------------



I was pretty confident going into the interview that I had a good shot at getting the job. Without all the distractions—that is, stopping to glance up at Pam every five minutes— I’ve actually been really productive this year, my best sales year ever in fact. And Wallace likes me; as much as I didn’t want to go to that cocktail party, shooting hoops with the CFO turns out to have been good for my career.

The problem is, I’m not sure I want this job. This life. In fact I’m certain I don’t want any of it.

And again it’s all because of Pam. For the last five years, everything in my life has been because of Pam. Why is our timing always, always wrong? I was over her. Mostly. I’d gotten to a point where she didn’t haunt my dreams, where every time my phone rang or buzzed with a text message I no longer snatched it up thinking maybe it’s her.

And then she threw me for a loop, again.

I admit that moving back to Scranton was terrifying. I was scared to death of seeing her again, falling into that trap again. But beyond that, I was pissed at her. I know I put her on the spot when I told her how I felt, but I knew, knew in my bones that she loved me too. She fucking lied to me. I didn’t misinterpret anything. She kissed me back, she pressed herself against me and for a minute it was just her and me, and it was real.

And then she called off her wedding and didn’t tell me—she let me find out through Kevin, whose mocking/disbelieving she didn’t tell you? I thought you two were such good friends was both humiliating and infuriating. No word from her at all, ever, during my first four months in Stamford. I wanted her to go out on her own limb, to call me and tell me she missed me too. Frankly, I think I deserved that.

But she didn’t want to talk to me. What was I supposed to think? Evidently she didn’t miss me after all. So I started looking ahead. Karen was a nice, funny, smart, damn sexy girl making it clear she liked me; what was I clinging to but more illusion and fantasy?

Karen was real. Pam was never more than a dream.

But then she had to go make that amazing speech on Beach Day. All of it meant for me, no doubt about that. There were a lot of reasons to call off my wedding...but the truth is, none of those reasons mattered before I met you.

It’s not exactly telling me she’s in love with me.

But I can’t pretend it doesn’t mean anything.


********


Wallace asked to see my sales figures, and when I pulled the folder out of my bag a pink memo fell out into my lap. The glint of the gold yogurt lid glued to the top first caught my attention.

Jim,
Don’t forget us when you’re famous!
Pam

For a minute I was flooded with memories of our office Olympics and those amazing little origami doves she made, and somehow I knew this was not just any yogurt lid; it was the gold medal she won in Coffee Mug Basketball. How proud she’d been to beat me, her delighted, amused face as she taunted me when I missed the last shot: Thought basketball was your thing, Halpert.

Wallace was asking me something. New York, what did I think of New York? I gave some kind of generic reply about the excitement of the city and the people, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the pink memo and her neatly printed message.

Don’t forget us when you’re famous!

I tried so hard to forget her. Moved three states away, started seeing another girl. I’ve twisted myself inside out until I barely recognize myself, hidden as I’ve been behind this carefully constructed wall of cold and casual indifference. I’ve taken pleasure in seeing her face twist when she saw me with Karen. She deserved it, didn’t she? She rejected me, I rejected her.

So why do I feel like such a jackass?

Wallace said something about how they were looking for somebody to take this position for the long haul. He leaned back his chair, regarding me thoughtfully. “So, where do you see yourself in ten years?”

Not here.


********


Karen had not been happy when I went to talk to Pam at the beach that night, but I couldn’t just leave her there, soaking her burned feet in the lake, and not say...something. All my anger had evaporated and now I just felt...sad. I’d wanted to hurt her and had obviously succeeded, only to find it didn’t bring me any satisfaction.

“How are your feet?” I ventured.

She gave me a wry little smile. “Medium-rare.”

After the directness of her speech, it seemed pointless to talk around the subject. “I left because I wanted to be somewhere not...here,” I said.

She nodded, staring down into the water. “I know.”

“And even though I came back, I don’t feel like I’ve really...come back.” I shoved my hands in my pockets.

She looked up, met my gaze squarely. “Well I wish you would.”

Her expression...I didn’t know what to say. I knew I should say something about Karen and time lost and phone calls never made and text messages left unreplied and too late but some of my fortifications started to crumble and a very distinct flash of longing and regret and hope flooded though me so strongly that I couldn’t say any of those things. So I said nothing, just opened my arms to embrace her and for a brief moment my world was filled with her scent and the surprisingly strong grip of her slim arms around me, and I missed her, missed her, and I still love her, there’s no denying it.


********


I looked up at Wallace and cleared my throat. “I’m sorry, David, this is a mistake.”

“Excuse me?” He sat up, stared at me in surprise.

“I don’t belong here. I have, um…unfinished business. In Scranton. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” I stood up, extended my hand.

“Hmm.” His expression was more thoughtful than put out, and he shook my hand. “Well, good luck to you, Jim.”

“Thanks.” I slung my bag over my shoulder, slipped Pam’s note into my jacket pocket, and had to restrain myself from breaking into a run for the elevator. It was just after one in the afternoon; if I hurried, I could get back by four...

Karen.


********


“You’re done already?” she exclaimed. “Wow, that was fast.”

That’s what she said. “Yeah,” I said evasively. “Where are you? I—we need to talk.”

She was silent for a minute. “Is everything okay?” she asked warily.

This is going to be unpleasant. “Where are you?” I asked again, avoiding the question.

“La Trattoria,” she said in a lower voice. “Sixth and Twenty-third. Jim—”

“I’m on my way.” I snapped my phone shut before she could answer.

She’s going to be furious, which I can handle, and I deserve; but also terribly hurt, which is a lot harder to bear. I fancy myself a nice guy in most ways, but I don’t do conflict, and I’ve never been good at breaking up. Like with Katy on the boat, for instance. Not one of my finer moments.

Karen is a great girl. She’s beautiful and smart and funny. I don’t know if she’s in love with me or if she just considers me good raw material--a guy with potential--but I made a bad mistake with her. I should never have suggested she move to Scranton. I did it so I’d have a shield against Pam, and now Karen knows it, and she’s going to want to cut off my balls when I tell her what I’m doing, and I guess I deserve it. She’ll say spiteful, cold, nasty things that are all true, and I will take it and say nothing because I don’t have any defense for what I’m doing.

But I’m so exhausted. I can’t keep this up, trying to be someone I’m not. The corporate climber, the slick city dweller. And I hate this too-short ‘respectable’ haircut that shows my ears and makes me look twelve years old. Karen has been trying to mold me into what she wants, because she likes me but she doesn’t really know who I am, and the part of me that isn’t weighed down by guilt over using her as a distraction from Pam feels utterly free: I’m going back to Scranton, I’m going to take Pam’s invitation to come back and hold her to me and never let her go.

That’s where I see myself in ten years.


********


Karen was at a table with three other girls, college friends, all of whom looked up at me with expectant, attentive expressions that told me Karen had been talking about me. “Hey,” she greeted, her voice warm for the benefit of her friends; but her eyes were guarded, suspicious.

“Hey.” I gave a polite nod to her friends. “Can I talk to you?” I asked her quietly.

“Sure,” she said brightly. “Can you guys excuse us for a minute?” She pulled her purse over her shoulder and stood up to follow me.

We walked down to the fountain at the plaza a few blocks away without speaking. At one point she started to reach for my hand, and I quickly shoved my hands into my pockets.

“What happened?” she finally asked. “I take it the interview went badly?”

Out with it. Quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid. “I decided I don’t want the job.”

She stared at me, waiting for me to finish. I forced myself to meet her eyes. “I’m going back to Scranton. I… don’t belong here.”

“What’s in Scranton, Jim?” she asked icily.

I wanted to crawl out of my skin, I was so uncomfortable. Did I mention how much I despise conflict and confrontation? She knew very well what was in Scranton. My punishment was being forced to say it.

So I did, more bluntly than I intended. “Pam.”

She took a step back as though I’d actually hit her. “Pam,” she repeated.

“I’m really sorry,” I said, painfully aware of how lame it sounded.

“You’re sorry.” Her eyes were like daggers. I had to look away.

“I never meant…” I cleared my throat, staring at my shoes. “I am sorry,” I said softly. “You have every right to hate me but it’s something I have to do. I can’t go the rest of my life wondering what might have been.” A quote came to me, unbidden: Of all the words of tongue or pen/The saddest are these: ‘It might have been.’

Karen was strangely silent. I hadn’t expected that. Screaming, crying, even punching; anything but silence.

“Okay,” she said finally.

I waited, but she seemed to have nothing to say. “Karen—” I began.

“Shut up, Jim,” she said coldly. “Just—shut up. Go back to Scranton.” She turned to look at the fountain, and I saw the tears in her eyes, and I felt like such a shit. I made her think I wanted to make it work when really my heart was never in it, and no amount of I’m sorry would ever make it up to her.

“Can I…give you a ride, or…?” I offered haltingly.

She turned back to glare at me with glimmering, disbelieving eyes. “I don’t think so,” she said in clipped tones. “You go on back now. I hope you get—everything you deserve.” She swung on her heel and walked back toward the restaurant.

And I was free; and I felt elated and terrible and relieved and terrified that I’d made another mistake, all at once. And still I saw Pam in my mind, and knew what I had to do.


********


Even speeding ten to twenty over all the way back to Pennsylvania, I got to the office barely fifteen minutes before quitting time. Michael’s car, thankfully, was not in the parking lot. But Pam’s little blue Yaris was there and that was all that mattered.

Three hours on the road and I still didn’t know what I was going to say.

Marry me. Too much.
I miss you. Not enough.
I love you. I never stopped. This was the truth. Maybe the truth, for once, was the best place to start.

Pam wasn’t at the reception desk. Angela, however, was on her way out. “Jim!” she said, surprised. “I thought you were interviewing in New York.”

“Uh, yeah, I mean no, I decided to stay here,” I mumbled, peering through the blinds to the break room, the conference room—ah, there she was. I could see her curly hair through the window; she was being interviewed by the camera crew.

“Michael didn’t get it either,” she said cattily.

“See you Monday, Angela,” I said, walking away from her to the conference room. I was done with waiting: I was going to have to do this in front of them. I pulled open the door, and both Pam and Ron, the camera guy, turned toward me.

“Excuse me,” I said to Ron. Pam was staring at me. “Pam,” I said. “Are you free for dinner tonight?”

Her eyes lit up. “Yes,” she said immediately.

I smiled. “Good.” I drummed my fingertips nervously on the edge of the doorway. “Then...it’s a date.”

Her smile was radiant. I grinned and shut the door, desperate to escape before anybody else saw me.
Angela was still standing by the coat hooks, staring at me. “Did I just hear you—”

I fixed her with my sternest possible expression. “I think what we do outside the office is nobody’s business,” I said, casting a significant glance at Dwight’s empty desk. Where was Schrute, anyway? I didn’t see him in the break room.

She followed my gaze and her white face paled even more, if that was possible. She cleared her throat. “I completely agree,” she said quietly, and swiftly bolted out the door.

I followed after her. I didn’t want to see anybody else that day. I sent a text message to Pam’s cell phone to call me when she left the office, and raced home to get ready.



------

--------




It’s a date.

No ambiguity there.

I turned back to the camera and grinned at Ron’s expression. “I’m sorry…what was the question?”

Ron grinned back at me. “It’s almost five,” he volunteered. “Why don’t we wrap it up—I guess you’ll be wanting to get home.”

“You guess right.” I couldn’t stop smiling. I jumped up and headed for my desk to shut everything down.

“Did I just see Halpert leaving?” Dwight asked as I was pulling on my coat.

Yes, he’s back! He came back! “I thought he was in New York,” I said, slinging my purse over my shoulder.

Dwight frowned. “Still…”

“Maybe you did see him. Or maybe it’s his doppelganger,” I added impulsively, flashing him a grin.

The frown became a scowl. “Very funny, Pam.”

“I’m heading home. Have a good weekend.” I lifted my hand in a merry wave and darted out the door before he could ask any more questions, and flipped my phone open to call Jim as soon as I got in the elevator. What time? Where?

And, most importantly, what happened in New York?

There was a text message waiting for me. Call me when you get off.

I waited until I got into my car to call him back, not wanting anybody to overhear me. He answered after the first ring. “Hello Miss Beesly.”

There was a warmth in his voice I hadn’t heard in a long time. “Hey,” I greeted. I’m on my way home.”

“I was thinking Bella Cucina,” he said. “Is that okay with you?”

“Definitely.” A date with Jim, my Jim…it could have been McDonald’s.

“Good.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “How’s six-thirty? I’ll pick you up.”

“Perfect. Do you have my address?”

The line was silent as we both realized he hadn’t been to my apartment. Who have we become, that you don't know where I live?

“Uh, no,” he admitted finally.

“Four-seven-five Franklin Street, apartment two-oh-seven. It’s the Castile apartments, the ones with the arches. On the, um, southeast corner of Franklin and Grant.”

“Four seven five Franklin…southeast Franklin and Grant…two oh seven…” I could picture him writing it down. “Okay. See you at six thirty then?”

I glanced at the clock. Ten after five. “Be a little late, okay?”

He gave a low chuckle. “You bet.”

********

I have never been so nervous. Even my first date with Roy, when I was a high school sophomore and he was Roy Anderson, a senior, a football player, definitely top ten most popular boy in school…even that was nothing like this.

Second chance. I never thought it would happen. Hoped, yes. But since his return he had been so cold and indifferent. Just as I feared, he hated me. I’d lost not only his love but his friendship, and until that insane moment at the beach I hadn’t even had the courage to fight for it, to tell him what he meant to me.

A date. It’s a date.

Perpetual dilemma: what to wear? I had little time to decide. Hastily I showered and shaved my legs, wrapped my hair in a towel, and stood in front of the closet in an agony of indecision. It had to be something completely different from what he always saw me in at work, but not too dressy; Bella Cucina was a fairly casual little Italian place. After trying on three different outfits I finally settled on black pants and a soft, close-fitting, pink V-neck sweater I’d bought under Kelly’s influence.

He was knocking on the door only five minutes late, a bouquet of yellow daisies in one hand. He’d changed out of his interview suit into khakis and a teal sweater over a white collared shirt, and for a second I just looked at him, taking him in.

“Hello,” he said finally, giving me a crooked little smile.

“Hi.” I opened the door wider. “Sorry! Come in, come in. Are those for me?” I smiled, gesturing to the flowers.

“No,” he said solemnly. “I’m planning on stopping by the cemetery later.”

I grinned. “Creepy, Halpert.” I motioned for him to follow me into the kitchen while I retrieved a vase from under the sink.

“Well, I guess you can have them, then.” With exaggerated reluctance he handed over the spray for me to put in the water.

“Thank you.” I smiled, putting my face into the blooms to inhale their light scent. Daisies, my favorite flower. Jim remembers everything. “They’re beautiful.”

“Like you,” he murmured.

I felt a flush creep into my cheeks and glanced away. Will I ever learn to accept a compliment without being embarrassed? Maybe not.

Jim cleared his throat. “So I’ve never seen your place before,” he commented, wandering out of the kitchen into the living room. “Very nice…very Beesly.”

“Would you like the tour?”

“Absolutely I would.” He threw me a little grin that melted my heart. Jim has the most beautiful smile I know. I’ve missed that smile.

I gave myself a mental shake. “So this is the living room.” I gestured at the couch, the armchair, the TV and fireplace, and blushed a little when he walked over to examine the easel I had set up by the window. “Where I do my living.”

“Very practical.” He studied my sketch of that house on Birch Street with the terraced garden for what seemed a long time, then wandered around the edges of the room, pausing to look over my CD collection, running his fingertips over the backs of the chair and the sofa as he came back to where I stood. “Do you like it? Living alone?” he asked, looking down at me seriously.

“I do, actually. It’s nice to have my own things. R—” I cut myself off instantly. There will be no talk of Roy. “It’s different. But yeah, I do like it.”

“Hmm.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, an amused expression flickering across his face. “I’m proud of you, Pam,” he said suddenly.

I smiled shyly. “Yeah?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yeah.”

I felt suddenly and dangerously overwhelmed, and swallowed hard over the emotion that lodged itself like a fist in my throat. “Jim,” I said softly.

He tilted his head a little in response, eyebrows drawing together slightly, waiting for me to go on. But I had no words for everything I was feeling so I just stepped into his space and slipped my arms around his waist, turning my head to press my cheek against his chest. I closed my eyes and breathed him in, inhaling his clean male scent and marveling at his very existence, his presence here in my apartment when all had seemed so lost and broken. It seemed nothing short of a miracle.

His arms encircled me automatically and for a second he just stood there holding me in a loose embrace. But when I tightened my arms around him he snaked his arms up over my back and clutched me tightly against his chest, his lips in my hair, his hands warm and possessive on my shoulderblades. “Pam,” he murmured.

We stood like that for what seemed a very long time but was probably only a minute or two, and then I felt his chest expand slightly under my cheek as he took a deep breath and stepped back just enough to look down into my face. His expression was so warm and full and for the first time in a long time I felt the promise of hope as I saw a glimpse of my future.

He smiled. “Come on, let’s get going.”

I took his hand. His long fingers closed around mine in a warm, firm grip that felt utterly natural. It was hard to let go even to lock the deadbolt.


********


It was Friday night and the restaurant was crowded, but Jim had made a reservation and we had a cozy, intimate table for two next to the front window. We ordered a bottle of Chianti and sat in a companionable silence for a little while, taking it all in I suppose; at least, that’s what I was doing.

It was still a little hard to believe we were here, on a date, in the open; that I was allowed to look at him and not feel I was cheating on Roy; that he could reach across the table to take my hand, and look back at me without a trace of the humor that had always kept the safe wall between us.

He’s not the same man. I turned him down, and he moved away and started another life, one that didn’t include me. He put me out of his heart, out of his life. There’s a sadness about him, a solemnity, that wasn’t there before he left. Or maybe it was and I didn’t want to see it.

“I think we should maybe take it slow,” he said cautiously, avoiding my eyes as he swirled the wine in his glass.

“Slow,” I echoed.

