Pam runs her tongue along her lower lip and tries to remember the way Jim tasted that night, like an alluring combination of cherries and desperation. Her stomach flutters yet her blood is boiling, her emotions warring between arousal and fury. She thinks the two sensations have a lot in common. They both stem from an ache deep within a part of her she didn't know she had. A part of herself was awakened with a soul-bearing confession, with a pleading kiss, with the devastating realization that he was never coming back.

The three weeks since Jim turned her world upside down and then cut and run have been a hazy blur. Pam has been on autopilot much of the time, giving the wedding planning reins to her mother, smiling wearily and saying things like, "I don't care about the silverware, Mom. You choose. I'm tired of choosing." She can't bear to make decisions now that she understands the crippling consequence of making one that someone doesn't agree with. They leave. No notice, no explanation. They just disappear.

She turns her attention back to the task at hand, chopping vegetables for a salad she's bringing to the barbecue tonight. She doesn't really want to go. She doesn't really want to do anything other than estimate exactly how many miles Stamford is from Scranton and what she would do with that knowledge once she gained it. Probably nothing. What would she say once she got there? Jim, sorry I made you leave the state. I've never had that effect on anyone before. No way.

Roy comes through the door whistling ‘Highway to Hell', which makes Pam cringe because she hates AC/DC. It makes her think of trailer parks and cigarettes and men who talk with toothpicks in their mouths. She's suddenly aware of the emptiness she feels as she watches him kick off his shoes right in the middle of the living room, like that's just where they belong, like it would take far too much effort to put them in the closet, on the shoe rack whose only function for all of eternity is to hold shoes.

"Hey, babe," he says, walking over and opening the fridge, pulling out Pam's expensive organic grapefruit juice. He gulps it down right out of the bottle and Pam is so irritated by his disrespect that she has to cover her mouth with her hand to keep from making a snide comment. She knows it's an irrational thing to be annoyed about, after all, they've kissed and traded germs probably a billion times, but it's the principle of the matter.

"Hey," she finally says when he puts the bottle back in the refrigerator. "Where's my stuff?" Since he came in empty-handed, she's ready for the excuse she knows will follow.

"Oh, shit! I'm sorry, babe. I guess I left the list in the truck."

"Bet you didn't forget the beer, though, did you?" The words drip from her mouth like acid, ready to burn. She's glad she said it; it's hot in their apartment and she pushes up her sleeves, finding herself eager for a fight.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Pam grasps the edge of the counter to steel herself. Will she always have to spell things out for him? After ten years together, shouldn't he have developed some kind of intuitiveness - the kind of simple mind reading that comes from a decade of emotional intimacy with someone? Does she really have to explain that she can't make a Greek salad without feta cheese and capers?

"It means what it means." She's being vague on purpose a little bit, but she wants to see how far she can push this - how long until he gets it.

"It means what it means," he mimics sarcastically. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"It means that I have wasted the past half hour chopping vegetables, Roy. It means that I can't bring a Greek salad to the barbeque tonight because it isn't a Greek salad without capers or feta cheese. It means that I asked you to pick up two items for me at the store and you couldn't even manage to take care of it. I even wrote it down for you! It means that you only do things that matter to you." Pam yanks off a paper towel from the holder and wipes her eyes. She doesn't mean to start crying, but she's so angry and frustrated and the thought forms in the back of her mind that this conversation would only happen with Jim if they were in a parallel universe.

"Whoa. All these tears over a salad?" Roy looks concerned. "Pam, are you about to start... you know?"

Pam launches the cutting board in his direction, sending cucumbers and peppers and onions into the air as she storms past him into their bedroom, locking the door behind her. After a few minutes, she hears the engine of Roy's truck rev, followed soon by the squeal of his tires as he drives off.

She opens the door and walks back into the kitchen, kneeling down to pick up the thrown vegetables from the floor, wondering if this is one of those ‘for better or worse' moments that she'll be committing herself to in nine days. She sighs heavily and wonders when it's ever a ‘for better or worse' moment for Roy. He's getting a hell of a bargain. He's getting a woman who does all of the cooking, except for hamburgers and hot dogs on game day. He's getting a woman who enjoys doing laundry and likes to keep a clean house. He's getting a women who doesn't mind if he stays out all night with his brother, drinking until neither of them can stand up, because if she gets too lonely, she can always call Jim on the phone and make him watch Lifetime specials with her so they can mock them. Except she can't do that anymore because Jim is no longer there to rescue her from her frustrations with Roy. Stamford might as well be on the moon. Pam's head is pounding and she can't decide whether the source of her anger is from Roy or Jim.

By the time Roy gets back, the only thing left on the kitchen floor is the shine of the light on the white linoleum. Pam's sitting at the kitchen table, sketching intently. Roy sets a sack down on the counter top and clears his throat. Pam looks at her sketch before meeting Roy's gaze. She just drew the first thing she could think of. Cards. Three nines. A pile of poker chips.

"I got your stuff. I'm sorry I forgot it." Roy is sincere.

