(All recognizable characters are the property of NBC/The Office. No copyright infrigement intended.)


i. Sight

She thinks about him sometimes. Not in the let me correct that error on your paycheck way that she thinks about others in the office. She’ll be alone, sometimes late at night, staring at the perfect white ceiling in her bedroom and she’ll think about moments that were only witnessed by God. His hand grazing her stomach. His breath on her neck.

She always stops herself before things go to far…climbs out of bed to kneel on plush carpet and pray with desperation to a God she’s sure is listening but who doesn’t always feel like answering. She prays for herself and her sins. She prays for assurance and humility. And she prays for him. Her once sharp anger has faded. She still feels it sometimes, strong and throbbing, but mostly it settles at the back of her mind and reminds her how she ended up…here.

She’s not thinking about him at all when everyone pours out of the office building and into the parking lot. She feels betrayed by Michael and betrayed by Phyllis and angry at everyone else for so thoroughly enjoying a party she didn’t plan. She knows they don’t always like the parties she comes up with. But they’re hers and they’re simple and someone used to tell her he liked things like that.

Andy insists that they ride the Ferris wheel. She agrees mostly because she doesn’t feel like listening to him pester her about it for the rest of the party. His smile is huge and open as they drift backwards and she feels so small going up and up and up with nothing to tie her down. The Ferris wheel stops at the top, letting Oscar and Stanley off, and they sit for several long moments high up above the parking lot.

“My parents are coming later,” Andy says, squinting out across the parking lot and rapping his fingers playfully on the safety bar. She clutches the bar firmly, not liking the feel of her feet dangling over so much emptiness. She looks sideways at her boyfriend and he looks so happy and so simple highlighted by the golden fingers of the approaching sunset.

“Why?” she asks simply, quietly. She never understands why he does things. She’s always asking why and always getting answers that confuse her even more than she was to begin with. He’s like a puzzle she just can’t solve but he always pulls her chair out for her and he doesn’t talk during movies.

“So they can meet everyone. They’re spending the weekend. We can go to dinner with them tomorrow night, if you want,” he says. The answer is so normal, so unlike him, that she catches herself in a smile. He looks back at her, smiling with his eyes and his mouth and his whole body, and she lets him see her own quiet grin. She looks away after a moment and down, down, down onto the parking lot.

Darryl’s band is playing soft hits of the ‘70s and she’s surprised to recognize a Carole King song she likes. Her father used to sing it in the car as they drove to church, teasing her mother just to win a rare smile. The food smells dirty and meaty but they’re having cake later so she’ll at least be able to eat that. The fabric on the walls of the bouncy castle ripples slightly and she hears a burst of laughter come from within it.

And then she sees Dwight. He’s sitting alone at a table, eating ribs off of a paper plate. The Ferris wheel finally lurches to life and Andy swings his legs playfully as they pitch over the edge and make their way back down to Earth. But she keeps her eyes trained on Dwight, watching him slurp the ribs, watching him wipe a streak of barbeque sauce off his chin with the cloth of his handkerchief, watching him sit in this sunny moment all by himself.

“Do you want to go in the moon bounce?” Andy asks her, cutting the silence and placing a hand over hers. She jerks her gaze away from Dwight and back onto her boyfriend. She gives him a severe look, not even bothering to answer a question as ridiculous as that. But his eyes are twinkling and she knows he’s teasing her. Trying to win a rare smile.

The Ferris wheel stops again to let them off. She steps gratefully back onto solid ground, feeling wobbly. She frowns in the direction of the band as they launch into a cheesy disco song. Andy places a hand on her back, leading her towards the tables. She lets him, looking everywhere and anywhere but at Dwight.

“Want an ice water, my flower?” Andy asks as she sits down. She hates that stupid pet-name and she’s told him more than once. She looks up at his face, so eager to please, ready to scold him but can’t seem to muster the strength. She nods, needing an Andy-break. He appears genuinely excited to have somehow found the right question to ask and hurries away towards the drinks table. She sighs and, with trepidation, glances to her right and towards Dwight.