He was probably right, but after the wasted last year, I found myself impatient. And full of regrets. The tears in his eyes when I told him no will haunt me forever. Why didn’t I call him in Connecticut after I broke it off with Roy? Would he have answered me if I’d called him, written to him? I should have tried, months before that stupid text message I sent him at the Diwali thing. I should have told him how I felt, how much I missed him; I should have begged him to come back, and offered up my heart unconditionally as he had done...but I had been too afraid, too certain it was too late.

No more. He came back. A second chance! I’ll not let this one pass.

He looked up to meet my gaze, and I caught my breath at the beauty of his changeable eyes, deep green in this light, filled with hope and trepidation and earnest intention. How many times had he looked at me as he did now, with a thousand unspoken thoughts brimming in his eyes?

“I miss you, Pam,” he said finally.

I nodded, my throat tight with emotion.

“You’re not the same person you were when I left,” he said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong—they’re good changes—but, it’s almost like I don’t know you anymore.”

“You, too,” I murmured.

“Yeah.” He stared down at our hands, linked together in the middle of the table.

“You want to tell me what happened in New York?” I prompted gently. We hadn’t talked about Karen at all.

He was silent for a long moment, but his fingers tightened around mine. Still, he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

At last he said quietly, “I came back.”

I couldn't speak for a full minute over the lump in my throat.

I hated to ask, but I had to know. If we were going to do this—be more than that—it was best to lay it all out in the open, no secrets, no silences. “Karen…” I began.

“I broke up with her,” he said abruptly. He cleared his throat, still avoiding my eyes. “Okay. What happened is, I was in the interview, and…” He hesitated. “I kind of had a revelation. About…what I wanted. And what I want…isn’t in New York.”

More welcome words I’ve never heard. “It’s not.”

“No.” He looked from our hands up to my face. “I still want you,” he said simply.

I actually felt tears sting my eyes. I blinked and glanced away—very bad form to cry on a first date.

Second date, actually, if we counted that rooftop dinner two years ago.

The truth is, I don’t even know when I fell in love with Jim. A long time ago. A long time, even, before he told me he loved me. We’d been dancing around each other so long, wasted so much time avoiding the truth.

All those years I spent with Roy, living out a life I no
longer wanted because I didn’t know who I was without Roy in my life; because I couldn’t bear to face what it would mean to start over.

All those times Jim looked at me with his heart in his eyes and I found myself holding my breath, waiting, waiting, for something, for words that never came, words he swallowed and passed off with a half-smile and a joke.

The secret thrill of hearing he had a crush on me, and then the wave of disappointment when he said he was “totally over it” and I wept in grief and confusion about why that should hurt so much.

And then he poured out his heart to me and I was afraid, so afraid of what he was asking of me, of what it would mean if the last ten years of my life were just a giant mistake. So afraid that I lied and pretended I didn’t know what we really were to each other.

Misinterpreted. A bald lie. I wanted to tell him that I lived for his low warm laugh and his speaking glances and the arresting smile that always seemed so private, just for me. That I was always happiest when I was with him. That he made me feel beautiful and clever and funny and special. That I was addicted to seeing the best parts of myself reflected by the affection in his eyes.

That I was in love with him, too.

But I didn’t say any of those things. I choked on my uncertainty and panic and let him slip out of my hands, out of my life.

And then the way he disappeared, so suddenly, without a word, and didn’t tell me where he was going, never wrote to me or called me… I just knew he must hate me to leave without saying goodbye. And I hated him too, a little, for leaving like that, for shaking my world to its core and then vanishing without a trace.

So many mistakes, so many regrets, and just when I thought that all was really lost this time, here he was, and he still loved me.

“That’s good to know,” I said finally, managing a smile.

He pressed his lips together in a small, thoughtful smile of his own, and cast his eyes down again at our hands.

“Jim,” I began hesitantly. “I’ve wanted to say…to say how sorry I am. I made so many stupid decisions—”

He shook his head, cutting me off. “Don’t. You don’t have to apologize.”

“I do. I do,” I insisted. “I feel so terrible. So sorry. You didn’t misinterpret anything. I was just—afraid. I can’t expect you to understand, but I was with him for so long and-—and you had told me you were over it and I just—” I broke off, shook my head. “I lied to you, and then I was so—so—and I couldn’t even call you—and I’m so sorry. I should have done everything differently. I thought you must hate me but I was too chicken to just tell you I was scared and…and I hurt you…you, my best friend,” my voice cracked as I reached up to take his other hand in mine. The last person on earth I’d ever want to hurt, my Jim.

“Broke my heart,” he murmured, staring at our hands.

I nodded. “Broke your heart,” I whispered.

He gazed at me for a long, quiet moment, holding my hands in a gentle grip. “Well,” he said finally, his expression grave. “Don’t do it again.”

I smiled, mutely nodding my assent, and to my dismay felt a tear slip down my right cheek. No crying! Hadn’t I done enough of that at home, alone?

He reached up with his left thumb and wiped it away. “Don’t cry, Beesly.”

“Jim…” I began.

He shook his head. “I’ve been a jerk to you for a long time. Avoiding you, not talking to you. Punishing you. You’ve been trying and I haven’t…wanted to hear it.” He swallowed hard, and looked up earnestly, his eyes now turned a clear, crystalline blue. “Can we just…start over? Get to know each other again? You know, just put all the past behind us and start new?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He sat back in his chair, visibly relaxed. “All right then.”

All right then.

I took a sip of my wine, smiled at him, and suddenly remembered that he didn’t know anything that had happened at work today. “Oh my God!” I gasped. “I didn’t tell you about Dwight taking over! He offered me the position of ‘secret assistant regional manager.’ Or should I say, ‘to the.’ But he was still the assistant regional manager, because he didn’t trust anyone else, although he did make Andy his number two for ‘political’ reasons.” I grinned.

Jim’s whole face lit up with amusement, relief, and a brand of contentment I had never seen before. “Tell me all about it.”

********


We talked long into the night. He asked why Michael’s office was painted black, and I told him of Dwight’s failed effort to motivate the sales staff with his Schrute bucks, and admitted—to his exaggerated horror—that, inexplicably, during my tenure as the “secret assistant” I had seen a side of Dwight that was as endearing as it was maddening.

Over a shared dessert of perfectly delicious tiramisu, he told me in succinct, unwilling language that he had met Karen at a public fountain after leaving his interview, told her he was going back to Scranton, and admitted to her that it was because of me. “Well, she wasn’t happy,” he answered reluctantly to my query.

“I don’t want to be nosy,” I said hastily. He obviously didn’t want to discuss it, and other than determining he no longer had a girlfriend, it wasn’t really my business. “It’s just…was she ‘disappointed’ unhappy or ‘going to slash my tires’ unhappy?”

He gave me an unwilling smile. “She was pretty pissed. I’m an ass,” he said mournfully. “I shouldn’t have—” He broke off with a sigh. “I should have broken up with her a long time ago, or not encouraged her to move to Scranton, or whatever. She said I used her, and I guess I did.” Fiddling with his coffee spoon, he stared out the window for a few seconds, then looked back to me with a sweet and reassuring smile. “But no, she’s not going to slash your tires. She’s not like that. She would slash my tires, if anything.”

I smiled wryly. Karen was funny, and witty, and seemed nice enough; in a different lifetime, I would have liked her. But in the days since the beach incident, she had made a point to hang all over Jim at every opportunity, holding onto his arm in the break room, walking past his desk constantly to touch him or rub his back, all very clearly for my benefit. I knew I deserved it—or, at any rate, I understood why she was doing it—but it wasn’t very subtle. She’d have done better to just pee around his desk.

And, I confess, it was this obvious insecurity that had given me hope that maybe there was still a chance. It was the reason I left the note in with his sales reports. It was my last effort to ask: don’t forget us. And us did not refer to the office.

********

We’d been finished for a while, and the third time the waiter walked past with a baleful eye toward our empty wine glasses, Jim suggested we go. “It’s getting late,” he said reluctantly.

“Yeah,” I agreed with a sigh. I didn’t want the date to be over yet. I missed him, craved him, wanted never to let him out of my sight again. We shouldn’t have had coffee. Now I didn’t even have an excuse to invite him in.

The drive to my apartment was much too short, the walk to my door much too fast. Yet in front of my door he simply took me into his arms and kissed me, without hesitation or preamble or a trace of uncertainty, as natural as though we had done it for years. Warm, soft, tender, exactly as I remembered; I knew in an instant that this was exactly where I was meant to be, and I was filled with such gratitude and joy, I thought my heart would burst. He was here and he still loved me. I could feel it—in the slight trembling of his arms as he pulled me tightly against him, the warmth of his open mouth on mine, his hands strong and sure around my waist. I reached up to touch the soft skin of his freshly shaved cheek, inhaling his spicy/earthy scent, until at last he drew away, resting his forehead against mine as we caught our breath.

He turned his face to touch his cheek against mine, and I felt him smile. “Oh Pam,” he murmured in a low, husky voice that sent a delicious shiver over my skin.

Don’t let him go yet. More of this.

“Come inside,” I invited.

He pulled back just a little to look into my eyes. “Yeah?” he murmured.

I nodded. Take it slow, indeed! How much more time did we need? “Come in,” I said again, slipping out of his reluctant arms to unlock the door. He followed me inside with his arm around my waist as I shut and locked the door, and pulled me back tightly against him to kiss me. Hungry, possessive, tender. This was the thing I had seen in his eyes all those times. His hands ran down my back and pulled my hips boldly against his, and I pressed myself into him, wanting to feel every inch of his body. For a long time we stood kissing against the door, until he finally drew away with a little gasp and I laid my head on his chest, listening to his heart galloping along with my own.

We should wait. Don’t rush…take it slow, don’t screw this up. Tell him good night. He won’t be mad…it was his idea to go slow, right?

I lifted my head to look at him. His eyes were closed and his lips were pressed into a narrow line; he was trying to pull himself together. He looked ready to say something sensible and responsible, like I should probably go. I cast about for something, anything, to keep him there a little longer.

“Stay,” I said baldly.

He pulled a surprised face for a moment, but then he smiled—a slow, sly, private smile, intimate and revealing, that sent an electric quiver through my body. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely I am.”

He grinned. His eyes sparkled, deep green now. “All right.”

********

Silently he followed me to sit on my bed, bouncing a little on the mattress as I clicked on the nighttable lamp. “Nice bed, Beesly,” he remarked, tracing his fingertips over the flower print of my comforter.

“Thanks.” I sat down beside him. “It’s new.”

“Really.” That seemed to please him, probably for the same reason I’d bought a different bed when I moved into this place: no association with Roy.

“New to me,” I amended. “I found it at the thrift store. See, it’s a little scuffed on the footboard there. But the mattress, it’s new.”

“Pam… are you nervous?” he asked softly, reaching up to smooth a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

“A little,” I admitted. This was a vast understatement.

“We can still…take it slow,” he offered.

“Are you nervous?” I countered, taking his hand, and edging closer until our thighs touched. Touch of any kind had been forbidden for so long—a boundary tacitly understood and inflexibly enforced—that I found myself hesitant.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. A little.” He slipped his arm around my waist and bent to kiss me, shifting his body toward me as I moved into his lap. “But I’ll get over it,” he said huskily.

********

I had dreamed about being with Jim on four distinct occasions, and fantasized plenty more in the last year that I lived alone; but none of my imaginings were anywhere near as sweet as the actuality. I was nervous—I’d never been with anybody but Roy, and I had no idea if my...skills...would be equal to his expectations. Or, for that matter, what to expect from him. But as we came together in a slow and leisurely exploration, I forgot to be shy and gave myself up to the moment, to Jim. The exceptional tenderness with which he treated me, as though I were something fragile and delicate, made me feel so safe and comfortable that it was easy to be bold, to take his hands and put them where I wanted him to touch me.

He seemed to like that.

We made love twice, and afterward, when he curled his body around mine, I had an overwhelming sensation of being utterly protected and loved. I wanted to remember everything about this moment: the musky scent of his sweat, the softness of his chest hair tickling my back, the heavy weight of his leg over my hip. The steady rhythm of his breathing. His arm wrapped around me, his long slender fingers laced through mine. It was the most perfectly content moment I think I’ve ever experienced.

I lay awake long after he fell asleep, afraid that when I woke none of it would be real.



--------

------------





Okay, so I admit there was part of me that hoped she would say to hell with taking it slow and invite me in. It seemed best to not jump in too fast and screw up this new thing we were going to try to be to each other, but when she said, “Stay,” in that tone of frank invitation, and looked up at me with that startling and unmistakable desire in her eyes, all thoughts of reason and restraint disappeared. It was not unlike a few fantasies I’ve had, that moment.

There was no pretense of coffee or a nightcap, which both reassured me —-okay, then, definitely more than friends here —and terrified me—now? Tonight? Is she ready? She’s ready. She wants me.

She wants me.

The thought was almost paralyzing. I’d waited how many years and now I have stage fright?

My God, man, just go with it. Haven’t we waited long enough?

I hadn’t dared hope for anything more than a kiss at the door. And, if I’m honest, a small part of me had been really afraid of what might happen at dinner—that the weight of everything that went before would end up crushing us both and our first real date-- last first date of my life, I prayed—would dissolve into angry recriminations and more wounded feelings and ugliness.

I hadn’t wanted her to apologize. Nothing she did was any more cowardly or cruel than what I’d done to her, and I knew that, but it hurt to think about it. How much I’d kind of enjoyed seeing her face when I was with Karen, the aching expression that I know I wore every day for four years.

As if seeing her in pain ever did anything other than twist my stomach in knots and make my head start to pound.

I’ve been so unfair, putting it all on her like that. Of course she didn’t call me; why would she, when I left without telling her? Did I really give her a choice that night? What was I expecting?

She was supposed to say “Yes” and “I love you too.” And then we could figure it out from there.

Yeah, I really thought it out, didn’t I? Fuck. The fear. She’d said exactly what I was afraid she’d say, and even though I knew she was lying, I didn’t call her on it. I should have forced her to at least admit it was there. I can’t? What kind of an answer is that?

Things could have been so different. If I hadn’t left. If I’d just told her I was leaving…that she only had to say the word and I’d have stayed…I’d have waited, God, it’s not like I wasn’t the expert on waiting…

So many things I hadn’t considered—like how I told her I was over her in the kitchen that day, that it was just a crush from a long time ago, yeah, no big deal, totally over it...stupid. Yet another opportunity to be honest and I choked on my fear again. She believed me. I hadn’t credited myself with being a good enough liar for her to believe me. In fact, I’m a terrible liar. She knew I was a terrible liar. How could she have believed me?

She believed you because you were her friend…she believed you because you, of all people, wouldn’t lie to her.

I made up my mind then and there, during her confession, that I’m never going to lie to her again. If we do somehow manage to screw this up, it isn’t going to be due to miscommunication.


********


She took me to her room and she was obviously nervous, which, again, came as a relief because so was I. For a few minutes, when I kissed her and pulled her into my lap, she got a case of the giggles and started apologizing and blushing. I suppose it could have ruined the moment but I just thought she was adorable. She kept trying to say “I’m sorry,” giggling behind her hand, turning pinker with each second, until I pulled her hand down and kissed her again, slowly, deliberately, still amazed myself that this was happening; and in a few seconds, her body relaxed into mine and she slipped her arms around me. Her lips warmed and softened under mine and when she ran the tip of her tongue over my lower lip I couldn’t suppress a groan as a surge of electricity pulsed through my gut. She smiled at that, and tugged at my sweater until I reached down and yanked it over my head, and she started working at my shirt buttons until I stopped her and pulled that over my head too, tossing it on the floor behind me with the sweater.

She ran her right hand lightly over my chest and down my belly. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured.

I thought briefly of telling her men aren’t beautiful, but then she moved down to kiss just under my ear, sliding down to the hollow at the base of my throat, flicking her tongue over my nipple and tracing around it in a lazy circle, and I lost the ability to speak. Her long hair fell around her face and tickled my chest, and she moved further down, pressed her lips to my navel, reached for my belt.

Holy shit. This is happening. I’m half naked. About to be all the way naked. Wait. Why isn’t she naked?

“Wait,” I gasped, and she looked up with a little smile, and sat up.

I took a deep breath, and sat up too, and she pulled off her sweater. She was wearing a low-cut, lacy pink bra

(wow)

and her skin was white and translucent and so soft. I ran my hand over her smooth flat stomach, remembering the only other time I’d touched it, when we were horsing around at Dwight’s dojo and her shirt had ridden up and for one impossibly delicious moment she was laughing and soft and pliable in my arms. She was angry that day, or maybe embarrassed, now that I look back at it; but this night, she unhooked her bra and tossed it aside and showed herself to me, then dipped her head forward a little in sudden shyness, pulling the clip out of her hair so it covered her like Eve in the garden.

For a second—maybe a minute, five minutes, an hour, who knows—I just stared at her. And then she met my eyes and smiled and took my right hand and pressed my palm to her breast. She blushed as she did it but she wouldn’t look away from me. Fancy New Beesly asks for what she wants. I was more than happy to oblige, and give her ideas on other things she should ask for.


********


Sleep had been so elusive for so long that I wonder now how I was functioning at all. It had taken every ounce of my energy and concentration to work on Being With Karen; to focus on My Career and The Future; to Not Think About Pam. And I was so exhausted.

So after the initial…frenzy…of the first time, and the hour of leisurely exploration that preceded the second, I fell into the deepest sleep I’d had in a year. No dreams, no restive thoughts to keep me staring at the ceiling and willing my mind to just stop, to just give me peace for a little while. I’d never even seen Pam’s apartment, let alone her bedroom, her bed, but it was already like I belonged here; the scent and texture of her sheets, the shadows on the walls, the soft sound of her breathing, held nothing of the foreign emptiness that had never really dissipated in six months with Karen. I wrapped myself around her and had a brief but very distinct thought just before I fell asleep: I’m home.

I didn’t dream at all, for the first time in a long time.

In the lightening darkness just before dawn, I woke up and found her turned on her left side, facing me now. Was she watching me sleep? Cute. Very cute.

“Jim,” she whispered.

“Mmm.” I slipped my arm around her waist and pulled her against me, closed my eyes again.