"I can't take the salad now, Roy. All the vegetables were on the floor; it isn't sanitary."

"It doesn't matter. We don't have to take anything." He steps behind her and rubs her shoulders, his silent way of really apologizing.

Pam shrugs him off. "We should get going."

Roy stops her as she turns the key to lock the front door, placing his hand on the small of her back, leaning down to whisper in her ear that he loves her. When he pulls back, he plants a kiss on the tip of her nose, the way he used to do when they were dating. For a moment, Pam feels her frustrations melt away and it feels just like it used to.

"Sorry I was short with you," she says as they pull into Kenny's driveway. "You were right, I am getting ready to start my period." The lie spills easily from her mouth and she finds she's actually grateful. ‘That time of the month' is an automatic ‘Get out of sex free' card with Roy.

"Well, it's going to be gone before our wedding night, right?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at her and Pam's skin crawls. She knows now that it will never be the way it was. And maybe the way that it was wasn't so great to begin with.

*

The barbeque isn't boring, but it isn't exciting either. It's a lot of Roy's relatives and Kenny's friends sitting around a bonfire, drinking beer and retelling all their best stories. Kenny's talking about the time he saw two people having sex in a car outside a Guns N Roses concert and Pam frowns. She's so sick of that story.

"Hey, babe," Roy says, nudging her slightly with his elbow. "Get me another beer, wouldja?"

Pam stands up to comply, silently seething. It wouldn't hurt Roy to walk his chubby ass over to the cooler. It wasn't that she didn't want to do it because she was so riveted by Kenny's hundredth description of that couple he saw, it was just the principle of the matter. Sometimes, if you want something, you should just go get it yourself.

When Pam opens the lid to the cooler, Kenny hollers, "Hey, get me one too," and then goes right back into his lewd depiction. Doesn't even say please. Treats her like hired help. Pam twists off the caps and tosses them down into the grass. Neither of them say thank you.

By the time she's settled back into her seat, Pam's fingers are shaking and she's envisioning her life as Roy Anderson's wife. They'll come to this barbeque all the time. Probably Roy will forget the ingredients of whatever she wanted to make to bring along, and instead they'll make up for the missing dish with an extra case of beer. She'll hear Kenny's Guns N Roses story over and over and over, and each time Roy thinks it gets funnier. They'll go home too late; Pam will have to drive because Roy's had too much to drink and by the time they get home, he's snoring loudly in the passenger seat and couldn't get an erection if he tried.

Pam wonders where the passion went. Was it ever there? Was this just a case of puppy love that has gone on too long? She feels like Roy doesn't even know her anymore. She's not the same girl she was on the Ferris Wheel all those years ago, when he drew her in with a crooked smile and a cheesy pick-up line. She's not blinded by Roy's dimpled grin anymore. It's not enough for her, the way it had been more than enough back then.

Pam wants the whole nine yards. Pam wants the late night talks (or even heated debates) about literature or art or music or politics. They're all assholes, Pam, so what does it matter? Roy always says when Pam wants to discuss any of those things. Pam wants to see a possessive gaze when they're at a party, the kind of look that says ‘You just wait until we get home...' the kind of look that would leave her weak in the knees and watching the clock. Pam wants tiny, thoughtful gestures that she doesn't have to beg for. She wants to feel that kind of love, that kind of selfless love more than anything and it's when she's sitting in that frayed lawn chair that she realizes that none of those things are ever going to come from Roy.

You've got to take a chance on something, sometime, Pam.

And it's not because she thinks she might be in love with Jim. She tells herself that Jim has nothing to do with this decision, but she does hear his words loud and clear. Pam's going to take a chance on this because she can't bear for this to be her future, to constantly having to swallow her disappointment, to constantly aching at night for something more. For so long, Pam has operated under the impression that she was bound to this fate, bound to this life and it was easier to accept it than deal with the loneliness. Now she's finding that loneliness sounds much more appealing. She's willing to face loneliness and fear of the unknown and whatever else comes her way because this is the first time she's ever made a decision purely for herself. She feels like she's flying.

"I'm calling off the wedding, Roy." Her voice is calm and she's proud of herself for sounding resolute.

"Shh, Pam - Kenny's getting to the good part." Roy didn't hear a word she said; he was focused on the part of the story where the people in the car realize they have an audience.

Pam feels like she's been punched in the gut. This is it. This is the straw that broke the camel's back and if she had any doubts about her decision, they evaporated the instant the words came out of Roy's mouth.

"Roy, I need you to listen to me. Look at me."

Roy turns to look at her. "What's the big deal?"

Pam's fingers are still trembling so she clasps them together. "I can't--" Wait. She thinks about the last time she said ‘I can't' and what a poor choice of words that turned out to be. Pam can. Pam can marry Roy. There's nothing stopping her. Just like she could have told Jim the truth, that she thought something was there between them, too. Can't isn't right. So she tries again.

"I don't want to marry you."

