pacing in front of the TV, and I brace myself. “So, I had this whole dramatic, Meg Ryan romantic comedy speech prepared. Seriously, I practiced it in the car and everything. But it doesn’t seem…I mean, now that I’m here, it doesn’t…I know owe you a really long, drawn out explanation. For everything. But that seems unnecessary because…”

Her eyes lock on mine. And the pause that follows is the longest of my life.

“I’m in love with you.”

Oh. “What?”

“It’s not good timing, I know, because you’re leaving for Stamford and—“

“Pam—“

“No, let me finish. You’re my friend and you have no idea how much that means to me, but I want…I need more than that. I just needed you to know before you leave because I’ve already wasted so much time.”

I get up wordlessly from the couch and close the five feet between us, her face in my hands.

“Hey. Can I interrupt this non-speech?”

She smiles, daring me.

“Go for it.”

So I do. With everything in me. A sigh breathes between our lips, the weight of this day and all the days before it lifting off and replaced with the greatest relief I have ever known.  We’ve kissed before, but not like this, with no phone call or engagement ring to interrupt our short-term happiness. There’s long-term behind this one, I can feel it.

The kiss is brief, but emphatic, and I love the feeling of being at home and at peace.

With her.

I pull away, sliding my hands across her hips to clasp hers.

“Sorry, I just—“

“No no, don’t apologize.” She’s beaming at me, expecting the response that I want so desperately to give her. But I’ve learned not to assume, and catch myself before I jump to conclusions.

“I’m guessing things are complicated.”

She gives a sad shrug.  “Yeah, though I feel like they don’t have to be. It was bad, but the hardest part is over.  I’ll stay at my parents and figure things out and…I don’t know, sell all my wedding stuff on eBay. There’s got to be someone else who has my same taste, right?”  

There’s a laugh, and then her lips are back on mine, and nothing is funny anymore. We fold into each other and as tired as I am, the very act of her kissing me this way sends hot energy through my body to my fingertips that graze her hips. She starts to fiddle with my belt loops and I know that as much as it’s going to kill me, logic has to take priority.

“Pam—wait—“ I mumble between kisses. She doesn’t hear me, or at least pretends not to, and it takes a bit of force to pull myself away from her enough to catch my breath. For a tiny person, she’s amazingly strong when she needs to be.

“Hold on a second…we should, you know, talk about stuff.”

“Don’t want to,” she states like it’s the end of the conversation and moves toward me again. I don’t know how to handle this particular Pam, mainly because I’ve never seen it before. I’ve spent years building defenses and strategies to deal with shy, nervous, passive-aggressive, engaged Pam. Single and plain ol’ aggressive Pam has a whole new set or rules that I’ve yet to learn. For all I know she’s making them up as she goes along. But I have to stop this.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this, Pam, seriously, but I need to know how you got here.”

She smiles playfully. “I drove.”

“You know what I mean.” I hate being harsh with her, especially in this particular moment when it’d be so easy to fall back on my couch and just let go. But I’ve gotten hopes up before when there wasn’t even physical attachment involved. It’s just too risky without knowing just how far into this she is.

“So?” I ask, my tone gentler than before. She sighs, taking a seat on the couch and running nervous hands across her thighs.

“It’s going to sound…too easy, I guess, but when I walked in, the first thing Roy said to me was ‘Hey babe, how was your day?’ Normal, right? And I thought about how to answer him for I don’t even know how long. Long enough that he had to ask again. And I was all ready to lie to him, make up some story about shopping and errands or something. But I was so exhausted, I didn’t have the energy to do it. Because to lie to him would be lying to you too, if that makes any sense. Today was…completely amazing. And to dismiss it like it was nothing, as meaningless as a workday would ruin it. So I told him the truth. Everything. The movie, the trip to Stamford, all the eating we did.”

Despite the seriousness of the moment, I can’t help but smile because, damn, did we eat a lot.

“He was quiet the whole time, if you can believe it. Sat there and listened and waited until I was all done. And the only thing he said? ‘Don’t ever do it again.’ That was it. I have to be honest, I wasn’t planning on leaving him. I figured if I just lay everything out there, we could finally have the first honest conversation in ten years. I should have known…”

She waved her hand in the air, dismissing something.

“Doesn’t matter. Anyway, he thought that was the end of it. He got up, grabbed a beer and turned the TV back on like nothing happened. That’s when I knew it was over. Something is obviously wrong if I spend a whole day with another man and all he does is wag a finger and tell me not to do it again. And I got to thinking that maybe one of the reasons I went off with you on this insane day is that I knew I would eventually tell him, and that maybe he’d get upset, and I’d be forced to confront this.”

She gestures between us and my heart kicks up to an unhealthy speed.

“ ‘This’ being?” I ask.

She sighs, in that defeated way she does when she feels hopeless, like after Michael asks her to spend the afternoon researching the difference between Diet Coke and Coke Zero.

“The e-mails, the instant messages, the trips to reception, the pranks, the fact that I let myself believe that my fiancé didn’t need to be my best friend because I already had you.”

That last one hits me hard. I’d always known that I was sort of a stand-in boyfriend at the office, but hearing her own up to it…wow.

“And I’m sorry for that. Because after today? I figured out that we—you deserve way more than just flirting for eight hours a day at a boring job. And I know that I messed up and there’s still a lot to figure out and that I made my speech anyway, but…”

I raise my eyebrows, waiting for her to finish.

“I had a really great day with you and, if you’re okay with it, I’d like to have a lot more.” She bites her lip in a fit of nervousness. “You want to?”

It’s a lot to process. I’m running on no sleep, I’ve eaten enough diner food to last me a lifetime, and my emotional stability is on the verge of completely dissolving. So I say the only thing that comes to mind.

“Hell yes.”

And just like that, we’re in each other’s arms again, fumbling awkwardly between laughs and kisses. Our mutual exhaustion makes us giddy and we finally collapse against the couch breathless.

“That was an ‘I love you, too’ in case that wasn’t clear.”

“Thank goodness, because for a minute there I was concerned.”

There’s still so much to talk about, and we both know it, resigned to days and weeks of logistics and inevitable awkwardness. But for the first time in years, we can set it all aside until later. For now, we let ourselves drift into the sleep we’ve earned; her head on my shoulder, and her hand in mine.

8:59 PM