“Jim,” she tried again, more urgently this time.

I opened my eyes. “Pam.”

She shifted closer, trailing her hand over my side until it came to rest on my hip, and kissed the corner of my mouth. “I never told you.”

“Told me what, Beesly.” I closed my eyes again.

“That I love you,” she said softly. “I have, for a…a long time.”

I opened my eyes and stared at her, instantly awake. Her eyes were very green in the low light, glimmering with unshed tears. She cupped my left cheek in her palm and kissed me, her mouth open and warm and a little desperate. “Do you still love me?” she whispered.

I almost started to tease her for having to ask, but she looked so serious and anxious I couldn’t make light. I reached up to gently pinch the apple of her cheek, wiping away dampness with my thumb. “Of course,” I said, a little huskily.

She smiled and kissed me again and her tears were coming harder, all over my face. “Say it?” she pleaded. “Tell me, please…”

I rolled over on top of her and kissed her, cradled her face in my hands. She looked sad and overjoyed all at once and I wondered what she was thinking, why she was crying now, when all the lost time and suffocating silences seemed to have finally been put behind us. “I love you,” I murmured, covering her face with kisses until her tears dried up and she started running her hands up and down my back. “I love you, I love you.” I’ll never stop, never, not ever.

“Make love to me Jim,” she whispered. “Please…”

Like I needed encouragement.

The most perfect moment of my life: Pam’s body slick with sweat, her back arched underneath me as she dug her fingernails into my back, crying out my name in the pink light of dawn as she wrapped her strong legs around me to pull me into her, holding me inside her as she shuddered to a peak. I could have died of ecstasy right there.




-------

----------


Saturday was overcast, so I slept later than I would normally; when I woke up I was surprised to see it was after eleven. Jim was gone, his side of the bed cold from his absence.

A flash of panic washed over me for an instant and I shot up straight, looking around wildly for evidence he was still here. He wouldn’t have left. Don’t freak out. There was his shirt and sweater on the floor. There were his impossibly enormous shoes, cast off at the foot of the bed.

Okay. He was here somewhere, in the bathroom, or …what’s that smell? Mmm. Coffee. I rolled over with a sigh, pressing my face into his pillow to inhale his scent, and stretched and yawned and marveled at how I could feel every muscle in my body.

So, that happened. I felt a slow lazy grin curve my lips. Yesterday I was wondering how I was ever going to find the strength to plaster on a smile and wish him luck in his new life, and this morning he was making coffee in my kitchen. Life is nothing if not full of surprises.

I slipped out of bed and pulled on Jim’s white dress shirt as I padded to the bathroom, smiling at how oversized it was on me. Even rolled up, the sleeves came to my wrists, and the tails fell to my knees. But it was full of his scent and it was his and I wanted to lay claim to everything he owned, I wanted to imprint myself into him the way he had done to me. He was in my bones now.

I splashed some water on my face and grinned at my reflection. My skin was flushed pink and I absolutely could not stop smiling. My hair was in wild disarray. I pulled a brush through it and tied it into a loose ponytail, brushed my teeth, and followed the gurgling sound of coffee brewing in the kitchen and Jim humming a tune I didn’t recognize.

He was staring into my refrigerator, biting his knuckle. “Slim pickings, Beesly,” he said, clucking his tongue as he glanced up at me. “I think we’re gonna have to go out. I’ve got coffee going though.” He shut the fridge door and made a show of looking me up and down, smiling suggestively. “My shirt looks good on you.”

“You are some kind of freakish giant.” I flapped the ends of his sleeves at him as I strolled over to wrap my arms around him, stretching up on my tiptoes to kiss him. He was wearing just his pants, and something about finding him barefoot and shirtless in my kitchen sent a thrill of contentment through my veins. It was so…right. He belonged here. “Good morning.”

He crushed me in a tight bear-hug and kissed my forehead. “Good morning.”

“How long have you been up?” I asked, disentangling myself to take a couple of mugs out of the cabinet.

“A little while.” He ran a hand through his too-short hair. “You always sleep so late?” he teased.

“Only when I’ve been kept up all night,” I returned with a saucy smile, adding a spoonful of cream to both our cups, and another of sugar to his. “Thanks for making coffee.”

He just smiled, cradling his mug in both hands as we walked over to the table. He sat down across from me and stretched luxuriously, arching his back and letting out a little groan as he lengthened his arms over his head and flexed his toes. “You know how I like my coffee,” he observed, looking absurdly pleased.

I sat down across from him. “Of course I do. One cream, one sugar. You haven’t evolved that much, Halpert.”

Oh, wow. What possessed me to say that?

He flinched and his mortified expression told me that he knew exactly what I was talking about, and worse, that the remark was meant to cut me as it had. I’m evolving, Pam.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

He gave me a wry little half-smile. “It was a bad year, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I sighed.

“Pam,” he began.

I shook my head. We agreed to put the past in the past, and that’s what we’re gonna do. “The next one will be better,” I said brightly.

He grinned, his relief palpable. “I totally agree. C’mere.” He held out one arm in invitation and I moved over to sit in his lap, twining my arms around his neck, and he reached up to pull out my ponytail so he could run his hands through my hair as he kissed me. “Mmm. Pam?” he murmured against my lips.

I tried to say “Hmm?” but it came out as a groan. He grinned and kissed me harder and picked me up, pushing his chair over backwards as he stood up and took me back to the bedroom.

Talking’s overrated anyway.

----------

Sunday.

“Beesly, I’m starving. Seriously, we need to go get some food.” He took my hand and pressed it against his rumbling stomach. “Feel that?”

“Mmm, nice.” I grinned at his reflection, sliding my fingers a little further south. He was still damp from the shower, looking absolutely delicious with just a towel wrapped around his narrow hips. He had such a nice body. I’d never seen more than his forearms and a bit of chest before, and though over the years I’d really grown to appreciate his profile, the curve of his neck, it was a bit surreal to be allowed to just gaze at his naked body in open admiration. Long and lean but not really skinny at all…just these long lovely ropes of muscles expanding downward into nice strong legs and upward into a broad chest and wide shoulders. So different from Roy, even though they were nearly the same height. Roy’s muscles were thick, heavy. If Roy was a bull, Jim was a…panther.

“I’m serious!” he laughed, feigning indignation as he affected slapping my hand away, then grabbed my hand and linked his fingers through mine instead. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“Very. But I don’t have anything here except Lean Cuisines and maybe cereal. We’ll have to go out. Or order out again.” I stepped away and reached for my barrette.

He put his hand on top of mine to stop me. “Leave it down?” he suggested, smiling in the mirror at my reflection.

No, I can’t, it’ll just get frizzy and… “Yeah, okay,” I heard myself say instead. Anything you want. “But you gotta do something for me.”

“Anything.” His smile was so warm. He looked so happy. I hadn’t seen him this happy…ever.

I reached up and ruffled his hair with my fingers as best I could in its shortened state. “Grow your hair back.”

He laughed. “Is that all?”

I smiled slyly. “For now.”

--------------

Reality finally hit home Sunday night.

We’d been apart a grand total of forty-seven minutes from the time we went to dinner on Friday night, just long enough for him to race home to pick up a change of clothes and his toothbrush early Saturday afternoon, and somehow the reality of our situation—of Karen and work and the excruciating awkwardness to come—had seemed like something distant and irrelevant. It was only on Sunday evening, when Jim reluctantly went home, that I really let myself think about the implications of everything that had happened.

My apartment was kind of a wreck. Cartons of Chinese takeout and soda cans and wine glasses littered surfaces all over the kitchen and living room. Damp towels were slung over the shower rod and draped across the tub and scattered across the floor. Piles of discarded clothes, mostly mine but also one of his undershirts, marked a trail to the bed. I stripped the sheets and started a load of laundry, wondering what tomorrow was going to bring, if he’d be coming over here after work or I’d see his apartment…

I’ve never even seen his apartment.

My God, I AM a hussy.

I found the idea that Angela had been right in judging me so harshly to be fairly disturbing. Not that I really care what Angela thinks, so much. But I never thought of myself as that girl. The girl who steals another girl’s boyfriend.

It was more complicated than that, of course, and Karen couldn’t know how much pain and heartache we’d gone through to get to this point, but did that really matter? Was it realistic or fair to expect her to understand? She had every right to hate me, hate Jim. I couldn’t pretend to be sorry for how everything had turned out, but for the first time, I felt a stab of guilt and unease about how we’d plunged in so deep, so quickly.

Are we moving too fast? Too much, too soon? It didn’t seem like it, all things considered, but oh, my God, I hadn’t let myself think about how humiliating it might be for Karen, to know he came back here and we just…

She’ll know. He told her, straight up, why he was coming back; she’ll take one look and know what we did all weekend. And that’s just…oh, God, I should have at least made him shave…(though the stubble had been an unbelievable turn-on)…she’ll know, she’ll know…

It’s not fair, my pride chirped up righteously. I’ve slept with exactly two men in my whole life. And I was engaged to one of them! I’m not exactly a tramp. Am I?

I’m in love with Jim, it’s not some kind of fling, and it certainly wasn’t impulsive, this has been waiting to happen for…years… how much longer were we supposed to wait?

And so went my thoughts, turning round and round in circles of self-doubting questions followed by defensive justifications, until the phone rang at close to eleven while I was remaking the bed. “Hey,” Jim said warmly. “Did I wake you?”

“Nope. Just making the bed.” I smoothed a hand over the comforter and flopped back against the pillows. “You get your laundry done?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat and said abruptly, “I, um…Karen came over.”

Oh, no. Of course.

“She had some CDs of mine and stuff, and there were some, ah, things of hers over here, and…” He sighed. “She was only here for a few minutes. I just…I dunno, I thought you should know.”

I was surprised by the surge of jealousy that flamed through me. Or not jealousy so much as… possessiveness?

“Pam?”

“How was it?” I asked. “I mean…how is she?”

“She was pretty civil, actually.” He cleared his throat again. He does that when he’s nervous. Why is he nervous? “Like I said she was only here for a few minutes. We didn’t really… talk, or anything.”

I had no idea what to say.

“I just suddenly had this, like, vision of her saying something…to you… about being over here, and I didn’t want you to…I don’t know…get the wrong idea,” he blurted.

Did he think I wouldn’t believe him…that I didn’t trust him?

Did I believe him? Did I trust him?

Yes. And… yes.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He let out a sigh that sounded relieved. “Yeah. It was kind of…well, a lot uncomfortable, actually. But I think she’s gonna at least try to be okay about it. So, um, I was thinking, this could be…kind of weird… for a while, and maybe it would be best if we don’t…if we just, you know, lay low for a bit?”

“I totally agree,” I said quickly. “I was kind of thinking the same thing myself.”

“Oh. Well …good.” He cleared his throat. Again. This whole conversation was obviously freaking him out. “Pam?”

“Yeah?”

“I would really, really like to see you right now,” he said softly. “Just…so you know.”

I smiled. “Good night, Jim.”

“ ’Night.”

---------------

I couldn’t sleep. I finally gave up trying and got up at five-thirty, drank half a pot of coffee, and headed in to work at a little after seven. I liked being the first one in, when it was quiet and peaceful. Funny how I liked the office best when there was nobody else in it.

Jim showed up ten minutes later. He looked as tired and edgy as I felt, but his face brightened and he smiled when he saw me. “Hey. You’re early,” he remarked, hanging up his coat and casting a glance around.

“Nobody’s here yet,” I told him.

“Oh. Good.” He came around my desk and slipped his arms around me, pulling in a deep breath and resting his chin on my head. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.” I pressed my face to his chest, breathed him in. Soap, deodorant, Jim.

He gave me a brief squeeze and bent to steal a quick kiss before releasing me and stepping back. “Okay, so, Angela heard me ask you out on Friday. I think. She saw me go in there, anyway. So…she’ll be watching.”

“Great,” I groaned. Like she ever wasn’t watching. God Himself couldn’t ask for a more pitiless judge of human weaknesses. For the first time, I was grateful for my view of Jim’s neck that would keep me from mooning at him like a lovesick teenager.

“It’s okay.” He nodded as if that would help convince himself as well as me, moving to his desk and hanging his bag on the back of his chair. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

---------------

Karen was right on time, precisely at eight o’clock, impeccable as always in her black pinstriped pantsuit. She didn’t look angry or sad, just a little tired. She gave me a brief but polite nod of greeting without meeting my eyes and walked straight through to her desk, not glancing at Jim at all, focusing immediately on her computer.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

---------------

Now I’ve had a lot of bad days at Dunder-Mifflin. Michael has driven me to the brink of giving my notice literally dozens of times, but even Michael’s worst gaffes and most obliviously hurtful insults are easy enough to shrug off in the end.

No, anything truly upsetting always had something to do with Jim. The awful silence that ended the day when things got out of hand at Dwight’s dojo and I gave him the cold shoulder. The tension-filled week after I found out he complained about me.

The numb, disbelieving shock when I saw his empty desk that Monday morning and realized he was really gone.

I hadn’t thought anything could top the horror of Jim’s first strained day back from Stamford and the discovery that he was “kind of seeing someone.” But then came the Roy Incident. Surely that was the worst thing that could ever happen…all our secrets exposed for everyone to see in all its ghastly humiliating detail.

But, again, I was wrong. Things can always get worse.

If there’s one thing working for Michael Scott should have taught me by now, it’s that a bad situation can always be made worse.

------------

In the end, it was because of the desk.

“Attention everyone!” Michael announced. “As you all know, I have decided to stay here as the… godfather…of our Scranton family. What you may not know is that our very own Ryan Howard has been offered the position in New York! Today will be his last day here with us and then he’s off to butt heads with the bigwigs at corporate.”

Jim turned very slightly in his chair to shoot me a speaking glance. “Butt heads,” or Ryan getting the job? It was a toss-up.

“You’re kidding,” Stanley said flatly.

“I am…not.” Michael cleared his throat. “So everyone, let’s congratulate Ryan and wish him the best of luck.”

“Congratulations Ryan,” Phyllis offered.

“Are we having a party?” Kevin wanted to know.

“No,” Ryan said shortly. “I…that’s not necessary. Actually Michael I’m going to just clear out early, I have a lot to do and they want me in the office tomorrow. I’m sure you understand.” It wasn’t a question. He already had a box at his desk and was busy emptying out the bottom drawer.

Wow. Ryan the temp. Who’d have thought.

It took Ryan less than twenty minutes to clear out his desk. Nearly three years here and he wasn’t even able to fill a single box. I saw some pencils and pens, a couple of file folders (of what?…), and a few spiral notebooks and binders from his business school classes. No pictures, no mementos, not even a coffee mug. “All yours, Halpert,” he smirked as he logged off the computer with a flourish.

“Congratulations, Ryan,” Jim said amiably, leaning back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. “And good luck.”

Ryan looked a little surprised. Maybe he didn’t know Jim had withdrawn voluntarily? “Uh… thanks.”

“Think I will take that desk back though,” Jim mused.

Ryan glanced over his shoulder at Michael’s closed office door. “Yeah, it’s definitely better to have your back to him,” he agreed in a low voice.

-----------

By nine o’clock, Ryan was gone and Jim had relocated to his old desk. That, as it turned out, was a bad idea. Although we avoided each others’ gaze as diligently as when we weren’t speaking, the symbolism was clear enough.

I was fighting the fax machine, which had jammed yet again, so I had my back to them when I heard Karen’s clipped voice at Jim’s desk. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” It wasn’t really a question.

I kept my eyes fixed on the copier. Angela looked up and cast one of her typically damning glances in my direction.

“Uh…yeah, sure.” I heard Jim stand up and I wanted desperately to offer a reassuring glance… something… but I didn’t dare look at him. At either of them.

Karen marched behind Jim into the break room, and two seconds later, nobody could make any pretense of doing anything other than listening. She was loud. And furious. “You are immature, selfish, and lazy,” she spat before the door had fully closed behind them.

After that it was hard to hear exactly what she was saying, but words like used and lied and my CAREER were punctuated with emphatic, angry hand gestures. Twice she poked him in the chest but Jim said nothing, did nothing, just stood there with his hands shoved deep into his pockets and an expression of guilt and remorse and empathetic patience on his face that only seemed to make her angrier.

I stared in horror from the alcove of my desk, acutely aware of everyone’s eyes swiveling from the scene in the kitchen to me and back again. Karen hadn’t said my name, hadn’t pointed at me, but there weren’t exactly any secrets in this office and after the day at the beach… I wondered if it would it be too obvious if I feigned illness and went home early.

The harangue continued for nearly ten minutes before she brushed past him and stormed out of the break room, straight toward my desk.

Fuck.

I sat up straight, set my jaw, and looked her in the eye as she approached, summoning all my moxie. Courage and honesty. Courage and honesty. I know what I’ve done and I’d do it again and I’m sorry but there it is.

“Pam, can I speak with you for a second.” She crossed her arms over her chest and made a jerking motion with her head toward the front door. “Outside.”

“Ooh, cat fight,” Kevin said gleefully.

“Shut up,” Oscar hissed.

Karen spun on her heel and marched ahead of me toward the door. Jim glanced at me with worried eyes but I shook my head imperceptibly. Whatever she wanted to say, I owed it to her to listen, just as he had.

She was pacing in the hallway. I stood against the wall and waited for her to speak.

“Look,” she said finally, stopping in front of me and crossing her arms again. “I had to say that…to him. He’s—that was fucked up, what he did to me.” Her eyes challenged me to dispute her. “And that’s not why I wanted to talk to you but… sorry if it made you feel weird,” she added sarcastically.

I had no idea what she wanted from me if it wasn’t to call me out as a man-stealing whore, so I ignored the jibe and waited.

“I still work here,” she said forcefully. “I’m talking to Toby about a transfer but in the meantime, since everybody here knows exactly what happened,” she spat accusingly, “I would appreciate it if the two of you could not…” And suddenly her face crumpled a little and she looked away, bringing a hand to cover her eyes.

Oh my God. Tears instantly sprang to my eyes. “Karen,” I whispered, and started to reach out to her, but she had already regained her composure. Her eyes were glossy but filled with their characteristic determination. She licked her lips and looked at me, and I just nodded.