She's surprised at the silence and wonders if maybe she said it a little too loudly. Everyone is staring at them; she's got an unintended audience made up of Roy's family and friends. Maybe this wasn't her brightest idea.

"Don't be ridiculous, Pam." Roy's smiling, saving face. He waves her off. "Don't worry about it," he says to everyone. "Pam's been feeling stressed lately with the planning and all, and it's that time of the month. Hormones."

Pam gets up and runs to the truck, unable to suffer the inequity of having to watch the men exchange knowing glances at Roy's explanation. It's not hormones. The only hormone Pam is reeling from is adrenaline, and it's still coursing through her veins. She's still going to do this.

Roy comes over a few minutes later carrying their cooler. "You win, Pam," he says, defeated. "Party's over, we're going home." Like Pam was making things up to find an excuse to go home. Like Pam was even capable of that kind of manipulation.

"Why do you want to marry me?" she asks. Her voice is timid and small. She needs to know.

Roy stammers and stutters, his big hand moving over the ignition of the truck, struggling to slide the key in. "Because I love you," he finally articulates. The car starts and they drive away.

"But why? Why do you love me?"

Pam can see that Roy's uncomfortable. His eyes are wide as saucers and Pam knows his brain is working double-time, trying to find the answer he thinks she wants to hear. The only thing Pam wants to hear is honesty.

He doesn't say anything the rest of the way home. When they pull into their spot at the apartment complex, he puts a hand on her knee. "Because you're my girl, all right?" Pam is still. It is such a sophomoric thing to say, something that probably would have left her drooling in high school. Now it's just...

"Not good enough, Roy. That's not enough for me anymore."

"What's wrong with you tonight?"

Pam wonders if they should go inside, if this is really a conversation she wants people to overhear but the stars are shining, calling to her, and she feels closer to them than she ever has before. She thinks maybe she's drawing bravery from the light that has travelled millions and millions of light-years just to reach her eyes. She sees a falling star and her breath catches in her throat. It is like some cosmic force knew she would need something to stare up at to keep from taking it all back.

"I'm sorry, Roy. I'm not in love with you anymore." She lets out a deep breath and feels free, like she's just unloaded a burden she's carried for far too long. It wasn't as scary as she thought it would be, to own up to it. To call a spade a spade, she thinks. But then spades remind her of cards, which remind her of Jim and the night she realized she could have a different life and she can't deal with that right now, so she pushes those thoughts away.

"Wait, you're serious? Pam, you can't call off a wedding a week befo--"

"Roy, listen." She reaches out to grab his hand. She cares about him, she really does, so she knows she has to tread carefully here, although it would be so easy to be cruel. Part of her wants to, wants to retaliate against him for each time he made her feel small and unimportant, for each dream of hers that he held in his big, strong hands and crushed. But she could never hurt him that way.

"I want more than you can give me." Roy looks down at her and shakes his head, his eyes full of confusion.

"I'll get a second job," he says instantly, running his finger over her knuckles.

"No, Roy. I don't mean like that. I want more than you can give me here." She pats the area of her chest where her heart is pounding underneath. Suddenly she knows this is the only way, that it's unfair to ask Roy to change for her (and she knows she doesn't want him to). They both deserve to find someone who will love them just as they are.

Roy's tears glisten in the moonlight and he doesn't try to talk his way out of this one and Pam doesn't think she can take seeing Roy, her man of steel, this way. She unlocks the door and goes inside. Roy follows her, in a daze.

"Is there someone else?" he whispers and she knows the truth would break him.

"No, Roy. We just don't fit anymore." Can't he see it? Doesn't he feel it, too?

"Then we can work it out, Pammy. I'll do whatever you want. I'll quit going to Poor Richard's on Fridays and I'll take you on all the dates you want." He's pleading now, making his case. Pam's amazed at her determination. Normally this is the point in an argument where she caves.

"That won't make it better, Roy." It's the truth. Pam knows it would be like slapping a band-aid on something that required surgery. Three weeks of good behavior would fall prey to old habits that are too hard to break. She knows him.

"Please don't do this," he begs, his vulnerability permeating the room.

Pam wraps her arms around him to comfort him, to help him through this, and she knows it's already been done.

Jim rubs his hands together and waits until he can no longer see his breath on frosted glass before reaching down to shift the car into reverse. He pauses, contemplating whether to walk or drive. Does it really make sense to drive the two blocks to Karen’s apartment when it will probably be quicker and safer to walk? It has done nothing but snow all day long and he knows his street is one of the last ones to be scraped and salted. He just bought a new car; it’s worth freezing his ass off rather than running the risk of sliding on the ice into something that could affect his car insurance rate, like another car or a light pole.

There is no one else awake at this hour, just after midnight on a freezing weeknight; the proof is in the silence of his street, of the darkness in the windows of the neighboring apartments. Normal people are doing things like sleeping, or at least getting ready to sleep. But not Jim. Normal is something he thinks no longer exists for him. Normal guys do not confess to their girlfriends that they still have feelings for other women. Not that Pam is just any woman, but that’s neither here nor there.