He’s looking at her. As soon as she turns to him he snaps his gaze away, blushing up from his collar. She’d forgotten that. His propensity to blush at the silliest moments. It was so unlike him and the face he wore at work. It reminded her of the face he wore in private, his cheek against a pillow, and she had to look down at the tablecloth. She focuses her gaze on a smear of barbeque sauce someone has marred the clean white with. She’s torn between satisfaction that Phyllis will have to explain that to whoever supplied the tablecloths and disappointment at someone’s (probably Kevin’s) sloppiness.

The distraction only lasts an instant and she finds herself looking up at Dwight again. He’s walking away from her, carrying his paper plate and his own silver knife and fork towards the trashcans. She watches as he carefully tosses the plate in the large plastic tub and then heads through the main doors of the building. She knows he’s going to the bathroom to wash his silverware. She remembers making soap in his kitchen, scrubbing hard at bowls and plates with the harsh but effective homemade cleaning solvent. She’d listened to him tell stories of his grandparents doing just this when he was a boy while Mose whittled at the table behind her. It had all felt clean and pure and right—his old-fashioned values complimenting hers perfectly.

But Andy finally returns with a paper cup of water, a single cube of ice floating lazily in the clear liquid, and asks whether he should offer his singing services to the band. She sips the water and listens to him, interjecting several cool admonishments, but notices immediately when Dwight steps back outside, his presence dominant and sure.

She’s already praying silently and the sun hasn’t even set.

ii. Sound

Andy’s parents arrive shortly after Michael forces his way through some terrible song she’s never heard but doesn’t care to ever hear again. She’s feeling angry and tired and wishing she were home with her cats. But even if she didn’t throw this party, she is head of the Party Planning Committee and she should be here. Hunger has gotten the best of her and she’s picking at a dry, tasteless hamburger bun when Andy is suddenly leaping to his feet and rushing towards a couple that could only be his parents.

She’s only met the parents of a boyfriend one time in her life. In her senior year of high school she had attended several church functions with Ted Ashley, a toothy clarinet player with dreams about becoming an ophthalmologist. Their fathers had known each other from work and Angela had been forced to sit through dinner after dinner with Ted’s boisterous, dim-witted father and overly made-up mother. She had called the relationship off after two chaste pecks on her doorstep.

And now, inexplicably, she is shaking the hands of Andrew and Ellen Bernard. They smile and talk and laugh just like Andy does and Angela imagines she might have liked them if they didn’t keep discussing “the Cape” and asking her if she’s ever been on a bay-liner. She realizes rather quickly that there isn’t much to them beneath the money and decides that at least Andy has some personality.

She quickly revokes the thought when Andy tugs at her arm in hopes of getting her onto the dance floor for the electric slide. She yanks her hand away with a scowl and watches as Ellen Bernard’s beaming smile noticeably dims.

“Will you excuse me? I have to…” she trails off mid-excuse, gesturing vaguely towards the building and stepping away carefully. She walks away from them with no clear destination, just needing space and air. She walks past the refreshments and the moon bounce and finds herself on the edge of the parking lot. She glances back towards Andy and sees that the Bernard parents are being shuffled around the tables and introduced to an unenthusiastic staff.

She closes her eyes for a moment, bringing a hand up to clutch at the crucifix hanging around her neck. Breathing deeply, she pulls away from the moment and simply lets the soft breeze of the early spring evening wash over her. She likes to find time every day to appreciate the beauty of God’s world. She can hear her co-workers talking and laughing and the band has kicked into high gear, but things feel more peaceful on this quiet edge of the parking lot.

“Angela?” His voice comes from beside her, startling her out of her quiet reverie. Her eyes snap open and she turns towards the sound. Dwight is leaning against his car a few feet away, cutting up an apple with his Swiss Army knife. He looks surprised to see her so far away from the festivities. He knows her well enough to understand that even if she hated a party, she would stay until the last piece of cake was covered in Saran wrap. Or, he had known her well enough to understand that. It has been months since they have spoken about anything other than work.

“Oh.” The word comes out of her clumsily, hanging in the air between them for several long moments before finally dropping to the asphalt with a thud. She clings tighter to her necklace and finally meets his eye. He looks down at her seriously, his expression unreadable.