She pressed her lips together and nodded once, briefly, then turned and walked back into the suite.

Jim and I didn’t look at each other for the rest of the day. But she was gone the next day anyway.



----------

********


So I heard this amazing quote once by Ben Stein, the guy with the sloooooww voice from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. “The first step to getting the things you want out of life is this: Decide what you want.”

Good advice. But he didn’t say anything about the fallout from the decision.

********

Karen had been really civil when she came over Sunday night with a box of CDs and a couple of my t-shirts she’d commandeered over the last few months. She put the box on my coffee table and I took everything out so I could use it to pack up her things, and she didn’t say anything, just stood cross-armed near the door like she needed an easy escape route.

It was a little embarrassing, and definitely telling, how few of her things had ever made it to my apartment. How little I’d let her in. There was an assortment of personals from the bathroom, a bottle of perfume, that Rich Dad, Poor Dad book she loaned me that I never read. She never had a drawer in my bedroom and I never gave her a key. It took less than five minutes to clear her out of my life.

She took the box from me without meeting my eyes. “Thank you,” she said curtly, and turned for the door.

“Karen…” I didn’t really have a follow-up to that. I had no idea what I wanted to say, what I should say. How sorry I was, or that maybe under different circumstances…but even I didn’t know if that was true, and she wouldn’t want to hear it.

She just looked at me and I shut my mouth. I can never seem to say the right thing to her.

“Are you happy?” she asked, and the question was not full of venom or resentment, just curiosity.

I didn’t want to answer. It would only wound her and I’d done enough of that. Quite honestly, the question surprised me. Karen’s not a masochist.

“You are,” she answered herself, assessing my expression and nodding a little. “Well, good for you. Have a nice life, Jim.” And she was out the door.

So the next day, when she reamed me out in full view of everybody, I wasn’t really surprised, and frankly I was kind of relieved. It eased my guilty conscience a little to have her call me out on everything I’d done, so I just stood there and took it because it seemed that the least I could do was let her vent. And I was sorry, more than she’d ever believe, but I can’t deny that above all I was simply relieved that it was finally and definitively just over.

When she headed for Pam, though, I was ready to intervene. Pouring it on me was one thing, but Pam… all my protective instincts reared up and Pam had to give me the slight shake of the head that said she’d handle it.

“Do you think Pam can take her?” Kevin giggled as the door fell shut behind them.

I gave him probably the coldest look I’ve ever given anyone in my life and his smile faded and he suddenly became very interested in his pencil cup.

They were only gone a few minutes. Karen came back first and went straight to her desk, not looking at anybody. Pam was a few seconds behind and headed directly for the ladies’ room. When she came out, close to ten minutes later, her eyes were dry and she was composed but she gave me one brief, hard glance that said unequivocally, Don’t look at me.

My heart started racing triple-time and I was pretty sure I was going to be sick, but I did what she wanted and by the end of the day I had a headache and blurred vision from the strain of staring straight ahead at my monitor.

At five o’clock sharp Pam grabbed her coat and bolted out the door. And I knew it was hopelessly obvious and going to fuel even more gossip but I practically knocked my chair over in my haste as I ran out after her. The door to the stairwell was swinging shut and she was already at the first-floor landing when I called her name. “Pam!”

She stopped. Thank God, she stopped. “Where are you going?” I blurted, breathing hard as I came to stand next to her. My heart-rate felt dangerously unstable. Is this what a panic attack feels like?

“I…” She looked up at me with huge, tear-filled eyes, and whatever she saw on my face made her look away immediately. “I just had to get out of there,” she whispered, staring down at the cracked linoleum, clutching at her purse strap in a white-knuckle grip.

“I’m sorry.” I dared to reach out to touch her shoulder, and nearly let out a sob of relief when she didn’t flinch or pull away. “I never meant—”

She shook her head. “I’m not blameless,” she said quietly, a little bitterly. “I just didn’t… I can’t do this.”

I can’t. Those fucking words again. My throat closed up and I shut my eyes tight and reached behind me to grab onto the railing, afraid I might actually collapse. Not again. Oh dear sweet Jesus not again.

“Jim. Jim!” Her hand was on my arm and when I opened my eyes her alarm was palpable. “Just… not here. ” She reached up to touch my face, her eyes wide and soft. “Not here, okay?”

I nodded but I couldn’t speak, could barely breathe.

Her hand fell from my cheek and she patted my arm like she was comforting a child, her eyes unreadable. “I have to go, but I’ll call you later, okay?”

I managed to nod again and she turned and hurried down the second flight of stairs. I heard the door bang open and closed and I squeezed my eyes shut and slid down the wall onto the landing, sucking air into my lungs in huge painful burning gasps.

I’m going to have a heart attack and die at the age of twenty-eight. Jesus.

I couldn’t move for a long time.

********

I don’t remember going home, or getting in the shower, or opening a beer, or doing any of the things that brought me to end up on my couch in my sweats, mindlessly watching SportsCenter. I waited and waited for the phone to ring and picked it up to call her no less than eight times but somehow managed to stop myself each time until I plugged it into the charger in the kitchen so it would be out of sight.

By nine I couldn’t take it anymore, and called my sister in the desperate hope of perspective. “Hey Jimmy!” Amy chirped. “What’s up?”

I had to clear my throat a couple of times so my voice wouldn’t shake. “Not much,” I forced out, rubbing at my eyes. “Just, uh, haven’t talked to you in a while.”

“I know! How was New York? Did you hear about the job yet?” she asked eagerly.

“Oh.” Fuck. I hadn’t told Amy or Jon or my parents about backing out of the job. I hadn’t talked to anyone, or thought about anything but Pam and her skin and her scent and that look in her eyes that said she wanted me. The soft tickle of her whisper in my ear that she loved me, loved me.

Was that just yesterday? It all seemed like an extremely vivid hallucination.

“ ‘Oh’?” she echoed, instantly suspicious. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” The background noise of running water ceased abruptly.

I closed my eyes and wished briefly that I hadn’t called. “I, um…I decided I didn’t want it.”

“Really.” Her tone was skeptical, questioning, but one of the reasons I usually call Amy when I have something on my mind is that she doesn’t pry, doesn’t judge, doesn’t give unsolicited advice; she just listens. I heard her breathing on the other end of the line, waiting.

“Yeah, I…” And suddenly it was spilling out of me, Pam at the beach, the interview, the note, Karen in the city, the most amazing two days of my life followed immediately by this. The tears clogging my throat were audible in my voice and that’s another reason I call Amy at times like these, because she’s the only person in the world I can show this side of myself to without feeling like a complete pussy.

She was quiet for a long moment when I finished, and I waited, half expecting the lecture I’d heard before about living too much in my head and the dangers of impulsive decisions and how I sometimes forget to think things through. Hoping, though, that maybe she’d say something positive like you did the right thing, everything will be fine, she told you she loved you, right? Because that’s what I’m clinging to and, Christ, I need someone else to tell me I’m not crazy.

“Wow,” she said finally. “That’s…wow, Jimmy, you’ve really, um, that’s quite a turnaround from when I talked to you last.”

“Yeah.” I rubbed at my eyes again. My head was throbbing.

“So she hasn’t called you yet? No, or you wouldn’t be talking to me,” she answered herself. “You haven’t called her, I take it.”

“No.” I made a horrible mistake, didn’t I? Fuck, just say it already so I can hang up and go drink myself to sleep. To death. Whatever.

“Well, maybe you should. Find out what Karen said to her. Maybe she, I dunno…threatened her, or something?” She sounded doubtful, but her willingness to explore any reason that didn’t immediately restate her longstanding opinion (Pam is too weak and conflicted to ever admit she has feelings for you) was a little encouraging.

“That doesn’t really sound like Karen,” I had to admit.

“People do weird things when they’re upset, Jim.” She sighed. “Okay, so that’s not really likely. She’s probably just … I dunno. I don’t know Pam. But it seems like she has a hard time—” She stopped abruptly. “Okay, now you did say she told you she loves you?”

“Yes,” I said softly, the memory of the moment striking me with such visceral clarity I had to close my eyes, seeing again her face, her smile so open in its honesty, her auburn hair spread out like flame on the pillow, her fingers raking through my hair again and again in a gentle caress as she looked up at me. I’ll carry that image with me to my grave.

“If she does, she’ll call you,” Amy said quietly. “She has to know you’re…” she trailed off.

Insecure. Nauseated. Terrified. Paralyzed. Take your pick. “Yeah,” I agreed.

The phone beeped in my ear and my heart immediately kicked into overdrive again as I pulled it down to see who it was. Pam.

“You’ve got a call,” Amy observed. “Is it Pam?”

“Yeah,” I breathed.

“Guess she does love you,” she said slyly. “Let me know how it goes.”

“Bye.” I grinned as I clicked over. “Hey.” Did I sound casual? I was pretty sure I was about to have another panic attack.

“I’m sorry it’s so late,” she said immediately. “I just got home from my class. It was the second to last one of the term and I really couldn’t miss it but I’m sorry, I should’ve texted you to tell you I was going but I was really behind on my project and—”

“Pam, slow down, it’s okay.” It wasn’t, really, but she was talking so fast it was getting hard to understand her.

“It’s not,” she echoed my thoughts, her voice full of tears. “I’m sorry for how I ran out today. That was—I’m sorry,” she repeated. “But my class is at five-thirty so I have to go straight there, and my finals are due on Wednesday, so I thought I’d work on them for a while and then call you in like an hour when I wasn’t feeling so… but then I looked up and it was nine and—”

“It’s okay.”

She took a deep breath and went on more calmly, “And then I thought I’d come over to see you, but I…I don’t know where you live,” she said softly, “and I’m just so…tired, I guess. I just want to go to bed.” I could hear her moving around, putting the kettle on.

“That’s…understandable.” I didn’t know what to think. This was not how I’d envisioned the day ending when I woke up this morning.

“Are you mad?” she asked in a small voice.

“No.” Mad was definitely not the right word for how I felt. I wasn’t sure what was. “Get some sleep, and I’ll see you tomorrow,” I sighed.

“Good night,” she said softly.

“Good night.” I suddenly felt extremely drained. The idea of climbing into bed for about twenty hours sounded really appealing.

“Jim.” It was almost a whisper.

“Yeah.”

“I love you.”

I closed my eyes. Teared up a little, actually. Such a girl, Halpert. “Love you too,” I murmured.

I was exhausted, but I didn’t sleep.

********

Karen was gone the next day. Toby said she packed up after everyone left and was taking some personal days until her transfer to either Albany or Utica. To say I was relieved would be an understatement, and if that makes me a jackass, so be it.

Pam was late, a rarity for her. She gave me a smile that seemed genuine enough but then went immediately into hiding behind her desk, avoiding my eyes as diligently as the day before.

I had calls to make. Three accounts up for renewal kept me busy for a while, but it was almost impossible to concentrate, what with glancing up at Pam every ten seconds. Right back where I started. Only now she’s told me she loves me and I know what she looks like when…

“Question.”

I sighed. “What is it, Dwight.”

“Do you have the updated pricing lists for the new ‘neon’ cardstocks.”

Wow. A real question. “Yeah…” I rifled through the hanging folders in my bottom drawer and handed him the manila folder with the updated price sheets.

“Jim.”

“Whaaaaat.”

“Have you looked at these.”

“What?” I snapped.

Dwight thrust the folder back at me. “Have you looked at these,” he repeated.

The pricing lists were gone; in their place was a stack of papers with various messages printed out
in huge, bolded block letters.

Oh dear Jesus.

JIM HALPERT IS A DECEITFUL LYING SCUMBAG

JIM HALPERT IS A CONNIVING GUTLESS WEASEL

JIM HALPERT IS A JUVENILE SLACKER WISEASS

JIM HALPERT WILL PROBABLY NEVER EVEN NOTICE THESE BECAUSE HE’S SUCH A LAZY SHIFTLESS WASTE OF SPACE

Holy crap.

Dwight smirked. “Well, somebody’s certainly got you pegged.”

“What’s that you got there, Jim-bone?”

Oh dear God no. Michael and his unerringly horrible timing had crept up right behind me; he snatched a sheet out of my hand before I could snap the folder shut. “Jim Halpert has a tiny penis,” he read aloud, and giggled. “Oh man!”

Now that is just not true.

Phyllis twittered.

I dropped my forehead into my hand. Not happening. This is not happening.

“Ooh, looks like someone was mad,” Michael chuckled. “Hell hath no fury—”

“Michael, I should shred that.” Pam was suddenly beside my desk, holding her hand out for the paper like a schoolmarm telling a student to spit out his gum.

“Oh Pam, it’s funny. Slim Jim here broke the girl’s heart and this is her revenge.”

“It is not funny,” Pam said firmly, her mouth set in a thin hard line more reminiscent of Angela. She still had her hand out expectantly, and Michael reluctantly handed the sheet over, glancing longingly at the folder I held in a death grip, far enough away from him that he’d have to wrestle me for it.

“Oh, fine,” he grumped. “You’re no fun, Pamalama. Jim doesn’t mind, do you Jimbo?”

“Yeah, I do actually.”

“You guys,” he sighed disgustedly, flapping a hand at us. “Well, Jimboree, it’s always hard to break up. Let me take you to lunch.”

Visions of Hooters flashed through my memory. “Can’t,” I said reflexively. “I’ve got a… sales call.” Fuck, he’ll want details. Who’s it with…

“At lunch?” he prodded, as I knew he would, because Michael never just lets anything go.

“Yeah, it’s…well it’s in, uh, Elmhurst, so…” I trailed off helplessly. “Maybe another time.” I jumped to my feet, still clutching the folder of invectives. “I…need some coffee,” I muttered, making a break for the kitchen.

“What’s wrong with him?” I heard Michael ask behind me.

“I’ve been telling you for years, he’s unstable,” Dwight said.

********

“Hey.” Pam touched my arm as she edged past me to take the chair beside me, peeling the lid off her yogurt. “You okay?” she asked gently, her expression a mixture of concern and amusement.

I sighed. “Now I have to pretend to go to Elmhurst at lunch.”

“Yeah, I heard that. Quick thinking, Halpert.” She grinned and bumped my shoulder with her own and the concern vanished from her eyes, leaving only amusement. “So…what other little gems did she leave for you?” she asked, sliding her hand toward the folder.

I slapped my hand down on top of it. “You’re funny.”

“Oh, come on. We both know she’s wrong about…at least one of those things,” she said slyly.

I didn’t dare answer that but I couldn’t help grinning, which seemed to be what she was after anyway. She leaned a little closer. “So if there’s no client, you’ll just be taking a long lunch, then,” she said, her gaze turning mischievous.

“Uh…yeah, I guess,” I said slowly.

She turned the spoon upside-down to lick the yogurt out from underneath, which I have always found incredibly erotic (although I never told her that), and now all I could think of was her mouth and…

I dragged my gaze up from her lips and our eyes locked for a long moment.

She looked away first, smiling a little and looking extremely satisfied with herself. “Looks like I forgot to pack a lunch today,” she said lightly, a note in her voice I hadn’t heard since Sunday morning. “Wanna meet me for a sandwich? Noonish?”

I nodded, struck dumb by the look in her eyes.

“Good.” She smiled and stood up, giving my shoulder a squeeze as she moved to chuck her empty yogurt in the trash. “See you out there.”

Her every touch paralyzed me. I couldn’t move for five minutes.

********

That forty-five minutes of fumbling, frantic, semi-public sex in the backseat of my Saab parked in the shadow of a Subway was easily the best lunch invitation I’ve ever had. Pam was a different person when we were alone; she parked next to me and slid into my car and practically attacked me with barely a word of greeting, yanking at my shirttails and belt with no regard for foreplay. Not that I was complaining…but then when I returned to the office, about fifteen minutes after her, she barely glanced in my direction for the rest of the day and my tired, paranoid brain started working overtime again, wondering how she could turn it off so easily, what that meant…she doesn’t love me like I love her, this whole thing is just something she’s been curious about…

The part of me still capable of rational thought knew better, but I have a tendency to see shadows everywhere, and she still scared the hell out of me on so many levels. She had my heart in her hands and she could just destroy me, so easily, unthinkingly.

We lingered after everyone had left that night, and I smiled hopefully as I gave her my address and a hand-drawn map to my apartment, which really wasn’t far from hers. “Come over?”

She shook her head and looked truly regretful, but that didn’t keep my heart from plummeting into my stomach. “I really can’t…I’ve got to finish up my last two projects, and it’s due tomorrow…”

I nodded and smiled and prayed it didn’t look as fake and tight as it felt. “Yeah, totally, that’s, yeah,” I stammered, nodding and smiling some more and feeling completely ridiculous and vulnerable. When did I turn all needy and clingy like a teenage girl?

“Walk me to my car?” She looked up at me with that light in her eyes I’d seen all weekend and reached over to lace her fingers through mine as we headed to the elevator.

I kissed her silly at her car and she was warm and responsive and so clearly happy, it almost made up for sleeping alone…again.

********

Wednesday.

I was late, because I couldn’t sleep. And when I did, finally, it was close to two in the morning and I apparently turned off my alarm when I thought I’d hit the snooze.

Today I really did have a couple of sales calls to make, and I was glad to be out of the office. Fresh air and all that. Pretending not to notice Pam was exponentially more difficult than it had been when we weren’t speaking, so it was a relief to be somewhere else where I could actually concentrate and do my job and feel like a normal, functioning adult for a few hours. I deliberately did my route backwards, starting with the closest places and making my last call out in Hazleton, an hour’s drive, after lunch. By the time I got back, it was past five and Pam’s car was gone.

She hadn’t called me all day, and I hadn’t called her. It was disconcerting and frustrating, not knowing how to act around her. The secrecy made it feel more like we were having an affair than starting a relationship, and although we were both agreed that we didn’t want anyone in the office to know about us—for a while at least—it filled me with a sick kind of déjà vu to go back to acting like we were “just friends.” Like nothing had happened. Oh, but yesterday she gave me a blowjob at lunch. It was confusing and wearisome and I didn’t know how to feel about anything.