All of this is Andy’s fault, he thinks as he half-walks, half-slides towards Karen’s apartment, tugging his scarf upward to cover his nose. If Andy wouldn’t have been so annoying, Jim wouldn’t have had to ask Karen to help him play a prank on him (and since Karen declined, maybe this was partly her fault, too). If Pam hadn’t helped him pull it off, Andy wouldn’t have punched a hole in the wall and Jim and Pam would have had nothing to say to each other. Jim wouldn’t have joked with Pam; he wouldn’t have stood close enough to smell her shampoo. And since they wouldn’t have been standing so close, Pam’s fingers would never have curled around his forearm, because she wouldn’t have needed to steady herself because she was laughing so hard.

Jim remembers reaching out to finger the dusty ridge of plaster where Andy’s anger had manifested. “Oh my God,” he whispered to Pam as they both inspected the aftermath of their prank. “That’s half-inch drywall.”

Pam beamed up at him, her eyes shining with both pride and amusement. She leaned in conspiratorially, like she has done hundreds of times. “I think we broke his brain.”

And then they both laughed hard, harder than they’ve laughed together in a long time. Pam’s laughter was infectious; the more she laughed, the more he did, too.

He imitated Andy. “It’s not freakin’ funny!”

And then Pam reached out and rested her fingers lightly on his forearm to even out her balance and when she did, Jim tensed.

It was that touch that did him in. He was content just to laugh with her, satisfied that they were able to share a moment that didn’t involve Pam painfully reminding him that they would always just be friends, pleased that maybe they were finding their way back to the past, where they used to actually be friends. Real friends, and not cautiously optimistic co-workers, which is what they have become.

Her fingers lingered a bit too long and Jim wondered when his mouth became full of cotton. He mumbled something about needing more to drink and, like a frightened snail, retreated into the safety of his shell. Or in his case, the conference room.

Jim tossed his sombrero off and plunked himself down into a chair. He inched up the sleeve of his shirt and stared down at where Pam had touched him, running his own fingers over the spot where her slender fingers sent an electrifying jolt through his body.

He knew what that meant. He knew that feeling well. It followed him everywhere, casting ominous shadows in corners, threatening to swallow him up if he lingered on the thought of her for too long. He’s still in love with her. He has never stopped. This acknowledgement left him feeling exhausted and deflated and, because fate hates Jim Halpert, that’s when Karen walked in.

Jim doesn’t want to replay that conversation. It was hard enough the first time. Hard to admit the truth, and harder still to know that he hurt Karen. He hadn’t meant to. None of this was really her fault. After she stormed out of the conference room, she had collected her purse and coat and left the office for the day.

Suddenly Jim loses his balance and is shaken back to reality by the vivid moment of clarity that comes just before a fall. His moment of clarity is not of Pam or Karen; he knows without a doubt that the news of his impending coma will be in the ‘Weird News’ section of the Scranton Times in the morning. Probably the headline will read: Moron Suffers Head Trauma While Wandering On Ice Past Midnight – It Snowed, Stupid. Stay Inside.

But he doesn’t hit his head. He holds his arms out behind him and lands sitting up, right on his tailbone. He sits there for a moment until the cold seeps through his sweatpants and he has to get up or else he’ll freeze to the concrete. He winces a little but is relieved that it doesn’t hurt as much as he is expecting.

When he reaches Karen’s apartment, he frowns. All of the lights are out. He’s going to have to wake her up. He fishes in his pocket for change, something to throw at her bedroom window to rouse her, but he’s in his sweats. There is no change. He doesn’t even have his wallet. He looks around on the ground; maybe there are some pebbles or rocks or something and feels sheepish. Everything is buried under the snow.

Jim doesn’t know why he reaches for the doorknob; he knows it’ll be locked, but his fingers curl around it all the same and he’s both relieved and concerned when he turns his wrist and the door opens.

“Karen?” he asks quietly, stepping inside. When the door is closed behind him, he flips on the light and looks around. It doesn’t look like Karen has even been home. Her coat isn’t hanging on the rack, there are no dishes in the sink, no magazines lying open on her kitchen counter.

“Karen?” he calls again, walking through her sparsely decorated living room. He sees her purse on her cream-colored sofa and feels himself relax. He hates that sofa. It’s too modern for him. He hates the way there are no armrests and when he lays on it to watch TV, he’s always sure it won’t hold his weight.

His fingers splay against the closed door to her bedroom and he breathes in to collect his thoughts. He likes to think that he’s pretty good with words, but he doesn’t have a response at the ready from his repertoire of smooth things to say to women after he’s fucked up so severely.

He opens the door with a smile on his face and kindness in his eyes. His eyebrows furrow in concern and confusion. Her bed is empty and just the way they left it this morning. They had made the bed together, kissing as they met in the center to smooth down the sheets. Even Jim’s pillow remained lopsided, he had meant to go back and straighten it before they left for work but must have forgotten.