“I’m sorry Michael told Phyllis to plan this party. A cake and a card probably would have been good enough for Toby,” he says. The comment is halfway between an insult and a reassurance. He seems to realize this and pulls a face, clearly dissatisfied with the words he’s chosen. Angela studies him, watching how he holds the knife and apple still in his hands and focuses completely on her. He always does that. Stares at whoever he is talking to with rapt attention.

“She had a much larger budget than the Party Planning Committee usually gets,” she finds herself saying. It is boring; work-related. She doesn’t know what else to say to him. He nods with understanding and looks down for a moment to work the knife through the soft flesh of the apple.

“Mose liked the Ferris wheel. He’d never been on one before,” he says without meeting her eye. Angela stares at his hands working the knife expertly and feels something very small wake up inside of her.

“I’m glad for him. Did he get that game he wanted for Christmas?” She startles herself with the sudden transition into unknown conversational territory. She’s thought about Mose a few times over the last several months. She has even prayed for him to find peace at night. He is sweet and simple and he’s always treated Angela with kindness. Suddenly, she is incredibly curious about his well-being. There is a long, billowing silence as Dwight considers her question. Finally, he looks at her with dark, serious eyes.

“Yes, he did. Our Aunt Ingrid sent it to him. Battleship,” he says quietly. She nods simply, not betraying anything in her expression. She honestly doesn’t know what there is to betray. She opens her mouth to speak again or possibly to excuse herself to go back to the party, when a sudden voice breaks through the quiet.

“Angela! There you are! We’re about to cut the cake!” Andy shouts as he jogs towards her, his tie flapping over his shoulder and his hair shining in the fast-fading sun. He slows to a halt and stars at her with naked hopefulness. She takes a step towards him, glancing over her shoulder at Dwight. Andy notices and his gaze travels to where Dwight stands.

“Oh hey, Dwight. Tuna was looking for you. He said something about the band refusing to play any Van Halen song released when David Lee Roth was the singer…” Andy says, his voice friendly and playful. Dwight’s face hardens comically.

“Are they idiots?” he asks. He quickly clasps his knife shut and walks past Angela and back towards the dance floor, clearly on the war path. Angela watches his retreating back and can see that his muscles are pulled taut in frustration. She knows Jim is playing a joke on him. She always knows but she never says.

“Coming?” Andy asks, extending his hand to her. She turns her attention back to him and his uncomplicated smile. He isn’t perfect but she makes sure God knows he is trying. She takes his hand and they walk back across the parking lot together.

iii. Smell

She’s never liked fireworks. As a child, they had frightened her. She remembers climbing into her mother’s lap on a picnic blanket and burying her face into her shirt. Her mother had reassured her that they were safe. The fireworks couldn’t hurt her. They were just pretty lights and sounds way up in the sky and far away from them. Angela had protested and said, “But they could hurt the people in Heaven.”

As she grew, she just found that fireworks were flashy and loud and too much big, too much bright, too much. She usually celebrates the Fourth of July, proud of her American heritage, by baking apple pie and watching the annual specials on the History Channel. Last year she had tromped into the middle of a beet field with Dwight and Mose and watched them set off dozens of home fireworks. She’d started the night angry and complaining but they’d been enthusiastic and filled with so much joy. Dwight had screamed “HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY!” into the black sky, holding a sparkler in one ash-covered hand. He had turned to look at her over his shoulder, grinning with something like elation and she had, against all odds, found herself grinning back.

Tonight she stares up into the night sky and watches the huge explosions of bright, professional fireworks light up the sky. Everyone is happy and laughing and kissing and she can see their illuminated faces every few seconds as another firework explodes above them. Andy looks over at her between explosions and his face looks shadowy and calm. It is so different from his usual demeanor; so gentle and real. She reaches out a hand and touches his arm quietly before dropping it back to her lap and turning her gaze back up onto the sky.

She feels him go still beside her and knows he is staring at her. The music is rolling over and over and the fireworks just kept coming and she is tired and cold. She feels slightly dizzy and she can hear Dwight laughing and applauding a particularly impressive display. The air smells like smoke and barbeque and springtime and nighttime all at once and a wave of nausea laps at her stomach.