Not eating and not sleeping wasn’t helping matters, so I stopped to pick up some beer and ordered enough Chinese to feed a family of five when I got home. Pam was at her class, so another long night alone loomed. I texted her to call me when she was finished, but I wasn’t really expecting an answer and when an hour passed without one I drank another beer and stretched out on the couch.

At least the Phillies were winning. Hamels was on his way to a no-hitter.

********

I woke up abruptly to a sound like something banging on a window and sat up in alarm, coated with sweat and more than a little disoriented. It was dark except for the TV, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

The banging came again. Knocking, actually. Pam, I thought immediately, but without much hope. I heaved myself off the couch and stumbled to the door, peering through the peephole.

It was Pam.

I yanked open the door a little too eagerly and she was standing so close to it that she nearly fell into me. “Hey,” she said, startled, taking a step back to regain her balance.

“Hey!” I pulled her inside, not bothering to hide my delight. “What are you doing here?”

“Coming to see you?” she asked, glancing around uncertainly. “I’m sorry…were you in bed? I tried to call but I just got your voicemail.”

I frowned; I hadn’t heard the phone ring. “I, uh…fell asleep on the couch.” Which was part of the reason I was sweaty; that, and the four beers. I plucked at my damp shirt self-consciously.

“Oh.” She shifted from one foot to the other, uneasy. “I should go…”

“No—please, don’t,” I said quickly, softly, hating how much it sounded like begging but too desperate to just be with her to care. I flipped on the overhead light in the entrance and squinted a little at the sudden brightness. “Do you want something to drink? What time is it? How was your class?”

She laughed. “Um…let’s see… no thank you, I’m fine; it’s a little after nine; and my class was good. Great, even.” She put her purse down on the little mail table by the front door. “You sure you’re up for company?”

I stared at her. “You’re kidding.”

She relaxed visibly and smiled, stepping forward to slip her arms around me. “I’m kinda…grungy,” I apologized, but she just tightened her grip and laid her head on my chest, sighing deeply. I wrapped my arms all the way around her and breathed her in and it was like something tight and coiled inside me was suddenly loosened and made warm.

She pulled away after a long moment and made a show of sniffing my shirt. “Had a few beers, Halpert?”

“Hey, I’ve been a lonely man.” I smiled down at her, that stupid dopey grin that I absolutely cannot control when she stands this close to me.

She turned toward the living room but kept her arm around my waist. “So you gonna show me around?” she asked, already heading toward the kitchen, half-pulling me to keep me at her side.

It wasn’t a big apartment. Living room, bathroom, the one kitchen. Bedroom. Pam broke off from me then and skimmed the edges of the room, trailing her fingers over my desk, briefly studying the bookshelves, pausing to read the notes and mementos stuck to the bulletin board. “Wow, Jim, the Police?” She turned that shining grin on me. “Were they as good as Scrantonicity?”

I shook my head. “Amazingly…no. Kevin’s band, much tighter.”

She laughed, wandering back to me, and put her hand on my hip. “Your directions were really good, by the way. Excellent map.” She reached up and slipped her other hand around my neck to draw me down to her. “We’re not so far apart,” she murmured against my lips.

I gripped her waist and pulled her against me. “I’m glad you came over.”

She wrapped her arms around me again and I sighed against her neck. “I should take a shower,” I mumbled, wondering how bad I stank.

“You’re fine,” she said, muffled against my shirt. “Jim?”

“Mmm.”

She looked up into my face. “Do you want company…tonight?”

Oh my God. She’s so freaking adorable. “Well, I dunno, I need my beauty sleep,” I teased.

She drew back and smacked my arm. “That’s it, I’m going home.”

“You are home,” I said carelessly, and sucked in a sharp breath. Dumbass. Way to send her running for the hills.

She smiled and didn’t seem alarmed by my slip of the tongue. “My bag’s in the car.”

********

We developed a sort of unofficial system of switching off where we stayed; a few days at hers, a few days at mine, until our things were so hopelessly intermingled we had to spend an entire weekend going through laundry and personal effects locating lost items. It gave me a weird but not unpleasant twisting in my stomach to find her socks and panties and shirts mixed up with mine, like a glimpse into a future I’d only dreamed of in my fantasies.

For a long time we drove separately to work to maintain the illusion of our platonic friendship, but nobody seemed too interested in the nature of our relationship. We ate lunch together and joked around and pulled a few pranks on Dwight and none of our co-workers questioned that we weren’t exactly what we were before. Work buddies. Friends. All those years of hanging out together had made us sort of invisible, I suppose.

Angela’s suspicious, of course, because Angela’s suspicious of pretty much everything and everybody. Except for Dwight, and isn’t that ironic—the weirdest guy in the place. But whatever. Maybe they’re a perfect match. Judgmental, self-important, utterly lacking in humor… yeah, they were made for each other. But if there’s one good quality they both share, it’s that they do not gossip, so even if she’s seen anything…damning ... she’ll keep quiet about it. I think. I hope.

I have got to remember to tell Pam how I saw them that day. It’ll blow her mind.


---------

************


I really liked Jim’s apartment. It was bigger than mine, and had new carpet and a self-cleaning oven. Which, as it turned out, he needed—because although Jim’s actually a pretty good cook, he’s a little less good at cleaning. And he calls me messy.

But mostly I liked it because it just felt like him. It did have a bit of the man-boy thing, what with the sports magazines scattered around the living room and stuffed into a rack in the bathroom; the hundreds of CDs and DVDs; the PlayStation with an array of sports-related games. Beyond that, though, there were pieces of his personality I’d never seen before and I catalogued everything I saw, longing to crawl inside his mind and memorize his history.

There was a large print of Hieronymus Bosch’s Temptation of St Anthony over the couch, which was a puffy caramel-brown faux-suede thing, supremely comfortable and dangerously easy to fall asleep on. A blue and green afghan that his mother had made him was draped over the back. On the end table was a small bronze sculpture of a sleeping fox with the signature Cassandra Zajac inscribed on the base. “My aunt,” he explained. “She does sculpture and pottery…she lives in Japan.”

There were bookcases in every room, and I was astonished at the number of books he had, in an amazing variety of genres: fiction, mysteries, history, sci-fi, classics, a shelf of poetry. He chuckled kind of shyly when he caught me looking over a well-thumbed copy of the Collected Works of Emily Dickinson and made a mumbled, self-deprecating comment about his mother the English teacher, but he didn’t fool me.

I filed it away in my ever-increasing mental index of Things I Didn’t Know About Jim.

His bedroom was much as it had been in his old house, though he had a new bedspread. More books, stacked on shelves and piled on the desk. And he still had the bulletin board hanging over his desk. There were a few notes tacked up with reminders of upcoming events and to-do lists, but the edges were taken up with mementos: concert and movie ticket stubs; a receipt for some sushi place in New York; a small snapshot of his nephew with a grin on his face and a piece of pizza in his chubby three-year-old fist. And there in the bottom right corner I saw something that first made me smile and then brought tears to my eyes.

Was it four years ago? Roy and Kenny had gone down to Philadelphia to spend the weekend with one of Roy’s high-school buddies, and when I went to the video store I ran into Jim. We bantered back and forth a little about our respective lamenesses for having nothing better to do on a Friday night before I said impulsively, “You should come over and have dinner.”

He kind of froze and I felt my heart fall into my stomach at his expression, one that said he needed to think up a lie immediately but was coming up blank.

Maybe he does have a date, and just didn’t tell me.
Why wouldn’t he?
He probably just doesn’t want to but doesn’t want to hurt my feelings.

“No, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do,” I said quickly, casually, turning a little to amble down to the next section of the new release wall so I wouldn’t have to look at him.

“No, it’s just…” His eyebrows drew together as he glanced at the movie I was holding. “Do you seriously think Roy will watch Chicago?” he asked with a grin.

I laughed. “No way. But he’s not home tonight, he…” And suddenly I realized the source of his hesitation. “He and Kenny went to Philly for the weekend. He has a friend that got some extra tickets to the Flyers game tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Understanding and relief and something like panic flashed across his face before settling on the soft, affectionate expression I knew so well. “So you’re trying to sucker me into watching Chicago with you,” he concluded, his smile becoming mischievous.

“You’re on to me, Halpert,” I smiled.

“All right, but I’m not making you cook for me. C’mon, let’s go check out that new Mexican place over on Mulberry. My treat.” All traces of his previous hesitation were gone and I was suddenly assailed by a guilty, clandestine kind of pleasure at the thought of getting to be alone with Jim for a while.

I made the obligatory protest, he insisted, and we ended up drinking a pitcher of margaritas over a long, leisurely dinner. By the time he drove me back to my car at the video store, it was going on eleven and we decided it was kind of late to start a movie. But he followed me home to make sure I’d be okay, and I made him promise to call me when he got back to his house. It was supposed to just be a one-ringer to let me know he’d arrived safely, but we ended up giggling drunkenly on the phone for another two hours. It was literally the most fun I’d had in months, and before we hung up I told him that.

“Me too,” he said softly.

There on the bulletin board Jim had tacked up the cocktail napkin on which I’d drawn a little caricature of the two of us. We were holding hands, our fishbowl-shaped glasses raised up in salute, and underneath I’d written: best friends 4ever!

How unthinkingly I’d tormented him.

For weeks that little drawing seemed to taunt me whenever I spent the night at Jim’s, reminding me of time wasted, daring me to think about how much he loved me all those years only to have me turn a blind eye and call it friendship. But in time I began to see it differently; less a memory of missed opportunity and more a symbol of the strength of our connection. It was us… and he’d never thrown it away.

************

The last weekend in June, there was a conference in New York for all the regional managers of Dunder-Mifflin Northeast. David Wallace had called Jim personally to request that he accompany Michael. Michael was a lot more thrilled about this than Jim…although Dwight’s outrage at being excluded was somewhat amusing.

“The whole weekend?” I pouted over lunch that Friday. We hadn’t been apart more than a few hours since the day he first asked me to dinner.

He sighed and shrugged. "Someone’s got to keep an eye on Michael. Remind me to put that on my resume… ‘extensive baby-sitting experience.’” He smiled wryly.

I quirked an eyebrow at that. He hadn’t talked about looking for a new job in…well, ever.

“Beesly, I have a very serious request,” he said gravely. “Something only you can do.”

“Yes.”

He laughed. “You don’t know what it is.”

I shrugged. “Well, it’s you, so, I predict something silly, or fun.”

“I just said it was serious.”

“Yes, but…I don’t believe you.” I grinned.

“Pam.” He held my gaze for a long moment, eyes stern, mouth set, until my smile faded and I frowned in alarm. “What is it?” I asked, worried now.

“Pam,” he repeated. “I need you to do something very important for me while I’m gone. Can I rely on you.”

“Always.”

At that, his lips twitched with the threat of a smile. “Good to know,” he murmured, and then resumed his solemn expression. “Will you water my plants while I’m away?”

I laughed and threw my napkin at him. “You suck.”

“You wound me, Beesly. I’m very fond of my plants, as you know.” He winked and took a huge bite of his sandwich, chewing ostentatiously as I stared at him.

“Actually I had no idea,” I deadpanned. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but water my plants? Really.

He swallowed and took a long pull off his Coke. “Well, maybe you don’t know everything about me,” he said, smiling mysteriously. “I am particularly attached to the one in my kitchen window, which was a housewarming gift from my sister.” He gazed at me steadily, intently, as he placed a silver key on the table and slid it toward me with his index finger.

Oh.

I reached out to accept it with a slightly trembling hand. “So…I’ll just hang on to this till you get back…?” I lifted my eyebrows.

He shook his head slowly. “It’s yours.”

I smiled. “Oh. Okay. I’ll, um…okay.” I pulled my keychain out of my purse and tried to keep my eyes on his as I threaded it on, but the ring was really tight and I had to look down and pry it apart with the key to get it started.

When I looked back up, he was smiling and there was something soft and warm in his eyes that made me feel like I could melt into a puddle right there at the table. “I’m really gonna miss you,” he said in a low voice.

I just nodded, speechless. Sometimes, the way he looks at me…that voice… well. It’s more than a mere mortal woman can resist.

************

Michael had insisted they carpool, to which Jim initially objected but eventually gave in, as arguing with Michael is exhausting and usually fruitless anyway. Michael also wanted to head out to the city on Friday night—to “par-tay down the house,” whatever that meant—but Jim managed to talk him out of that in favor of leaving Saturday morning. We stayed up a little later than we should have while he packed, so when his alarm went off at some ungodly predawn hour I got up and made coffee while he was in the shower. He thanked me profusely and then chastised me for getting up so early. “Go back to bed,” he instructed, planting a kiss on my forehead. “I’ll call you when we get there.”

“Be careful.” I hugged him again and tugged him down by his tie to give him another kiss, then stood at the door as he disappeared down the stairs. When he reemerged in the parking lot he looked back up and waved one more time.

I lifted my hand and waved and watched until he’d pulled onto the street before I headed back in, and as I shut the door I had a sudden, prescient vision of what it would be like when we were married. Seeing him off to work and then going back inside to take care of the baby.

Whoa, Nellie. Getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we? We’d only been dating a month; we hadn’t even begun to talk about anything even remotely resembling the future.

Still…

I went back to bed and hugged his pillow to me, burying my face in his scent, but I couldn’t get back to sleep. It just wasn’t the same.

***********

I knew I should just go home, but I convinced myself that being surrounded by his things was kind of the same as being with him, and I didn’t want to leave. Still, I couldn’t help feeling like a bit of an intruder, being in his place without him there, so I decided to clean his apartment. We’d been at my place for most of the last week, so it wasn’t particularly messy, but the furniture was in serious need of polishing and the kitchen and bathroom hadn’t been scrubbed down in a while.

He called a little before ten, about an hour behind schedule and sounding more than a little aggravated. “Michael was still in bed when I got there to pick him up,” he whispered fiercely. “The first meeting starts at ten, we’re already gonna be late…I’ll call you after?”

“Definitely.” I missed him already.

“Are you still at my place?” he asked in a low, teasing voice.

“I am. When was the last time you cleaned out the microwave, Halpert? Don’t you know spaghetti sauce is like super glue when you let it sit?”

“You are not cleaning.”

“Just making myself useful.”

“You spoil me, Beesly,” he murmured.

I wanted to spoil him. I wanted to clean his floors and re-pot his plants and iron his dress shirts. I wanted to fuss over him and make sure he ate proper meals and slept on clean sheets. I wanted to take care of him, the way he was always taking care of me.

“You’ll get used to it,” I said lightly.

************

I felt a little ridiculous for missing him so much in the space of just a few hours, but it was gratifying to find it wasn’t just me. He called me after the first meeting, around noon; then again at four; and again around seven, when he was getting ready for dinner. “We’re going to Gramercy Tavern. So, apparently the Albany branch is potentially on the chopping block, but corporate can afford to treat us to a thousand-dollar-dinner,” he said dryly.

“Wow.” I switched the phone to my other ear and flopped back onto my couch. I’d thought about staying at Jim’s overnight, but as weird as it felt without him during the day, I couldn’t imagine trying to sleep in his bed without him. “Are you wearing the blue shirt and the navy tie? The one with the silver swirly design?”

He laughed. “Yes, dear.”

“Well, you can only get so far with your wit and charm, Halpert. Appearances matter too.”

“And I am very grateful to have your input.”

“Hey, did you see Ryan?”

“Yeah, he was there. Didn’t say a whole lot though. He’s growing a beard.”

I laughed. “Really?”

“Yeah…at this stage it’s more like an exaggerated five o’clock shadow…now if he just had a white jacket and t-shirt, he could pull off a pretty respectable Miami Vice imitation.”

“Ryan Howard is no Don Johnson.”

“True…I don’t think he’s even a Colin Farrell…” He cleared his throat. “I had kind of a weird conversation with Karen today,” he said abruptly.

And just like that, my relaxed contentment disappeared and my heart started racing. I’d forgotten, somehow, that she’d be there. “Oh yeah?” I prompted, hoping my tone didn’t give me away.

“Yeah, after the first meeting, she…well anyway it was kind of…awkward, obviously…and…well… anyway. She said she did not leave those notes in my desk.”

“What?”

“Yeah. So…weird, huh?”

“You believe her?” I scoffed.

“Yeah, I do. She seemed…she didn’t know what I was talking about. I mean I thought her reaction was pretty genuine. Although she did laugh,” he added with a sigh and a little chuckle.

“That makes no sense. Who else would’ve done it?”

“Aaaand therein lies the mystery. I’m gonna go with Dwight.”

“Dwight doesn’t pull pranks.”

“But he was the one who got me to go into that folder, though.”

“Hmm.” Still…Dwight? It didn’t seem like his style either. Not that he had a pranking style. His brand of needling is so much more upfront and direct.

“Pam? I’m sorry, but I need to get going.”

“Have fun with your girlfriend at dinner,” I teased.

“If only she were here with me,” he murmured. “I don’t think I’ll be too late, can I call you before bed?”

“You sure you want to do that? Might ruin the mood with your girlfriend.”

“Shut up,” he laughed. “I love you, I miss you, I’ll talk to you in a few hours.”

I smiled. “Bye.”

***********

He was still wearing a suit when he showed up at my place Sunday afternoon. I squealed and jumped into his arms like he was a GI back from the war and he picked me up and twirled me around and kissed me until we were both gasping for air. “I came straight here,” he said against my lips. “Couldn’t wait another second. Tell me I left something to wear over here?”

“Oh, you won’t be needing clothes,” I growled, pushing his jacket off his shoulders and working on his shirt buttons.

He grinned and his eyes grew dark and he tossed his messenger bag on the couch, pulling me into another kiss as we stumbled down the hallway together, dropping a trail of clothing along the way.

Reunited sex: the best yet! Which is saying something.

***********

“I count nine calls and six texts.” Jim reached over to drop his phone on the end table. “We are officially co-dependent.”

“No way,” I said lazily. “It would have to be at least twelve calls to qualify as co-dependent.”

“Is that right.”

“Yes. And no, texts don’t count as calls.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Do you want to be co-dependent?” I grinned up at him. “Unhealthy, Halpert. Maybe we should spend a few days apart.”