Jim pulls his cell phone out of his coat pocket and calls Karen’s cell. He can hear the faint chirping of the phone and follows the noise. He sees the light from Karen’s phone blinking in her purse and now he’s really concerned. If she’s not here and doesn’t have her phone – Jim forces himself to stop assuming the worst. There is a logical explanation.

He sees something twinkle from the corner of his eye and turns to face the patio. Karen’s got those twinkly lights wrapped around her railing outside and they’re shining brightly in the night. He sees her out there; she’s sitting in a wrought-iron patio chair, wrapped in a sleeping bag.

When Jim slides open the door, he notices a bottle of whiskey on the table next to Karen. He’s never met a girl who drinks whiskey straight, let alone right out of the bottle, and he finds it both charming and intimidating. There’s so much he doesn’t know about Karen, so much that he hasn’t discovered yet and when she turns her head and stares at him, he feels warm; there is no malice in her eyes.

“Do you always leave your door unlocked? It’s after midnight.”

“I had a feeling you’d stop by.” Her tone betrays her; she’s trying to play the ice queen, but Jim detects a sliver of warmth underneath, like she had been hoping, not expecting, that he would stop by.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Wishing on stars.” She sighs after she says it and Jim is struck by how young she sounds, like she’s a little bit lost.

Jim stands in the doorway, thinking that maybe she’ll get up and come back inside where it’s warm, where they can talk. When it becomes obvious that she’s not going to move, he slides the door closed and steps out onto the patio.

Jim doesn’t know what to say, so he just leans against the glass door and stares upward. He wonders which stars Karen has already wished on, thinking maybe he should do the same. He scans the sky for the constellations he remembers from an astronomy class he took in college. He sees proud Orion, poised for battle. His eyes travel eastward to rest on Canis Major, knowing that Karen must have wished on Sirius, the brightest star in the sky. He scans the sky further and he finds Hydra, the monstrous multi-headed water serpant from Greek mythology. He feels like he’s been battling Hydra since the night he put it all on the line for Pam. Each time he made a small step forward, like asking Karen out, two more problems would spring up, like returning to Scranton and hearing Pam say, “It’s totally cool. You can do whatever you want.” He can’t remember how Hercules defeats the monster, he just knows that he does. Eventually.

“Am I being punished?” Karen finally breaks the silence, her voice a little husky from the alcohol.

“Punished? What for?” Jim sits down in the chair next to her and tries not to shiver.

“For not playing that prank on Andy. Are you punishing me for that?”

Jim feels like an asshole. He was frustrated at Karen for not helping him out earlier, but he hadn’t gone to Pam out of revenge. Pam just understood the need to prank. It wasn’t always just to make Pam laugh, but he’d be lying if he said that wasn’t his favorite part. He needs to prank because if he lets himself get too bothered by his co-workers, it feels more like a career than a pit stop, which it what this job is to him. And Jim would rather throw himself in front of a train than be a career man at Dunder Mifflin. Pranks alleviate the annoyance of office politics and help him get through the day. Pam just… gets it.

“No, I’m not trying to punish you for anything. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He’s glad she’s still peering up at the sky. He’s not so great at this part of relationships, at actually saying what’s on his mind and he thinks it would be harder if she were staring at him. He thinks she’d see right through him.

“You just seemed so different standing there with her. I never see you laugh like that.”

“C’mon, Karen,” he says lightly, “you have to admit it was a pretty funny pra--”

“Jim.” The chill in her tone is more frigid than the air they’re breathing and she shifts in her seat slightly to face him. “I don’t think the prank has anything to do with it. It’s her. You were laughing like that because it was her.”

Jim wants to act self-righteous and indignant. He wants to point his finger and get huffy, saying things like “what gave you that idea” or “you’re so paranoid” but he can’t because Karen’s right. It is always because it’s her.

“We just used to be really good friends, Karen. I’ve known her for years.”

“Why did you quit being good friends?”

“We talked about this already. Over coffee, remember?”

“Tell me again.”

Jim sighs. It’s so hard to tiptoe around the truth. He can’t say what really happened, that he held his heart in the palm of his hands, that he stood there so open and vulnerable and offered it to Pam if she would only reach out and take it. He can’t say that when Pam turned him down that he didn’t sleep for four days and couldn’t keep anything more than a few cups of chicken broth in his stomach. So he waters it down until it kind of, sort of resembles the truth.

“I had feelings for her and I --”

“Have, Jim. You have feelings for her.”

Jim would be annoyed that Karen keeps interrupting but he knows it’s because she’s hurting, too. He keeps in mind that she didn’t ask to be drawn in to any of this. That when she said ‘yes’ to an invitation to dinner back in Stamford, she wasn’t saying ‘yes’ to all of his emotional baggage. And he wants it to work with Karen, he really does. He loves the way she whispers Italian in his ear sometimes when they’re making love. He has no idea what she’s saying; it could be something like “Do you know where I can find the train?” but it sounds so sensual and it gives him goose bumps. He loves her ambition, he loves that she knows exactly where she wants to be in five years. He envies that about her, because he has no clue. And it would be easier to lie, to finesse and finagle his way out of this conversation, but Jim’s learning that being an adult means dealing with things instead of hoping they go away on their own. So he tells her the version of the truth that is least damaging. To both of them.