Suddenly, Andy is on his feet and walking away from her. Her first instinct is that he is planning to join the band with his own, aggressive take on “Just My Imagination.” But he looks different. Determined somehow. And then he is grabbing the microphone and describing the perfection of this moment. The same moment that is making her feel sick to her stomach and uncomfortable. He is referring to his parents and eyes are turning to look at them waving like plastic dolls for the cameras. He is asking her to come up on the stage.

No, no, no. Her mind is racing with a million thoughts and shutting off all at once. Her hands are sweaty and chapped. She is refusing to come up on the stage, terrified of what might happen if she does, and dozens of butterflies are sprouting wings in her stomach. She is so confused by Andy, watching him nearly break Darryl’s keyboard but not hearing anything. All she can hear is some whistling, curdling fear crawling up her insides. All she can smell is the smoky explosions of color above her. All she can think is Dwight, Dwight, Dwight.

And then Andy is on his knees before her and its happening. He is proposing to her in the parking lot of her office building, under fireworks, surrounded by co-workers and his parents. It is wrong. It is the absolute last way she would have imagined a proposal. It is bold and flashy and impersonal and kitschy and nearly everything she hates all wrapped up and tied with a bow.

He is shoving the microphone under her mouth and waiting for a reply. They are all waiting for a reply, looking at her with excited anticipation. She can’t bear to look at the shadowy outline she knows is Dwight, standing very still somewhere beyond Andy. And she is thinking about Dwight giving her a ride to the gas station when her car broke down and Andy putting his jacket around her at a cold restaurant and Dwight shyly offering her a drawer in his heavy oak dresser and Andy falling asleep with her tabby cat Buttons curled in his lap and Dwight kissing her soundly and slowly for the first time in her bedroom.

She looks at Andy’s honest, open face and has one final thought…the chilling image that had awaited her behind her freezer’s door…and she makes her decision. A quiet “okay” falls out of her mouth and she is praying to God to please, please forgive her. Andy makes her say it again and she feels the beginnings of anger bubble out of her. But people are starting to clap and he is giving her the ring, which is actually fairly lovely, and she lets the anger go.

From there, all the edges of the moment blur away. Everything is colors and shadows but Andy is right by her side, beaming at the crowd and requesting that Darryl’s band play “My Heart Will Go On.” People are beginning to drift away from the party and head home, wishing Toby good luck and telling Angela congratulations in slightly false tones.

Pam comes up to her with a small, tight smile on her face. Angela is very surprised when she is pulled into a short hug. As Pam pulls away, Angela can see that unshed tears are sitting on the edges of her eyelids. “Best wishes, Angela,” she says in a quiet, genuine voice and of course Pam would know that proper etiquette says you don’t tell the bride congratulations. Angela looks at her for a long, still moment before finally answering her.

“Thank you, Pam,” she says. And she means it.

iv. Touch

The parking lot is clearing out fast and Angela is suddenly grateful that she isn’t in charge of cleaning all this up. A glimmer of satisfying triumph over Phyllis teases her heart. Andy’s parents have left for the hotel, promising to see them tomorrow at dinner and to hear all about Angela, about whom Andy apparently speaks of constantly. Angela realizes she has mentioned Andy to her parents only a handful of times and feels slightly guilty.

She is putting a pile of dirty napkins in an overflowing garbage can when she hears Andy speak excitedly behind her.

“Dwight! Where have you been? Can you believe it? I’m an engaged man!” Angela turns slowly, wishing more than anything that this moment isn’t actually happening. But there’s Andy, beaming and pumping Dwight’s hand in an enthusiastic handshake. Dwight isn’t looking at Andy. He is staring at Angela with an expression she has to look away from instantly. To Andy, he probably looks like the same, emotionless Dwight everyone is used to seeing on a daily basis. To Angela, he looks absolutely destroyed.

Andy follows Dwight’s gaze and positively glows at Angela. He motions for her to join them across the parking lot, amongst the trash and the broken-down tables. She walks slowly, prolonging the inevitable, and scowls at the horrible Vance Refrigeration delivery men currently tackling one another in the moon bounce. Finally, she reaches Andy’s side and he puts his arm around her instantly.