“You’re a cruel woman, Beesly.” He smiled and kissed the top of my head, tightening his arm around my shoulders, and we fell quiet for a time. It was growing dark outside and I was drowsily content, sprawled half on top of him. His fingertips traced wide, lazy circles over my back.

“So I was thinking,” he said after a while, in the soft tone that meant he was nervous.

When he has something on his mind, Jim can take a long time to get it out. This is something I have known about him for a long time, and sometimes he’d need a little push, but generally if I was patient, he’d open up in his own time.

“My parents have this tradition,” he said at last. “They have a barbecue every year for the fourth of July. It’s kind of a big thing, everybody tries to make it. My aunts and uncles and everybody.”

I sensed a question there, but he fell silent for so long I finally said, “It sounds nice.”

“Yeah.” He reached up into my hair, massaging my scalp gently. “So I was thinking… maybe you could, um, you’d like to come?”

Meet your parents? The thought was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. What had he told them about me? Anything? Everything?

There was only one answer, of course. “Yeah, it sounds great.” I looked up into his face, hoping he didn’t see my uncertainty, and was rewarded with one of his tender, happy smiles that sent a warm tingle all the way to my toes. When he looked at me like that it was like being reminded why I was alive.

“Great.” He ran his fingers back down the nape of my neck, tracing along my shoulderblade. “Do you have any vacation days left? We could maybe make it a long weekend…I think the fourth is on a Wednesday this year.”

He’s given this some thought. “Yeah, I can do that. I haven’t used any time off so far.”

“Really?” He grinned down at me. “I’m surprised you could hold out so long.”

“You have no idea, Halpert.” Truth was, I hadn’t had any reason to take time off. To do what? Sit in my apartment and do even more endless thinking than I did at work? At home, I hadn’t even had the back of his neck to look at.

He pulled me up on his chest and bent down to kiss me. “My family’s gonna love you,” he said in a low, husky voice, so deep and warm and sincere I was almost able to believe him without fear.

********

The Halperts lived down the road in Wilkes-Barre, “close enough to be convenient, far enough that they don’t drop in without calling,” as Jim joked. “So, um, fair warning, Beesly…I have, like, kind of a big family.”

“You have one brother and one sister, Jim. Hardly impressive, especially for Catholics,” I teased.

“Yeah…” He glanced at me sideways, taking his eyes off the road only briefly. “But remember I said my aunts and uncles and cousins would be there?”

I looked at him, realization dawning.

“Yeah …I have eight uncles, and seven aunts, and about twenty cousins.” He grinned at my open-mouthed astonishment. “But they won’t all be there. I think my mom said there will be about thirty altogether.”

“Turn around,” I said in mock horror. Although, really? Thirty? What was he getting me into? Maybe it would be easier to hide with that many people around…

He reached over and took my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “Relax, Beesly. It’ll be fine. Everyone really wants to meet you.”

Everyone?

I took a deep breath. “About that.”

He cocked a questioning eyebrow, but this time it was his turn to wait. I, too, have a hard time spitting it out when I have something on my mind. Maybe that was why we were such a communications disaster for so long? We were still getting used to be able to say what we were thinking.

“What exactly does your family know about me?” I blurted.

He was quiet for a few minutes, focused on the road, not looking at me at all, but when I began to pull my hand back he tightened his fingers around mine. “I talked to my mom and my sister a lot,” he said finally. “But…please don’t worry,” he said softly. “They want to meet you. They’ll love you, Pam.” He flashed me a reassuring grin. “So here’s what I was thinking. We’ll hang out for a few hours, have some brats and beers, come back this evening? And then we’ve got four days to do… whatever,” he finished, his voice silky and suggestive at this last. “That sound okay?”

I nodded, but I was starting to wonder if this was a mistake. Too soon, maybe.

When, then? This is Jim. Jim’s family. Just suck it up and make him proud.

Right.



************

---------




The rain that had threatened all afternoon finally started coming down as I merged onto 81. The quiet flick of the windshield wipers was the only sound until I finally turned on the radio, unable to bear the silence but equally unable to just tell her I’m sorry.

I’m sick with guilt and regret and I want to apologize even though I didn’t really do anything. But we both know she saw it in my face. She’s quiet, picking at her cuticles, staring out the window, but there’s no accusation in her expression. Instead she looks sad and uncertain and even a little guilty when she should be angry, if anything; should be telling me to stop looking for ghosts and holding on to haunted memories.

She should be doing those things, but she’s not. She’s Pam and she’s so unselfish and she loves me, with the same kind of patient loyalty that she gave Roy all those years. So she’ll put up with my irrational behavior even though it makes her feel weird and awkward when she really has no reason to feel any of those things.

I don’t deserve her.

Right up until the end, though, it was actually a great day.

----------

I guess I hadn’t really considered exactly how extended our extended-family is until I saw her expression; she was visibly astounded when I told her I had twenty cousins. Twenty-two? I don’t know the actual number; some of them have kids too. But Pam’s family is comparatively small. She has one brother, and a few cousins in Syracuse and Buffalo. Yet after her initial surprise she kept gazing at me in a thoughtful, speculative way, like she was trying to figure out what that meant about me.

“Did I miss a spot or something, Beesly?” I asked finally, stroking my jaw with the backs of my fingers.

She blushed a little but smiled. “Nope.” She reached over to put her hand on top of mine where it rested on the gearshift, and looked out the window with a small smile. And she wouldn’t say more but she knew I was reading her thoughts.

She was anxious about meeting my family, I knew, and I couldn’t be entirely sure how they would respond to her. My dad had been unreservedly supportive about the whole thing, maybe because Mom turned him down the first time he asked her to marry him. (On bended knee. In front of her parents.) For that same reason, Mom was also pretty sympathetic. But Jon got sick of listening to my tales of woe somewhere around the second year, and decided Pam couldn’t possibly be worth it. And Amy is terribly protective. I think there was a time last year that she was genuinely worried that I was going to kill myself.

Which is ridiculous, incidentally. I’m an optimist, I keep telling her—how does she think I survived on nothing but hope for so long?

It was only just after eleven when we arrived, but there were already a few cars out front. I recognized uncle Eddie’s royal-blue Miata convertible right away and wondered if he’d brought anybody. Eddie is my father’s youngest brother. He’s very funny and audaciously, unapologetically gay. It looked like Mom’s brother Mark and his family were here already too. They had four daughters, but Hannah was living in Chicago and hadn’t made it out here in a few years.

“Ready?” I asked with a teasing grin, pausing before the front door.

“Yep.” Pam smiled up at me. “Don’t worry about me, Halpert. I handled Roy’s family for ten years; I’m sure yours can’t be any worse.”

It blunted the edge of my good mood just a little to think how my family would be held up to Roy’s, but I smiled anyway as I led her inside. She hung a step behind me, glancing around the living room as I shut the door behind me and called out, “Anybody home?”

“Jim?” My father poked his head around the wall of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel as he strode into the living room. “I’m glad you’re here, your mother is driving me crazy. One little accident with the teriyaki and…oh, but this must be Pam,” he interrupted himself, reaching out to shake her hand in his quick firm grip.

She gave him a small, nervous smile. “I’m glad to meet you, Mr. Halpert.”

“Oh, please, it’s Ron.” He’s very unpretentious, my dad. He has a PhD in medieval European history and speaks fluent French and Italian, but you’d never know it to look at him… particularly now, in his utterly clichéd “grillmaster” get-up of wide-brimmed hat and “Many have eaten here…few have died” apron.

“Ron, then,” Pam repeated, looking pleased. My dad has a great way of putting people at ease. I thought it very auspicious that he was the first person she met.

He pointed at Pam’s covered glass dish. “What’s that you have there? Pasta salad? Excellent…let’s just put that in the fridge…” Pam glanced up at me with an amused and affectionate smile as he led the way into the kitchen. “You brought the salsa, Jim?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Yep.” It’s actually my aunt Suzy’s recipe; she made it one year when she and Greg came out from New Mexico. I tried my hand at it for our next party and ever after it sort of became my thing.

“Hot?” he asked hopefully.

“Medium,” I said sternly. We’ve had this conversation before.

“Hmph,” he grunted, disappointed. “Has Jimmy cooked for you, Pam? He—”

“Dad,” I said sharply. I did not want everyone calling me Jimmy today. If he started, it would give the whole clan carte blanche to take us back to 1993.

“Sorry. Has my son cooked for you?” he repeated with exaggerated deference as he moved things around in the refrigerator. “Because he’s lazy as a Bassett hound, but he makes a mean chicken parmesan.”

“He does, and great spaghetti sauce, too,” Pam agreed, winking at me as she handed my father the casserole dish and my bowl of salsa. “It’s just too bad he’s never learned to clean up after himself,” she teased.

I gaped at her. “Beesly!”

“Yeah, spoiled rotten, can you tell he’s the baby?” Dad laughed, ignoring my expression of mock-outraged indignity.

“Where is everybody?” I asked.

“Your mother is changing; there was an…incident…with the marinade. Everyone else is outside. Not a very full house yet but Jon called from the road about an hour ago…they should be here soon. Your cousin Lauren is getting married, did you hear? So she’s with her fella’s folks, but Vanessa and Tracy are here…” Pam edged closer to me and I reached over to take her hand, following my father out into the backyard.

I love my parents’ house. I grew up in this house, played in this yard, fell out of that yellow birch tree and broke my arm when I was eight. Every inch of the place holds a memory. We had backyard “camping” adventures and volleyball tournaments and every summer the battle raged between Mom and That Dog, as she called him—Chance, our border collie, who was perpetually finding ways around the decorative fencing to dig in her flowerbeds. Yet when he came down with canine leukemia a few years ago and we had to put him down, it was Mom who took it the hardest, and she was the one who insisted we bury him in the back yard.

I had a great childhood, I realize now, but even when I was a kid, I knew I was pretty lucky. Half my friends spent every weekend shuffling from one parent’s home to the other like carefully divided spoils of war. My parents have been together for thirty-seven years and they still look at each other with the kind of open affection and eye-rolling, amused tolerance of each other’s quirks that I always thought (hoped) I would find someday for myself.

Maybe that’s why I couldn’t just force myself to give up on Pam. The night she turned me down I drove out here and sobbed on my mother’s shoulder and spent the weekend curled up in my old bedroom, too stunned and disillusioned to function. It was like everything I’d known growing up was a fantasy and the true reality of life was what so many of my friends had lived through, mismatched marriages and broken relationships.

Now Pam’s here with me, and my faith in the basic order of the universe has been restored. It’s one of the reasons I wanted her to come today. I love holidays and family reunions. Every time that we all get together is like a confirmation that people can be devoted and find new things to laugh about even years after they found each other. I am fully aware that this makes me a sap, a hopeless romantic sap, and I don’t care. I blame my parents.

“Jim!” Uncle Eddie sauntered over, cocktail in hand, colorful as always in a bright blue Hawaiian shirt and floppy straw hat. He’d grown a goatee: a vast improvement over that sad little John Waters mustache he had last year. “How’ve you been? And who is this ravishing creature?”

Pam gave me an amused, almost imperceptible quirk of the eyebrow. “How many of those have you had?” I asked, eyeing his glass suspiciously.

“This would be my second, and you… did not answer the question,” he said, looking pointedly at Pam. “You’re very pretty. Out of Jim’s league, I’d think.” He winked at her. She grinned.

“Thanks, Eddie,” I deadpanned. “This is my—girlfriend. Pam.” I hesitated just for an instant before using the word; I’d never said it aloud. My girlfriend, Pam.

It still seemed almost surreal.

“Excellent to meet you, Pam.” He tipped the brim of his hat at her and then glanced back at me. “You’re looking well, young James! You must be feeding him. He was so skinny this time last year,” he remarked to Pam. “His mother was—”

“Oh, hey, you know what, Eddie, we’re just gonna go grab a drink now,” I interrupted, seizing Pam by the wrist and half-dragging her with me to the keg set up by the back door. “Ready for a beer?” I asked brightly.

“Um….maybe just a Coke for now?” Her eyebrows were knit together with concern and something else I couldn’t quite place. “You okay?” she asked in a low voice.

“Yep.” I poured myself a beer and dug around in the cooler for a Coke for her, avoiding her eyes, but her expression hadn’t changed when I looked at her face again. “I don’t want to talk about last year,” I admitted. “I don’t…want to think about last year.”

“Good plan.” She tapped her soda can to my plastic cup and smiled. “So, are you gonna introduce me to these people?” she asked, motioning toward the table out on the lawn where my uncle Mark and aunt Beth were sitting with Tracy and Vanessa and my grandmother.

“I thought you were shy,” I mocked, but she just smiled again and linked her arm through mine as I walked her over to make more introductions.

--------------

Everybody loves her.

She’s over there on the porch swing, watching me and laughing with my mom, and I’ve never felt anything quite like the pride and relief and absolute joy that’s coursing through me at this moment. I always knew she’d fit in with us; she’s the missing piece of the puzzle. Everybody loves her, and she’s done nothing but laugh and joke with everyone all day, showing scarcely a trace of her usual shyness.

Jon followed my gaze and smirked. “You’re staring again.”

“I can’t help myself.” She was gorgeous today in her short blue-and-white floral halter dress that showed off her tan shoulders and amazing calves, but it was the happiness in her smile that made me grin like an idiot.

Naturally Will and Ben, my younger cousins from Allentown, thought the grin on my face was because Jon and I just kicked their asses soundly in a driveway game of two-on-two. “Fucking tall Jim and his long fucking arms,” Will griped.

“Hey, watch the language,” my mom called reprovingly. Pam, beaming, gave me a little wave.

“Sorry, aunt Larissa,” Will shrugged a halfhearted apology, lifting up his shirt to wipe at his face. “C’mon, let’s go again.”

Jon shook his head, “I’m done. I’m gonna go find my wife and get something to eat.”

“Hmph,” Will snorted scornfully and turned to me. “What about you, old man? Let’s do it.”

I laughed. “Are you kidding? You’re like two years younger than me.”

“Old man,” he repeated, slapping the ball out from the crook of my arm and dribbling it back and forth between his legs, glaring a challenge at me. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at him. He’s insanely competitive. “You ready?” he taunted. “Need a breather?”

I glanced over at Pam and shook my head. “Nah, I’m done for a while.”

“Chill out, brother, let’s go have a beer,” said Ben, launching at his brother to grab Will in a headlock and give him a furious noogie. Will, howling outrage, dropped the ball and squirmed out of his brother’s grip, tackling him to the lawn.

I sighed and went after the ball, which had rolled into the street and ended up under aunt Susan’s Forester. I had to get down on my belly and stretch my long fucking arm to retrieve it and when I got to my feet, there was Pam, her face radiant with that shining smile, handing me the two-thirds-full beer she’d been drinking. “Thirsty, Mr. Bird?”

“Very.” I took it from her and polished it off in a series of long greedy swallows while she watched in horrified amusement, then laughed when I couldn’t stop the impressive belch that immediately followed. “Nice,” she said dryly, taking back the empty cup. “Way to share, Halpert.”

I slung an arm over her shoulders and kissed the top of her head and she grinned up at me and oh, sweet Jesus, sometimes the way she looks at me just about makes my heart stop.

She loves me. She tells me every day, as though she’s afraid she’ll never be able to make up for not saying it back that first time. I know it’s what shows in my face every time I look at her, and to see it reflected back at me is nothing short of miraculous.

She’s the one. It’s always been her.

I bought a ring.

I didn’t mean to. I didn’t head to the mall a week after our first date and march right into Kay Jewelers thinking I was going to get Pam an engagement ring. It just sort of happened. One minute I was at Foot Locker picking up new running shoes and the next thing I knew I was staring down at a display case full of diamond solitaires. It was right there, gorgeous, simple, delicate, perfect. Just like Pam. My credit card was out and the box shoved into my pocket before rational thoughts like it’s pretty early for this, don’t you think? and are you sure you haven’t completely lost your mind? could make their case. I mean, obviously I can’t ask her to marry me yet. I haven’t even met her parents.

Amy’s right. I’ll take forever to decide to act and then do something totally impulsive. I don’t always understand my own mind.

We wandered into the back yard again, fixed ourselves plates from the grill, and found a place at Jon and Kathy’s table. Kathy, seven months pregnant and increasingly uncomfortable, was fanning herself with a paper plate even though it had turned cloudy over the last hour. Their four-year-old son Cameron was busily scribbling with a green crayon, black eyebrows knit together in concentration, tongue clamped firmly between his teeth. “Future artist,” Kathy grinned, gazing down with amusement at the widening expanse of green covering the page.

Pam tilted her head to look at it more closely. “What’s that you’re drawing?” she asked.

Cameron didn’t look up. “Grass.”

Jon shrugged, smiling. “Can’t argue with that.”

“Pam likes to draw,” I said impulsively.

Cameron’s head snapped up and he stared at her for the first time, dark eyes wide and bright. “Can you draw a dog?” he asked hopefully, pushing the paper toward her.

“Not now, sweetie, she’s eating,” Kathy chided gently.

“Oh, it’s okay.” Pam pulled the sheet closer to her and contemplated Cameron’s selection of crayons before picking out red and black, her brat and potato salad forgotten as she began sketching a huge red dog with big floppy ears, front paws extended down ready to pounce, little lines signifying an excitedly wagging tail.

“It’s Clifford!” Cameron cried, delighted. “Clifford the Big Red Dog!”

Jon stretched over Kathy to look at it more closely. “That’s really good!”

Pam shrugged modestly. “I didn’t know if Clifford was still around,” she admitted.

“I was more a fan of Harry the Dirty Dog, myself,” Kathy remarked.

“Ooh, I can do him,” Pam said, grabbing a brown crayon out of the box and turning the paper over.

“That’s what she said,” I whispered, and she grinned and elbowed me in the ribs without looking up from the paper.

Twenty-one-year-old Troy raced past our table so fast he knocked over the extra chair as he jumped for the football that went sailing over our heads into the yard. His sisters Kristi and Rachel whooped when Troy went into a roll and popped back up on his feet, holding up the ball triumphantly. “Nice try, Ben!” he laughed, cocking his arm to throw it back.