“I don’t want to. I’m trying not to. Have feelings for her, I mean.”

“Does she have feelings for you?”

Jim shakes his head emphatically. No watered-down half-truths here. “She does not.”

“Then why can’t you let go?”

“I’m trying!” Jim can’t mask his frustration.

“Well, how do you think this makes me feel?”

“I know,” he groans. “Don’t you think that’s what I’ve been thinking about all night?”

“I don’t know; you’re hard to read. You’re not very open with your emotions.”

“I’m trying to be better about that.”

“Would you rather be with her?”

“I don’t want to break-up, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“That’s not what I’m asking, Jim.”

Of course he’d rather be with Pam. He’d also like to own the Phillies one day and have a flying unicorn to use for transportation instead of a car. Pam has made it clear to him: being with her is not a possibility. That future does not exist for him.

“I want to be here with you.” What else can he say? He likes Karen. He’s working as hard as he can to make this work.

“So you’re still ‘really glad I’m here’?”

“Of course.”

“I just need to know that this is going somewhere.”

Jim pauses. He knows what Karen is saying. He knows she’s falling for him fast and hard and he’s pretty sure that he can love her back, in time. He wants to love her back. “I’m here, aren’t I? I walked here in the snow, in the freezing cold. I even slipped and fell on my ass for you, Fillipelli.”

“You did not.”

“I did too! I promise there is a Jim-sized ass print in the snow about twenty feet from your front door. Come on, let’s go inside.” Jim offers her his gloved hand. For the first time all night, Karen smiles and takes it.

They shelve the conversation for the night and wrap themselves around each other under the blankets in bed. Jim knows they’ll discuss it again and probably soon because Karen is so analytical, but he doesn’t mind. He’s in the arms of someone who wants him, all of him. Someone who doesn’t say ‘I can’t’, who doesn’t slam the door on possibilities and new beginnings.

It feels so good to be wanted, to be desired. He’s so sick of the one-sided longing, the secret yearning that has been his life for… far too long. Until Karen came along, he had forgotten what it felt like to be pursued by a woman; he’s missed the way that feels. So he puts Pam out of his mind and goes to sleep with Karen, someone who wants to make this work, who wants a future with him. But he dreams of a girl with curly hair and she’s smiling and clutching his arm. Even with that giant sombrero on her head, she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and he knows he will always hope.

Something is in the air tonight, Pam thinks as she grabs two spoons, two knives, and two forks from the silverware drawer and wraps two napkins around them before placing them in the picnic basket. Maybe it’s because the lilac bush outside her kitchen window has blossomed, filling the room with its heady aroma. Maybe it’s because she’s wearing a new perfume that smells kind of like oranges and all the promises that summertime brings. Maybe not. Pam thinks it has more to do with the recent liberation of emotions that she’d kept bottled up for far too long. She’s going to tell Jim the truth tonight.

Two weeks have passed since Jim first asked her to dinner. They’ve been on three dates. The first one was dinner at a Thai restaurant near the mall, and it was more of a reconnection than a date. It was the first time in far too long where things felt normal between them and they used that time to catch up with each other. They talked about the art classes Pam was taking and how excited Jim was to be an uncle again. While they waited for the check, he reached across the table and held her hand and she had just smiled, marvelling at the uncanny way his fingers fit so nicely between hers. There was so much more she wanted to say to him but every time the thoughts formed words, they stopped in the back of her throat; she couldn’t seem to spit them out.

 

Their second date was a half-Hawaiian, half-sausage and mushroom pizza at Alfredo’s Pizza Café and two tickets to the Marywood University production of Guys and Dolls. After it was over, they strolled around campus hand in hand and talked about the play.

“Are you glad Nathan and Adelaide finally got married?” Jim’s question sounded innocent enough but Pam knew it was loaded with meaning.

She looks down at her feet before looking up at Jim. “Fourteen years is a long time to wait; but if that’s what she really wanted, then yes, I’m glad.” They are silent for a long time before Pam squeezes his hand and adds, “Maybe Adelaide didn’t have anyone to show her that she could have a different future.”

Jim stopped dead in his tracks and cupped Pam’s face with his hands, kissing her the way he had so many nights ago, only this time there was no air of love-ridden desperation, just adoration and hope. When he let go of her, she wanted to tell him the truth but she was so out of breath she didn’t think he would understand her words between gulps of air.

Their third date was a grand affair, filled with the kind of romance and felicity Pam had only ever witnessed in movies. She answered the door to find Jim leaning against the door frame, holding a dozen red roses and a flier for an art gallery opening up in Wilkes-Barre. They dined at an edgy sushi house and while the art wasn’t really Pam’s taste – it was too sharp and angular – she enjoyed talking to Jim about it. He was adorably inarticulate and kept gesturing wildly with his hands as he searched for the exact word he wanted to use and this time Pam stopped him with a kiss, all of her hopes and dreams spilling from her mouth into his.