“Dwight, allow me to introduce you to the future Mrs. Andrew Bernard,” he says, squeezing Angela ever so slightly with heartbreaking obliviousness. Angela forces herself to look up into Dwight’s face and, for the first time this evening, she feels a lump in her throat.

The corners of his mouth are down-turned, despite his clear efforts to get them to lift. His eyes look empty and hollow. He’s white as a sheet. But, somehow, he smiles a strange smile at her and sticks his hand out towards her.

“It’s nice to make your acquaintance,” he says. His voice is thick with something she can’t imagine to be tears. She has seen Dwight Schrute do a great many things but she has never seen him cry. She lifts the hand hanging limply at her side and grasps his for the offered handshake.

It is the first time they have touched in months. He squeezes her hand gently as he shakes it. He has a good handshake. A salesman’s handshake. For some odd reason, this thought makes her terribly and inexplicably sad. He stares down at her, clenching his jaw, and she can see now that his eyes are shining with tears. She thinks of Pam earlier and drops his hand quickly. She bows her head and nearly shakes with relief when Andy pulls his arm off of her shoulders.

“We have to get going soon. Busy day tomorrow!” Andy says in a silly voice she doesn’t understand. She continues to stare harshly at the ground, willing herself not to cry until she is away from all of this. God should be the only witness to your tears. She imagines that Dwight is nodding, hardening his face, shaking Andy’s hand in congratulations. She glances up to see that he is doing just that. He catches her eye a final time.

“I wish you all the happiness in the world,” he says, still shaking Andy’s hand. And with that, the moment unravels and is gone. He is pulling his hand away from Andy and saying he needs to finish something up in the office. He is walking away from them and not looking back as Andy gathers a plate of leftover ribs and leads her towards his car, parked neatly beside hers.

“Are you going to come over to my place tonight?” he asks her. There is no leering suggestion in the remark and she feels like a horrible, horrible person. She shakes her head.

“I have to feed my cats,” she reminds him.

“Oh. Right. Well, when will I see you tomorrow?” he asks, opening the driver side door and leaning partially into his car to deposit the ribs on the passenger seat.

“I’ll call you tomorrow morning. At 10?” she suggests. He agrees instantly and leans down to press a soft kiss to her cheek. She lets him. He looks at her for several long seconds before climbing into his car. He lets the door hang open as he stares up at her with a simple smile sitting on his face.

“I’m really happy, Angela,” he says. Her hand flies up to clutch at her crucifix as he closes the door, starts his car and pulls away from her, waving happily before he disappears into the night.

She stands there for what feels like a very long time. She leans against her own car and watches as Phyllis and a few others struggle with the beginnings of a nightmare of a cleanup. She looks down at her hand and examines the ring now perched on a finger that had lain bare for so long. She is an engaged woman. She is going to marry Andy Bernard.

It doesn’t feel real. How has she gone from a ride in a Ferris wheel to this? How has she gone from an ABBA song to this? This entire year doesn’t feel real. She has been going through the motions as if she were in some sort of play. Her anger and sadness and disappointment after the death of Sprinkles has dissipated at some point and she just became Andy’s girlfriend and Dwight’s co-worker and everyone always acts like that’s how it’s always been.

But they don’t know the whole story. Only she and Dwight know every detail. It is odd to think about the years they had spent in secret. He hadn’t cared if the office knew. She had begged him to keep it private. She wanted to protect it; protect them. And they had. No matter how it had ended, she can look back on their time together as some sort of wonderful secret. Every aspect of her relationship with Dwight felt real. They had laughed and loved and fought and made love and done everything that couples do and they had done it in their own special way. It hadn’t been perfect, but it had been close enough to look like perfect if you didn’t stare for too long.

She sighs and looks up at the night sky. God, please help me find the answer, she finds herself praying. But as she looks back down at the pretty ring on her finger she realizes she already has the answer. She pulls the ring off her finger, flexing the newly naked digit, and puts the ring in her purse. She feels truly awful for Andy, knowing that she is going to hurt him. He is, despite the many mistakes he has made, a good man. But she knows it would be even worse to go through with a lie of a marriage.