“Hey, keep that in the yard!” my dad ordered from his perch at the grill, pointing his tongs sternly.

Ben slapped my shoulder as he passed by. “Play a little catch, Jim?”

I glanced over at Pam, engrossed in her dual depictions of Harry in his clean and dirty incarnations, and shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Jon?”

Jon jumped up and in a few minutes there were six of us tossing the ball back and forth, until sixteen-year-old Vanessa complained that we should let the girls play too. “There is no such thing as a girl that can throw a football,” Troy declared, tossing the ball over her head to Will.

“That is not true!” Kristi retorted.

Will laughed, tossing it to Ben. “Since when can you throw a football, Kris?”

“I never said I could. Troy said no girl can throw a football and that’s a ridiculous generalization,” she snapped.

“I’ve never met one that could,” Ben remarked, smirking at Vanessa, who stood with her hands on her hips, starting to look more embarrassed than defiant. He sent the ball to me.

She turned to me and her crestfallen expression just killed me. I nodded at her to get ready and ignored Troy’s Oh come on, Jim!, lobbing it to her without much force, and couldn’t help grinning at the delight that lit up her face as she used her entire torso to catch it.

“Thank you Jim,” Van said pointedly, casting a stern look around at everyone else before turning her attention to the ball. Her hands were small and she frowned as she tried to get a grip on it.

“No, you need to hold it by the laces.” Pam was at her side in a few steps, turning the ball in Vanessa’s hand to show her how to grip it. “Now, you kind of use your other arm to aim,” she lifted Van’s left arm and pointed it at me, “and when you let it go, kind of flick your wrist so you get a spin.” She caught my eye for a moment and grinned, her eyes sparkling with pride. For a second she looked as young as Vanessa and I smiled at the vision of what she must have looked like when she learned to throw a football.

She learned that from Roy.

The thought made my stomach clench, the way it did every time I thought of all the years he got to have with her, all the memories she has with him.

Pam put her hand over Vanessa’s to demonstrate, miming the correct form, and laughed in delight when my cousin sent a perfectly respectable, if rather weak, spiral right at my chest.

“Cool!” Vanessa clapped her hands. “You know how to throw a spiral!”

“I stand corrected,” Troy conceded, glancing over at me with an impressed kind of shrug.

“Yeah, Roy taught me…” she began, a light of pleasant-Roy-memory in her smile; but when she turned to tell me the story, she met my eyes and guiltily dropped her gaze. “A long time ago,” she finished vaguely, pushing her hair behind her ear and heading back toward the table.

“No, Pam, stay!” Vanessa insisted.

She smiled tightly. “You’ve got it, just keep practicing,” she said, walking backward toward the patio door. “I, uh, have to use the restroom.”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

I hated that she saw it in my face, my jealousy, my insecurity. I don’t want her to feel bad about her old life. She was with him a long time. She has a right to her pleasant Roy memories. Yet I can’t help the twisting in my gut, the sudden dryness in my throat, when I so much as think of him with her… touching her, smiling with her, laughing with her. I make her laugh, goddamn it. I make her smile, her real smile, the one I never once saw her give Roy. Believe me, I watched.

It’s not as if I don’t know how immature and ridiculous it is to feel this way. I do. I keep thinking that in time it will go away. And it probably will. But what if it takes too long? Now she’s upset and it’s my fault. She already had a possessive, controlling, jealous prick for a boyfriend. A fiancé. She doesn’t need another one, very well might not tolerate another one.

I tossed the ball over to Jon and plastered a smile onto my face but I couldn’t take my eyes off the door. She didn’t come back right away and after about ten minutes I couldn’t stand it anymore; I mumbled an excuse about needing to use the john and went to find her.

She was in the upstairs hallway outside the bathroom, staring at a collage of photos from Jon and Kathy’s wedding. “Hey,” I ventured.

She jerked up sharply at my voice. “Oh. Hey.” She smiled, and met my eyes, but only for a second before she looked back at the pictures. “Look how young you are,” she said.

I followed her gaze to the shot of me twirling my cousin Heather’s eight-year-old daughter on the dance floor, and had to chuckle. “I was twenty-two.”

“Hmm.” She kept staring at it, wouldn’t look at me.

“Are you okay?” I asked softly.

She nodded. “Just a little tired, I guess.” Her smile was strained, but not visibly upset. “Do you think we could go in a while?”

“Yeah, of course.” I reached for her hand and was reassured when she laced her fingers through mine, leaning against my arm a little. “Twenty-two, huh?” she murmured, bringing her index finger up to my profiled face. She was right; I looked about eighteen in that picture. I had a terrible haircut and my ears looked huge at Jon’s wedding. I hate every one of those photos.

“Let’s just go say goodbye to everyone, and we can go,” I said quietly.

She smiled gratefully and followed me back downstairs. The clouds were really starting to roll in; half the party had moved into the kitchen and were spilling down into the basement, where Dad had put in a pool table a couple of years earlier. My mother was in the kitchen with Kathy and Cameron, and I strolled over to give my mom a kiss on the cheek, praying I didn’t look as uneasy and uncomfortable as I felt. “We’re gonna take off before the storm gets here,” I said.

“Yeah, us too,” Kathy said. “Hey Pam, it was really great to meet you! You guys have to come down for Cam’s birthday next month.”

Pam nodded and smiled. “Sounds good.”

Cameron piped up, “Will you draw me another picture auntie Pam?”

Cameron calls every adult that isn’t one of his parents auntie or uncle. But Pam didn’t know that, of course, and she stared at him, smiling as she turned successively deeper shades of pink. “Yes, of course.”

Jon stepped in from out back, scowling. “I can’t find my keys.”

“That is because I have them,” Kathy said, holding up the keychain. “Jim and Pam are leaving too.”

“Sorry Ma,” Jon apologized. “I guess we’re all abandoning you at once.”

“Oh, it’s all right, I’ve still got a full house,” Mom gestured into the air with her wine glass. “I’m just sorry your sister couldn’t make it. ‘Girls’ weekend in Atlantic City,’ my foot. She’s off with that new boyfriend of hers.”

I laughed. “You think?”

“It’s what I would do,” Jon grinned.

“Ungrateful child,” Mom sighed with a smile. “Drive safe, all of you.”

She made us promise to call when we got home and Pam took my hand as we headed for the car. I opened her door for her and she smiled up at me as I shut it, and it was almost like everything was normal.

Still, we hardly spoke on the way home.



--------------

*********




Jim was quiet on the drive home, but I had a good idea what was on his mind. He gets very quiet when he’s upset. He seems to think this is a good cover for his darker emotions but in reality it’s a dead giveaway, since it’s the polar opposite of Happy Jim.

We’ve worked very hard on saying what we mean and not hedging or holding back, so I wasn’t going to let this go altogether, but I also didn’t want to get into it immediately. So instead as we hit the highway and he turned on the radio to break the silence, I said, with perfect truth, “I love your family.”

This elicited a genuine smile, and he glanced over at me warmly. “They love you too.”

I don’t think he truly appreciated how nervous I’d been, what a relief it was to find everyone so gracious and warm and apparently glad to meet me. I fell immediately in love with Kathy, Jim’s sister-in-law. She was smart and funny and hilariously witty in describing her pregnancy discomforts. She and Jon had a way of finishing each other’s sentences and speaking to each other with their eyes that was eerily like the way Jim and I communicated. And their little boy was adorable.

Jim’s father addressed me like I was already part of the family, but it was his mom, Larissa, I’d been most afraid to meet. She sat down with me when the guys got into their basketball game in the driveway, and watched me watching Jim as she quizzed me about my classes and life at Dunder-Mifflin and was it true, all the things she’d heard about Dwight over the years?

And I was surprised at how easy she was to talk to. Funny and sharp and friendly. I wasn’t unaware that she was observing me, judging me; but she was so kind about it, with genuine curiosity, like she just wanted to know me. I saw a lot of Jim in her eyes, her smile, her sense of humor, that same innate kindness that sought to put me at ease. As we watched them falling all over each other in the driveway she told me a tale about Jim, literally tripping over his own feet and taking down two of his teammates during his first high-school basketball game, that had me laughing so hard Jim shot a suspicious glance over at us.

It had been a good day.

“This is gonna suck for the fireworks,” he sighed finally, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and squinting harder at the road as the rain picked up in intensity.

“It’ll blow over,” I said.

He made a sound like hmph. “You think?”

I glanced at him pointedly. “Absolutely. It’s just a little storm. Not enough to ruin our weekend.”

He met my eyes for a second and smiled, but didn’t say anything.


********


It did clear up, just before sunset. We’d planned on going to the park for the fireworks, but my tiny balcony actually had a good, unbroken view of the southern skyline toward Nay Aug, and when I suggested we stay home and open a bottle of wine Jim agreed immediately, seemingly relieved.

“We should bring the big chair out there,” Jim suggested, thoughtfully eyeing the oversized armchair in my living room. “Think it’ll fit?”

“If we bring everything else inside, maybe.” It was a very small balcony, just large enough for a folding chair and a tiny little table that was really designed to be a plant holder. “Let’s give it a try.”

It turned into an adventure of forceful shoving, removing the cushions, and experimenting with different angles, but we were just able to squeeze it through the door. I went for a blanket and Jim got the wine, and we settled in as the first of the fireworks lit the sky. The chair was only big enough for both of us if I sat half in his lap, but even that wasn’t close enough; he pulled me completely on top of him and tightened his arm around my shoulders.

We were quiet for a while, sipping wine and watching the show. I was thinking about that night on the roof when we were watching Dwight and Kevin narrowly avoid going up in flames when Jim sighed. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he said quietly. “I’m an ass.”

“No, you’re not.”

He sighed again, tracing small circles on my shoulder with his thumb. “Tell me the story.”

I lifted my head off his chest and looked up at him, puzzled. “What?”

“Tell me how you learned to throw a football. I don’t know that story.” He squeezed me briefly. “I need to know all your stories, Beesly, and that’s ten years of your life, so—”

“Nine.”

“What?”

“Nine years,” I corrected.

He smiled. “Okay, nine years of your life, and it would be pretty stupid if we just, you know, never talked about anything that happened in all that time, so...tell me the story of Pam Beesly, age…?”

“Eighteen,” I supplied.

He whole expression softened as he stared down at me for a long minute. “Pam Beesly, age eighteen,” he murmured.

I shook my head sadly. “I most definitely did not sit at the cool table.”

“No, you were miss artsy-fartsy.” He trailed his fingertip along the hem of my sleeve. “How did you ever get together with him?” he asked, his voice soft, curious, still a little disbelieving.

I plucked at the blanket and kept my eyes on his chin, not quite able to meet his eyes. “He sat next to me in English senior year. We were reading Romeo and Juliet…”

“And he was Romeo,” Jim smirked.

“No, he was Mercutio.” I gave him a look. He bit his lip, nodded, assumed a more serious expression. “So anyway,” I continued, “I got strep throat about halfway through, and I missed a week of school. And he brought me my homework every night. Not just from English, either; he went around to all my teachers and got all my assignments.”

His skepticism was clear. “Really.”

“Yes,” I said, a little defensively. “He was really sweet. And I couldn’t figure out why he liked me. He was really popular, ever since middle school, and I was…not…” I shrugged. “But it was flattering, you know? He… admired me.”

He frowned. “But how did you keep it going so long? You didn’t have anything in common.”

“We did, though.” I sat up a little. “Not like you and I do, but…we grew up in the same neighborhood. We went to the same church. His dad and my dad knew each other—his dad’s in construction, and my dad’s an electrician, you know, so they sometimes worked on the same job sites, and we were all…the same kind of people, I guess?” I sighed. “I didn’t know it could be… like this.” I gestured at the space between us.

His expression softened into a tiny smile.

“I almost broke up with him when I was in college.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Yeah. He was sure he was going to get a scholarship to Penn State, but then he messed up his knee during senior year and it didn’t happen.” I sighed again, remembering how crushed he’d been, how lost and disappointed, all his plans for the next few years turned upside down. “He got a job at his uncle’s appliance repair shop, and I was going to Marywood, and we only saw each other on weekends. I was actually planning on telling him we should see other people. And I was this close to doing it, at dinner one night, when he told me how much he loved me, and missed being with me, and that he wanted to marry me.” I smiled sadly, wondering, not for the first time, how different everything would be if I’d beaten him to the punch that night. But then I’d never have gotten on at Dunder-Mifflin, and then I’d never have met Jim, so maybe things did happen for a reason?

“He didn’t have a ring yet,” I continued, “but he promised he’d get one as soon as he could save up enough, and after that semester when I came home for the summer, he’d gotten on at Dunder-Mifflin and they had the receptionist job open, and it was just gonna be so… romantic, I guess? for us to work at the same place…” I shook my head. “So I quit school and got the job in the office and we moved in together.”

“So if you’d broken up with him, you and I never would have met,” he said thoughtfully.

“That’s right.”

His expression shifted to something between amused and indignant. “So basically we owe it to Roy that we’re together.”

“Yes.”

He shook his head with a smile full of wonder. “That’s…ironic.”

“Yes it is.” I clinked my glass to his. “Or fate, maybe. Do you believe in fate?”

“Absolutely.” He took a long sip of wine and stared pensively past me, a reflection of fireworks flickering in his eyes. “Mostly I always felt like it was working against me, but lately…” He glanced down at me and smiled. “It seems to have seen fit to throw me a bone.”

I wrinkled my nose at him. “Nice metaphor, Halpert.”

He gave me a squeeze. “Hey, you never told me the football story.”

“Oh.” I chuckled. “Um…yeah. We were in his back yard and he was showing me how to hold the ball, and standing, you know, really close behind me, and when I cocked my arm back I lost my grip and the ball flew up and hit him in the face.”

He laughed. “Nice.”

“Yeah.” I smiled.

We watched the fireworks in a relaxed silence for a few minutes, and then he said, “Is it wrong that I’m really enjoying that mental picture?”

I laughed and pinched his arm as he twisted away, laughing too, his eyes full of light as he grinned down at me.

Yes, definitely a good day.




**********

*



I wondered sometimes if she’d get sick of having me around all the time. Three months into our relationship, there was already something so… ordinary… in the way we spent our time together. Ordinary in the best possible way, though; ordinary in that I felt enough at home in her apartment to fall asleep on her couch watching a movie on a Sunday afternoon, ordinary in that she always knew when I was running low on milk or toilet paper or laundry soap. Yet as quickly and easily as we intertwined ourselves into each other’s homes and lives, it was still a little startling to realize there were whole chapters of Pam’s history I’d never read. Never knew existed, in fact.

Early on a Saturday afternoon in August, she answered the phone and proved to me, again, that I didn’t know her as completely as I’d assumed.

“Oh, hi Liz.” I watched as Pam’s eyebrows drew together in surprise, and then her whole face lit up in delight. “That’s—when did you…oh, so that…” She threw a happy glance at me, squeezed my knee, and then got up and walked into the kitchen, grinning widely.

I wracked my memory for mention of a Liz and kept coming up blank. Pam only had a couple of close girlfriends, and I thought I knew all their names. Tammy from high school, who lived in Seattle now. Rachel from her advanced drawing class. Sarah, her neighbor from across the street when she lived with what’s-his-face.

Pam started rattling around putting on water for tea and I forced myself not to strain to eavesdrop on their conversation. By the time she flipped the phone shut fifteen minutes later and came back to the couch with a mug of tea in one hand and an open beer in the other, I’d managed to get back into the movie—Aliens—even though I’d seen it a million times.

They mostly come out at night. Mostly.

She handed the beer to me. “Hey, Jim?”

Her voice was nervous. Something bad, maybe. Don’t jump to conclusions. “Mmm?” I murmured, feigning nonchalance.

“That was Liz. Roy’s sister.” The uncertainty in her face suddenly disappeared into a radiant smile. “So I don’t think I ever told you about this but she and her husband have been trying to get pregnant for years. Like eight years. And they finally had a baby! A little girl. She was born last night and—well, Liz asked me to come down and see her.”

I knew my expression had changed at the mention of Roy’s sister and the way her eyes dropped down to stare at her fingernails told me I hadn’t rearranged it into something more enthusiastic and supportive. “That’s great,” I managed finally. “Where is she?”

Her gaze came back up to meet mine; her smile returned. “Mercy.”

I forced myself to stop thinking about how Roy was never ever going to just fucking disappear from our lives and consider the circumstances for what they were. Eight years. Holy crap. What if that happens to us? “Eight years, huh? That’s a long time…the baby’s okay?”

“Yeah, she’s kind of small, just barely six pounds, but Liz says they’re both doing great. Jim,” she said in a rush, “come with me. Please? Liz wants to meet you.”

I stared at her. “You can’t be serious.”

She nodded vigorously. “She was the only one who was nice to me when I broke up with Roy. I told her about you…I mean she knew you and I were friends, and…just, please?”

I couldn’t imagine anything I’d like to do less than pay a visit to any one of Roy’s relatives, but what could I do? When she looked at me like that, saying no was just not an option. “Of course,” I sighed, unable to keep the reluctance out of my reply, but she threw her arms around me and hugged me tight and kissed me, hard, and a little awkwardness seemed a small price to pay to make her so happy.


**********


To my vast relief, Roy’s sister was alone when we arrived. Her face lit up at the sight of Pam and I hung back as they squealed their greetings and Pam bent down to hug her. Liz looked older than Roy, maybe in her mid-thirties, but she was rather pretty, with long, straight, dark-blonde hair and wide brown eyes. She reminded me of somebody, but I couldn’t quite place it.

“So, this is Jim,” Pam was saying as she straightened up, turning to beckon me closer. “Liz, Jim, Jim, Liz.”

“Hi Jim.” Liz smiled, glanced at Pam, looked back at me. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, um…congratulations,” I said, summoning my best salesman’s smile and focusing on the tiny bundle she was holding against her chest. All I could see was the pink blanket, a tiny white hat covering the small head, a bit of smooth cheek.

“Want to hold her?” Liz asked Pam. She surprised me by nodding and reaching for the baby without hesitation. “Thanks for coming,” Liz said, looking at me.