On the ride home, he traced his finger up and down the palm of her hand and tried to start a serious conversation. He asked about the future, about where she thought this was going and she almost told him then, but she asked him to hold off. It was too warm in the car and she wanted to be able to face him when they had this discussion.

So tonight is all Pam’s idea. She loves going out and trying new restaurants, but she wants tonight to be stripped of all the pomp and frills. She just wants Classic Jim and Pam, no wine lists, no items on the menu that she can’t pronounce, no one else around to interrupt or disturb them. The truth is itching to come out; it feels like a shirt that’s too tight, threatening to rip at the seams.

But she’s going to make him work for it; she snuck over to Jim’s apartment this morning at just after six, taping a clue to his door. It only said ‘Jinx’.

*

When Jim finally arrives at Lake Scranton, Pam claps her hands with glee and greets him with a kiss. “You made it!” she exclaims.

“What a wild goose chase, Beesly. Had me running all over Scranton.”

“I didn’t think it was that hard!”

“Of course not. You were the one who picked the clues!”

“Which one threw you off?”

“Well, I got ‘Jinx’ at the vending machine at work. It took me a few minutes to figure out ‘Swaying isn’t dancing’ but then I got to the roof and got really hung up on ‘Price check on fabric softener’. When I got to the grocery store, the next clue was shoved way back in the back and I had a hard time finding it. But your map was drawn brilliantly and led right to this picnic table.”

“I almost made you drive out to Dwight’s beet farm, but I couldn’t be that mean.”

“That would have been horrible.”

“Are you hungry? I didn’t make anything fancy, just ham and cheese sandwiches and some potato chips and stuff.”

Jim just smiles and rubs his stomach.

Once their bellies are full, they relax on the hood of Jim’s car, Pam leaning back against Jim, Jim leaning back against the windshield. It’s comfortable for both of them; Jim can smell Pam’s shampoo, fruity and exotic and it makes him yearn for summer. Pam can feel the warmth of Jim’s arms wrapped around her.

“I really meant what I said to you that night,” Pam says out of nowhere. “I would be married right now if it wasn’t for you.”

“Yeah.” Jim’s voice is heavy and though they’re pressed against one another, there’s a space wedged between them, between their hearts, like they both know it’s about to get heavy. “How’d you find the courage?”

“I found it from you. From when you yelled at me that day I decided not to take the internship.”

“I didn’t yell at you.” Jim sounds wounded.

“You kind of did,” Pam replies, her voice a bit softer.

“I just wanted you to do something for yourself. For a change.”

“I know. That’s why I did it. I figured that since you were gone, it was too late for me and you, but that I wanted more than I could get from Roy and that eventually I would find it in someone else.”

Jim scoffs. “Someone else? Someone else?”

She can tell by Jim’s tone that it is all going to come out, although when she pictured this conversation in her mind, she thought they would talk it out, not fight it out. But she can feel it coming, she feels it deep in her bones the way some people just know a storm is coming. She scoots out of his embrace and leans back against the windshield so they’re side by side.

Jim looks over at her and continues.“It was never that way for me, Pam. I always knew that it would never get any better than you.” His voice is tinged with anger.

“It didn’t feel that way at the time, Jim. You left the very next day.” Pam’s on edge, too.

“What did you expect me to do? Stick around and watch you marry him? You told me yourself that you were still going to go through with it. It would have been less painful to fall onto a hundred knives. Or jump into an erupting volcano. Or be eaten by sharks.”

“I get the point; you don’t have to be so defensive.”

“Well you’re the one who never called.”

“You never called either! What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, Jim. It’s Pam. I don’t know why the hell you left Scranton without saying goodbye, but I called off my wedding and would like to start dating you. Come back soon!’”

“You could have e-mailed or texted me or something.”

“Jim…” Pam’s cheeks are flushed and she’s biting her lower lip, struggling to phrase what she’s thinking. “Some things are too big to e-mail or text.” She looks away and says lowly, “Besides, you don’t return text messages anyway.”

“I was half-passed out! That doesn’t count!”

“You could have texted me back the next day.”

“Well why would I want to do that? You were already dating other people anyway!”

“What?!”

“When I was with Michael at that convention in Philadelphia, you called him on his cell and right before you got off, he said ‘Have fun on your date!’”

“It was a blind date! Set up by Kelly, of all people, and it was horrible! And don’t talk to me about my singular, stupid date. When you came back to Scranton, you had a girlfriend, who I’m pretty sure you were just using to hurt me on purpose!”

Jim throws his arms up in the air, exasperated. Both of them are talking in circles, dwelling in the pain of the past, struggling to heal the hurt of the past year. Silence overtakes them; they each seem to know intuitively not to press further. Somewhere above, an owl hoots followed shortly by a chorus of bullfrogs, their echoing ‘rrrbits’ serenading Jim and Pam.

