---

It’s still hard for me to watch the documentary these days, but not for the reasons most people think. People think it’s because of Jim, because our relationship ended fairly suddenly (to them) and unexpectedly (to everyone) and they think that seeing Jim onscreen fills me with regret and loss, longing and sadness. And I suppose maybe they are partly right. I mean, how could I look at him, look at how much he loved me all along, and not feel somehow … like an idiot? But that’s not really why I don’t watch. Mostly I turn off the TV when I happen across a rerun on cable because it’s painfully obvious to me now that I was always trying so hard to be sure of something. My attempts at certainty – about anything – were so full of effort, like a five year old trying to tie a shoe, tongue out, concentration focused. It’s literally painful to see how transparent I was, how I hadn’t really fooled anyone, even myself. And even when I was as sure as I could be, even when I convinced myself that I was completely happy and felt confident in my decisions, I somehow always managed to disprove myself. Pretty much every time. And that repeated changing of mind, that constant insecurity, is humiliating, whether it’s only you that realizes it or whether thousands of others witness it as well. Of course, when thousands of others witness it, it’s that much worse.

People do it all the time, I know. Have one very sure and resolute view on something only to switch their opinion, either gradually or suddenly. Sometimes it’s religion – someone can be enthusiastically evangelical or boredly agnostic – but then something in them shifts and they no longer are as fervent or as indifferent as they once were, and they are as surprised as anyone at the shift. Maybe it’s politics or friendships or parenting. Sometimes these shifts in opinion happen within one conversation, when a skillful debater convinces you that you’re wrong, that you haven’t thought it through, or maybe it happens over years and years, like a constant drip that eventually leaves a dent in a rock. Either way, changing your mind is not unusual. It’s not a sin. Some might argue it’s a sign that you’re open minded. Flexible. But to me, it felt like a weakness in my character. That not being decisive or sure or convincing somehow made me fickle and ridiculous.

So when I see the footage – whether it’s of me and Roy, so clearly wrong for each other, or of me and Jim, happy and in love – I realize I was always so quick to convince myself (and others) of whatever I need to to make my decisions okay. When I watch Jim getting ready to propose to me, and then my disappointment that he didn’t, and then just months later my relief that he hadn’t, I mostly feel ashamed that I had been so very sure and then not sure at all, all within the span of a year. Really, within the span of a few months. After taking ten years to end a relationship with a guy much less suited to me than Jim, how did I somehow manage to let my relationship with Jim fall apart so quickly? How is that possible?

I try to recreate that year sometimes, trying to determine what exactly happened within me so that next time I’ll know. Hopefully next time I’ll know for sure what I want before I’ll attempt to morph my wants into the wants of someone else, before I drag someone else down that rabbit hole of doubt and insecurity with me. But that fear nags at me often: what if I’ll never be sure? What if nothing ever feels 100% right? What if, just like I left Roy for Jim, and just like I broke up with Jim for some other nebulous desire, I waffle again?

I hope that something is different in me now. Whereas before I had always been actively convincing myself, whether I realized it or not, now I am just … being. I am living and letting life kind of wash over me. I’m no longer so black and white, believing that either something is wrong or right, worthy of keeping or throwing away based on someone else’s opinion. Now I will sit with something and let it kind of sink in instead of a knee jerk reaction to cave in when doubt seeps through the cracks of my certainty. I’ll listen to a voice, a still sort of quiet voice that has probably been inside of me all along. The real Pam’s voice. The first time I recognized that voice as me, I nearly cried. I wanted to hug her and whisper in her ear, I’ve been waiting for you. Where have you been?