I glanced at Pam but she was entranced with the baby. For a girl who professed to be a little afraid of children, Pam certainly seemed comfortable holding her, rocking her back and forth in her arms and cooing softly, smiling down like it was her own child.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” I said finally. “Have you picked out a name?”

“Samantha,” Liz and Pam answered at once. Liz gave a thoughtful, sad kind of smile. “After Keith’s sister. They were twins, but she died when she was a baby.”

“Oh.” I didn’t really know what to say to that. I shifted on my feet, trying not to fidget too much, wondering how long was polite before we could get out of here. I couldn’t stop glancing at the door, wondering when Roy was going to show up.

Pam looked up at me with the softest, gentlest smile I’d ever seen, and we looked at each other for a long, thoughtful moment. She asked me with a slight raising of her eyebrows if I wanted to hold Samantha, and when my widened eyes conveyed my answer she gave me an amused smile and turned her attention back to the baby.

My heart did a little flip in my chest. This could be us in a few years.


*********


It turned out Liz was great. Having met Kenny, I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but she was funny and genuine and I felt bad that I really, really hadn’t wanted any part of this. It was a strange kind of wonderful to see Pam with the baby. It got me thinking all kinds of things I didn’t have any business pondering yet.

We didn’t stay long, less than an hour, and were maybe twenty steps from the elevator when I marveled inwardly that we’d managed to do this without running into Roy. So, naturally, I was immediately punished for this premature celebration.

He’d just stepped off the elevator, his face half hidden by the large spray of pink carnations flagged with a balloon proclaiming It’s a Girl! he was cradling in his left arm. “Hey Pammy!” He beamed at Pam for several long seconds before glancing over at me with a slightly less enthusiastic but still-friendly smile.

“Hey, Roy.” Pam squeezed my hand briefly but tightly before stepping forward to give Roy a one-armed embrace. “It’s good to see you,” she said, smiling up at him affectionately. “You look good.”

I had to admit, he did look good. He’d shaved the beard and trimmed off a few pounds. He’d even dressed up a little in a blue blazer and a nice dress shirt with his jeans.

“You too.” He glanced from her to me, and to my surprise, extended his hand to me. “Hey, Jim. How’s it going?”

“Good, good. Congratulations. The baby—she’s really cute,” I offered.

“A long time coming,” he agreed, smiling widely. “Did Pammy tell you about how long—yeah, crazy, right?” he interrupted himself when I nodded. “It’s like a miracle.”

“Definitely,” I agreed.

He looked back at Pam. “You’ve already been in to see her?”

“Yeah, we were just heading out, actually,” she said apologetically. “But—Jim, wait for me? I need to use the restroom.” She gestured back down the hallway at the door we’d passed. “I’ll be right back.”

I knew my eyes said Don’t you dare leave me here alone with him! but she gave me a sweet and slightly pleading smile before glancing over at Roy, her smile growing into something wide and beautiful. “Liz looks really great,” she said gently. “It’s… it’s just really nice.”

Roy nodded. I pressed my palms against my hips and stared at the poster of a smiling baby, feeling a little like an intruder.

“She looks happy,” Roy remarked, watching Pam as she walked down the hallway. “Guess you two are doin’ pretty good then?”

“Yeah. Yeah, things are…good.” I shifted on my feet uncomfortably, but he was smiling, didn’t seem upset or resentful or like he secretly or not-so-secretly still wanted to kick my ass. “Are you, uh, seeing anyone?”

He tore his gaze away from Pam and looked back over at me. “Not really. I was seeing this girl from Pittsfield for a while but she was just…” He shrugged. “Listen, I’m glad Pam’s happy, Halpert. She’s a good girl. Don’t fuck around with her.”

I pressed my lips together to keep my mouth shut and just looked at him. Who the hell did he think he was, telling me how to treat Pam?

He bit his lip. “I just mean—you know, don’t…take her for granted.” His eyes flicked over my face rapidly and he gave me a crooked, wry kind of smile. “But, you probably already know that.”

Yes. Yes I do. I shrugged, smiled a little, shoved my hands into my pockets.

“Thanks for bringing her down, man. My sister… they really deserve this, you know?” He stared over my shoulder down the hallway, then back at me, and his eyes were actually shining.

I’d never seen him like that, stripped of all his machismo, and for just a second I saw him the way I guess Pam always had. Friendly, humble, ordinary.

I wasn’t used to thinking of Roy as anything other than a self-centered prick. Wasn’t sure I wanted to.

“Well, I’m gonna head on in,” he jerked his chin to gesture down the hallway, “but, uh, tell Pammy I said goodbye, and, um, take it easy.” He smiled again, reached up to clap me on the shoulder. “See ya around.”

“Take it easy,” I echoed.

Congratulations again, universe: I kind of don’t hate Roy Anderson.

Pam emerged from the bathroom, glancing around with a puzzled frown as we strolled toward the elevator. “Where’s Roy?”

“Went on ahead to see Liz. He said to tell you goodbye.”

“Oh. Sorry about that,” she said meekly. “I really had to go.”

“Yeah, sure,” I grumbled. “It’s okay. He was…nice.”

“And were you nice, back?” She lifted an eyebrow.

“I was courteous and receptive to courtesy.”

She laughed, linking her arm through mine as we stepped into the elevator. “Well done, young Starling.” She gave me a brief, tight squeeze, stumbling into me a little as she did so, and smiled up at me. “Jim, thank you.”

I shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“Seriously,” she said earnestly. “You’re so…great. How did you get to be so great?”

“It’s the Halpert gene. All the Halpert men are inherently awesome.” The elevator door dinged open and I took a deep, relieved breath. She wouldn’t think I was so great if she knew how I really felt about all this.

“Then I’m lucky to have a Halpert man,” she said happily, releasing my arm and catching my hand in hers instead. “Let me take you to lunch.”

I swung her hand. “Aaah, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I want to.” She looked up at me with that smile I loved the most, the one that was just openly adoring. It made me feel warm and weightless and utterly at peace with the world.

“All righty,” I said agreeably. “Where do you want to go?”

“Cugino’s?”

I smiled. “Always a good choice.”

“She looks really good for just having a baby, don’t you think?” Pam remarked as I opened the passenger door for her. “You know, I always thought she looked like Bonnie Hunt.”

“Yes!” I exclaimed, startling her. “That’s it!”

She glanced up at me, puzzled, and then grinned. “Right?”

“It was gonna drive me crazy wondering who she reminded me of. Thank you.” I ducked down to give her a kiss.

She laughed, stretching up on her toes to meet me halfway. “You’re so easy to please, Halpert.”

You have no idea. “Don’t get cocky,” I chided. “You don’t think I’m not gonna get you back for leaving me there with your ex, do you?”

“Ooh, I’m scared,” she mocked, sliding into the passenger seat and quickly shutting the door, grinning up at me through the window.

I shook my head at her and tried to look stern. You’re gonna get it.

Her expression said that was just fine.



*

*



By late August we were practically living together. I wondered if he’d get sick of my being around all the time, if the routine we’d settled into wasn’t a sign that the magic was already gone. It seemed a little early in the relationship for me to know he always started his laundry on Wednesday night and went grocery shopping on Sunday mornings. Were we already too domesticated? But if I ever suggested we take a night off he’d give me that adorable pout and any notion that I was overstaying my welcome was quickly put to rest.

And I loved it, but I wondered about Jim. In my experience—okay, my very limited experience—guys didn’t hang out with their girlfriends unless there was a reason: it was a mealtime, or it was late and he had to come home, or he wanted sex. Roy hadn’t wanted to just be with me like that since the summer after I left college, and even that only lasted until football season.

For those first couple of months Jim and I were seldom out of each other’s sight for long, like we were both afraid that the other would somehow vanish if left unattended. By increments, we learned to relax into the reality of what we had, and after a while there was something comfortable in waking up to find out he’d gone for a run or down to the park to shoot hoops—always leaving me a little note on the bathroom mirror, or on his nightstand, or next to the coffee pot. And he didn’t seem to panic if I left for a while to go sketch kids at the playground or do some self-indulgent shopping at Bath and Body Works. See you later had become something easy and casual.

It was one of those mornings when he’d gone to the park and I was doing last night’s dishes—homemade tacos; somehow we’d used every bowl in his kitchen—that a clear warm voice rang out above the noise of water running in the sink. “Hey, loser! What have I told you about leaving your door open?” The tall willowy girl in the doorway stopped abruptly with a little gasp, staring at me. “Um…hi. I’m Amy…Jim’s sister?” She tilted her head in a manner so reminiscent of Jim I would have recognized her immediately even if I’d never seen her picture.

Jim had mentioned her often enough that I knew she was twenty-five, had gotten a sociology degree from Penn State, and was working for a crisis shelter in Carbondale. Her short straight hair, light brown in the pictures I’d seen, was now dyed a bright pinkish-red and held back with a turquoise cotton headband; her eyes were clear blue, the irises strikingly ringed with black. She had a bohemian thing going on: long, loose patchwork skirt in blue and green, strappy leather sandals, white crepe peasant blouse with ties at the sleeves and neck.

“He went to the park.” I held out my hand. “I’m Pam.”

“Oh!” She smiled, relaxing visibly as she shook my hand. “Well, it’s good to meet you! Sorry to barge in. You shouldn’t leave the door unlocked,” she chided.

“I’ll…keep that in mind,” I said, twisting the towel in my hand, suddenly very self-conscious of my ragged appearance. I was a mess; I hadn’t showered yet and my hair was tied up in an unkempt ponytail.

“Jim’s always been careless about that, it’s kind of a little joke we have…” She looked me up and down briefly as she smiled, taking me in. Her eyebrow arched with almost imperceptible amusement as her gaze flicked over my cutoff sweats and Jim’s oversized Sixers t-shirt that I’d knotted around my waist.

“Listen, I was just on my way back home from seeing the folks, thought I’d stop by. I’m sorry if I freaked you out,” she apologized. She pulled her phone out of her bag, checked something, slipped it back in, and smiled as she looked up at me with those clear blue eyes. “So you’re Pam.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, uneasy despite her friendly expression. “Yep. Um…do you want some coffee or something? He should be back pretty soon.”

“Sure.” She followed me into the kitchen, pausing for a moment to stare at the stovepans soaking in the sink. “Oh my God, you’re not cleaning for him?” she chuckled.

“Well, originally I just wanted a bowl for cereal,” I admitted, smiling nervously. “It kind of got away from me.”

“You’ll spoil him,” she said warningly, taking a mug out of the cabinet and pouring herself a cup.

I shrugged, smiled. “That’s okay.”

Amy brought her coffee to the table and sat down across from me. “I’m glad to finally meet you,” she said, tapping her fingers on the rim of her mug. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Yikes. I’ll bet. “You and Jim are pretty close,” I said.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

“I love him,” I blurted, and immediately felt the flush heat my cheeks. Smooth, Beesly.

Amy smiled. “Yeah, I know.”

Okay, that was unexpected.

She met my eyes for a long moment, fiddling with her spoon. “Look, you don’t have to…” She shook her head. “He’s happy.” She smiled and shrugged, and maybe there was something still reserved and assessing in her eyes, but I suddenly felt a lot less uneasy.

“Thanks,” I said simply.

She smiled again. She had a great smile. Perfect teeth just like Jim’s. “Did you do that?” she asked, pointing at a small sketch, hung on the fridge with a magnet, of the maple tree outside Jim’s bedroom window.

“Yeah.” I smiled. It was one of those random things I drew during Michael’s interminable meetings. He’d stolen it off my desk when I went to the restroom.

The front door banged open and Jim’s voice floated in. “Hey, that looks like my sister’s car out front,” he called.

“It is,” Amy sang back. “I’m interrogating your girlfriend.” She winked at me.

“Pam, don’t listen to anything she says,” he warned, pulling his sweatshirt over his head and kicking off his shoes as he made his way over to the table. “Lies, all lies.”

“Oh, well she was just telling me how crazy you are about me,” I shrugged.

He rolled his eyes at me and bent to hug Amy. She returned it for a second before drawing back and sniffing at his sweaty shirt, wrinkling her nose. “You’re stinky.”

“Nice. What’s with the hair?” Jim lifted an eyebrow at her.

“Aaah, it was getting too long,” she grinned.

“That was not what I meant.” He glanced over at me with a slightly worried smile, then back to Amy. “Been here long?”

“Nah, just a few minutes. I won’t stay, I know you guys probably have…plans…” She smirked, very Jim-like, and I couldn’t quite suppress a giggle when Jim’s cheeks colored a little. “Yes, big plans,” he confirmed, sinking into the chair between us. “I believe we were going to have a Coen brothers marathon.”

“Ooh!” She grinned. “O Brother Where art Thou?’”

“I believe that is in the stack, yes.” He glanced a question at me, assessing my yes go ahead expression quickly, and added, “Do you have to go, or do you wanna hang out? We’ve got Raising Arizona too.”

She tapped her lip thoughtfully. “And Fargo?”

“Of course.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching his hands back behind his head. “There will probably be Chinese food involved at some point,” he said idly.

The grin that crossed her face and lit up her eyes indicated that this was her Achilles’ heel. “Sold, to the tall goofy guy who needs a shower,” she agreed.


*********


We brought out the wine during Fargo and were opening the third bottle by the time our takeout arrived. By then we were all reciting the lines and giggling uncontrollably every time Frances McDormand spoke in that fantastic Minnesota accent. He’s fleein’ the interview!

We spread everything out on the coffee table and sat on the floor, passing the cartons around. “Thanks for having me, guys,” Amy said. “It’s so fun to do nothing.”

“You… are drunk,” Jim assessed, grinning. “I think you better plan on staying over.”

“I am not…well okay I am a little drunk.” She giggled. “It’s your fault, Jimmy.”

“Oh please,” he groaned.

“Do you still have that bottle of Petron we snagged from Will’s party last year?” she wondered. “Oh, my God, Pam, he was soooo drunk.”

Jim scowled at her. “Yeah, I still have it. I don’t really like the stuff.”

“Of course you still have it. He keeps everything,” she said to me confidentially.

“Jim’s sentimental,” I said, grinning. He rolled his eyes resignedly and tipped the bottle forward to pour more wine into my glass.

Amy giggled. “You have no idea. Once, when he was…oh, about eight I guess…he found this baby bird that fell out of its nest in our neighbor’s yard. They had this awful boy, Scott was his name, he was going to step on it and—”

“Amy,” Jim sighed.

She waved a hand at him. “Shut up, this story makes you look good. Jimmy whacked this mean kid right in the nose. I think it’s the only time you’ve ever hit anyone in your life,” she said to him, laughing, before turning back to me. “But he got that bird and we kept it in a box in the garage.”

“It died,” Jim said morosely.

“Yeah, but you tried so hard to keep it going. He fed it bologna and bread,” she told me.

“Bologna?” I couldn’t keep from smirking.

He spread his hands helplessly. “I was eight.”

“It died,” Amy sighed, reaching for the bottle and topping off her own glass. “Oh, he cried so hard.”

“Aw,” I sympathized.

Jim glared daggers at his sister. “You cried too.”

“I’m a girl.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” he exclaimed defensively.

“You’re a girl too,” she pointed at him, grinning, then looked back at me. “Such a sap. I bet he brought you flowers for, like, your one-month anniversary.”

I tried not to smile as I glanced over at him, but I couldn’t quite hold it back and that, plus the flush that colored Jim’s cheeks, brought a fresh spate of laughter from Amy. “It’s sweet,” I protested, reaching over to rub his thigh. “You’re sweet,” I murmured.

He captured my hand in his and gave me a tiny smile before turning a stern expression on his sister. “Are we done telling embarrassing stories or should we rehash your unfortunate ballet recital experience?”

“That will not be necessary.” She laughed again, and raised her glass. “In vino veritas!” She grinned, clinking her glass to Jim’s and successfully eliciting a reluctant smile.

“You’re definitely spending the night,” he said firmly.

“I think… you are right.” She leaned back against the couch. “You’re a good brother, Jimbo.”

“Yeah, I know.” He struggled to his feet and picked up his plate, piling mine and Amy’s on top. “Hey Pam, c’mere a minute would you?” he called from the kitchen.

Amy grinned apologetically. “Sorry, I should get lost…”

“No way.” If she was half as drunk as I was, that would be a bad idea. I put my glass on the coffee table—definitely done with that—and wandered into the kitchen.

Jim pulled me behind the wall so Amy wouldn’t see and kissed me for a long, breathless minute. “Sorry,” he murmured. “But—”

I shook my head. “It’s fine. You’re a good brother, Jimbo.” I wrapped my arms around him, smiling up into his face. He gave me an exasperated eye-roll and kissed me again. “I’m gonna go get her a blanket,” he whispered, “and you’re gonna get her to lie down, and I guarantee she will be asleep in five minutes. And we can go to my room.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“And then I’ll be asleep in five minutes,” I sighed.

“Oh, I don’t think so.” He winked. “I’ll keep you awake.”

“Not with your sister in the next room!” I whispered, mortified.

“Spoilsport.” He sighed, looped an arm around my shoulders as we went back to the living room. “I guess we could just watch The Hudsucker Proxy…” He trailed off as we came upon Amy, stretched out on her side on the couch, eyes closed. “Ooh,” he murmured. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I said firmly, giving him a gentle shove. “Go. Be a good brother and get your sister a blanket.”

He sighed. “What I do for you ladies…”

Amy’s wine glass was perilously perched on the edge of the coffee table; I gathered it up with mine and Jim’s and took it to the kitchen. When I came back he was draping a blanket over her, smiling a little, and I heard her say in a loud stage-whisper, “She loves you. She told me.”

“I know,” he whispered back. “Go to sleep. We’re going to bed.”

He turned around and jumped a little when he saw me there. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I smiled.

His eyes flicked over my face quickly, determining if I’d heard, before he smiled mischievously. “So…”

I grinned as he grabbed my hand and pulled me to the bedroom. “I just told her that so she’d like me,” I confessed.

“Ouch.” He shut the door behind us and pulled his shirt off, flinging it to the floor. “So if you’re just using me for sex…”

I shook my head. “Don’t push it, Halpert.”





*