“Look at the way the leaves move on those trees,” Jim finally says after an agonizing five minutes of silence. His voice is tender and apologetic and he raises his finger to point to a cluster of Quivering Aspen trees and they watch the leaves tremble as a breeze blows through them. The moonlight is fractured through the stems and leaves and there’s sort of a silvery sheen around the group of trees that strikes Pam as almost haunting in its beauty. She’s kicking herself for not bringing her sketchbook.

“Fact: The wood from the Quivering Aspen is primarily used to make paper.”

Jim’s eyes are wide, his mouth hangs open in astonishment. “Dwight?” he asks. “This is just great, I’m on a date with Dwight.”

“Also, cardboard.”

“My God,” Jim exclaims. “Please stop; you’re starting to freak me out.”

Pam laughs and presses her head against his shoulder. The ease with which they slip back into their usual playful banter is not surprising. “You don’t understand; when he was Regional Manager for the day when you guys went to New York, we had lectures on topsoil and recycling. Some of it stuck with me, I guess.”

“That actually doesn’t surprise me,” Jim says.

“He also made me secret Assistant to the Regional Manager.”

“You are such a liar.”

“I’m not lying about that.”

“Wow,” is all Jim can come up with, like he’s trying to imagine exactly how that scene played out.

“But I am a liar. About other stuff.” More and more stars are blinking in the inky sky and Pam thinks about the last time she searched the heavens, about a night where she held a grown man in her arms as they said goodbye to the past, where she first let herself dare to dream of the future unfolding right in front of her. Pam decides the moment is right; she extracts all her secrets from the stars, the ones she has tucked away for safekeeping. She takes them back from the vastness of space, from the dark corners of the universe where she’s hidden them from everyone, including herself.

“Like what?” Jim’s voice is suddenly cautious and guarded and Pam can feel the drawbridge leading to the fortress of his heart pull upwards slightly, threatening to leave her stranded on the other side of the moat.

She sits up and scoots away from him, turning around so that she can face him. “I lied when I said you misinterpreted things.”

“Oh,” Jim exhales, his body relaxing noticeably, reaching out to thread his fingers between hers.

“And,” Pam continues, her confidence growing brighter as the sky gets darker, “I lied when I said ‘I can’t’, because the truth is that I wanted to more than anything. I should have been braver. I wanted to say ‘ditto’ but I was just too scared.”

“Pam, I--”

“No, wait. I still have things I want to say.”

There’s a bright trail of flashing light that catches both of their eyes; they watch it fall with wide-eyed wonder. Pam knows it’s a sign from whatever force watches over her from above, just like she saw a falling star the night she knew it was over between her and Roy. She’s shivering with goose bumps and filled with so much awe at the mystery of life, at the way pain sometimes lines the road to happiness, at the way the world suddenly feels so much smaller that it takes her a few moments to collect her bearings before she speaks again.

“I wanted to tell you that first day you came back to Scranton, but you didn’t give me a chance. I lied when I said it was totally cool that you were seeing Karen. It wasn’t cool. It sucked.” Pam never talks this much but the words are falling like an avalanche; she can’t control them and it kind of feels good to get all of this out of her head.

“And I finally understood how you must have felt all those years I was with Roy; how hard it must have been to watch me try to make it work with someone who was so wrong for me, knowing all along that you would be so much better. I’m sorry for the way I acted. It was so hard to balance between my regret for not being brave on Casino night and my anger because I thought you were over me. I said and did so many hurtful things because I was mad that you moved on.”

Jim wets his lips and draws Pam’s hands upward, bending down to kiss the backs of her hands. “Wow,” he whispers, running his thumbs over the skin where his lips touched. “Anything else?” he asks. He means it jokingly, but Pam nods and continues.

“Yeah, there is. I lied when I said your haircut was nice. I miss your old hair. Also, I’m in love with you.” There. She said it. The truth was finally out, filling in the space between them, hanging thickly in the air.

“Wow,” Jim whispers. He’s got this far away look in his eyes and several seconds pass before he seems to snap out of it. “I feel like I just won the lottery.”

“I know it’s crazy and I know--”

“Crazy? No, I know what’s crazy,” Jim interrupts. “Crazy is sitting in David Wallace’s office and finding a yogurt lid in my files. Crazy is withdrawing my name from consideration because David asked me where I saw myself in ten years and the answer was definitely not in New York.”

“So where do you see yourself in ten years?”

“Wherever you are, Pam.”

*

Jim insists on following her home because they didn’t leave Lake Scranton until after midnight and he wants to make sure she gets home safely. He carries the picnic basket for her and walks her to the door like a gentleman.

“Tonight was great, Beesly,” he says and she knows he means it.

Pam jiggles the key in the lock and presses her body against the door to get it to open. She turns to Jim and leans up to kiss him. “We just had our first fight. We’re like… really in a relationship now,” she says, sounding almost proud.

“That we are, Pam.” He kisses the top of her head. “That we are.”

“So… do you want to come in?” The question is filled with promise and neither of them realize just how quickly the other’s heart is racing.

Jim grins and there's a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Absolutely, I do.”