She turns towards the office building, takes a deep breath, and starts walking.

v. Taste

The office is almost completely darkened when she opens the main door. There is a small light on near Pam’s desk but other than that, the only illumination in the room is coming from Dwight’s computer monitor. She enters slowly and watches as he stares down at his desktop, propping his head up on one hand and looking absolutely miserable. The room is so quiet she can hear the air conditioning.

As soon as she rounds the corner fully, Dwight sits up straight in shock. He looks utterly confused to be seeing her. She feels odd and out of place and finds that the only thing she can do is fiddle with the straps of her purse and stare at him dumbly. Finally, he manages to speak.

“Angela? What are you doing up here?” He is still sitting behind his desk and Angela can suddenly see what he has been staring down at. His Bobble-head doll. Her heart floods with emotion for him. She looks back up into his face and sees that his eyes are red and swollen. She nearly gasps. She had made him cry.

“I—“ She doesn’t really know what to say. Something had just told her that coming up here was the right decision. Just like she had known that getting married to Andy would be the wrong decision. Not when she still felt like this. Not when she’d always feel like this.

She sets her purse down in the chair outside Michael’s office and lets her hands hang uselessly at her sides for a moment, before pulling them up to cross in front of her chest. She has always been a woman who hates feeling uncomfortable and unsure of herself.

“What?” he prompts her. His voice is sort of gentle and sort of hard all at once but he is standing up and walking towards her. And then he is standing right in front of her and, just like always, it is just the two of them. With Andy there is always an audience—dozens of people looking at her like a fish in a bowl. With Dwight it is always just her and him and whatever they choose to make of a moment.

She looks him full in the face and lets him see that tears are swimming in her own eyes. He pulls back slightly in surprise. He has seen her cry before but it was always so rare that every time felt like the first time.

“I’m sorry,” she says at length. Her voice sounds small and fragile and Angela Martin has perhaps never felt more human than she does in this instant. The fact that she is apologizing is a small miracle and she thanks God for allowing this to happen. If she is going to apologize to anyone, it is going to be this irrepressible man. And then Dwight’s hands are coming up to rest on her arms and he looks so serious.

“What are you sorry for?” he asks. She doesn’t know whether he means that she has nothing to be sorry for or that she has multiple things worth apologizing about.

“I’m sorry I said yes. I didn’t really mean it but everything with us was just…broken. And Andy wasn’t broken and I just…” She doesn’t sound like herself. She is so used to knowing exactly how she feels and exactly what she wants. She is used to having utter control over her emotions and this just feels like a mess. A horrible, rotten mess that they have made for themselves. This night has been the most confusing she has ever lived.

“I understand why you said yes, Angela. We’ve…we haven’t been together for months. I hurt you very deeply. You should be happy,” he says and his voice sounds dry but honest. She looks up at him then and she knows. That’s what it is about him. No matter what he wants for himself, Dwight always, always, always wants her to be happy. That was why he had euthanized Sprinkles. That was why he had stood by and let her date Andy. That was why he had done so many stupid, small things for her that she couldn’t even count them all.

And then she is kissing him. It takes them both by surprise and a gasp of hot air passes between them. She’s missed this: touching him, tasting him, being with him in these special, private moments with only God knowing. Judging from his reaction, he has missed her too. He’s kissing her sloppy and happy and sad and confused and she’s spinning, spinning, spinning but this time she doesn’t feel nauseous. She feels exhilarated. Suddenly, he stops her.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice catching on a million emotions. She trails her hands across his chest, enjoying the sense memories evoked with such a simple gesture.

“You hurt me. I healed. And if you want me to be happy…you make me happy,” she says. He looks down at her hard and serious and so, so thoughtful.

“What about Andy?” The question seems to be ripped from him against his will.

“He’s…no Dwight Schrute,” she says honestly and a tiny smile crooks his mouth.

“Angela, infidelity is a sin,” he says, and she gulps. She stares up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. His computer monitor suddenly hibernates and his face becomes a shadow before her. Finally, she whispers her answer into the air.

“How can love be a sin?”

A sound escapes him. It sounds something like a sob and he pulls her to him. And all she can see and hear and smell and feel and taste is him.

// fin.