When I left for Pratt, though, that voice was just a tiny, laryngitis-tinged whisper. When I had been with Roy, it was pretty much gagged and silent, but even when I was with Jim it was quiet and timid, trying so hard to clear its throat and get my attention. I remember sitting in the conference room, talking about how “solid” things were with Jim and how I wouldn’t consider going to Pratt if they weren’t, and I think that almost-mute Pam was raising her eyebrows at me, looking confused. You wouldn’t? she seemed to ask. Isn’t this what you want? Isn’t this what you wanted long before you ever even met Jim? But I drowned out the tiny little voice with my cheerful talk of things finally being perfect. Yes, I actually cockily used the word ‘perfect’ and shushed that voice with a Not now. I’m happy. And so she shrugged again and zipped up her lip, chastened.

A few months later, when I was half dreading returning to Scranton, trying to act like I missed it, that voice was saying, See? I told you.

That first day in New York, I had been equal parts terrified of Jim leaving and Jim staying. What would happen when he wasn’t there to overrule my doubts, to give me the boosts of self-confidence that I seemed incapable of giving myself? Who would I be without him telling me that I’m smart and funny and pretty? Would I still be those things? But if he stayed, if I had the ring on my finger that just weeks before I was so convinced that I wanted, I knew myself well enough to know that I would start compromising what I wanted for what he wanted. Thai when I really wanted pizza. Taking a cab when I wanted to walk. Seeing a movie when I wanted to paint. Jim was so much better at letting me make decisions than Roy was, but when I knew that he wanted something different, I would quickly convince myself that it’s what I wanted too. And for the first time in my life, in New York City, I wanted to allow myself to simply want what I wanted. So when he had made love to me and kissed me and left without complaint, I loved him more than ever for not staying. I loved him for letting me grow.

I made friends immediately, which was so unusual for me. I had gone so long without any friends besides Jim that I thought maybe I was incapable of being close to anyone without a secret crush involved. But I did make friends. Guy friends AND women – younger women who looked up to me and took me under their wings at the same time, like I was some slightly older but more naïve cousin from Nebraska, someone they wanted to give a makeover. They asked lots of questions about “the tall, kinda’ hot guy” they saw me with on weekends and when I told them he was my boyfriend, boyfriend felt like the right word. All those years with Roy I’d found pleasure in saying “my fiancé,” trying to feel more grown up and more confident than I was. But in New York, among my new younger friends, “boyfriend” was a word they understood, a word that made me feel less old. Fiancé would have been foreign to them, a futuristic term they wouldn’t have to think about for years, like “adjustable rate mortgage.” Or maybe it just would have seemed old-fashioned, like a grandparent using the words “dungarees” or “slacks”. Anyway, boyfriend felt right, and I was actually sort of grateful to Jim for realizing before I did that waiting was the right decision.

When my friends met Jim, they liked him, as everyone does. But when they pushed a little, as college-aged kids tend to do, asking about his passions and interests, they seemed amused but slightly unimpressed by his jokes and his attempts to change the subject. I was used to it – his slippery avoidance of subjects that made him feel uncomfortable. The way he could slide right under a pointed question and deflect attention. But to twenty-three year olds, an almost thirty year old without a dream seemed a little pathetic. Maybe a paper salesman who had been in love with the same woman for six years seemed more pitiful than romantic to them. I was quick to rush to Jim’s defense, as I often had done with Roy. Jim was more than what he seemed on paper, I told them. He wasn’t just a floppy-haired 28-year-old paper salesman who played pranks. I wanted my new friends to see that, to understand that. But I was realizing that Jim kept a lot from me – a lot of who he was, what he liked, what he thought. It sometimes seemed like his salesman persona carried over into our relationship and whenever I got too close to discovering something he might consider a “product deficiency”, if you will, Jim would find a way to change the subject and make the sale.

I had always felt like Jim was better than me, for some reason. He was smarter, funnier, more educated, had dated more, made more money. I had always fought with my own self-doubt when it came to him. It’s why I never called him after I canceled my wedding. It’s why I ignored any sign of interest that whole time he was with Karen. But in New York I realized I was worthy of him. I was a brave woman following her dream. I was no less than him – no more, either, but certainly no less.

By July, New York felt more like home to me than Scranton ever had. In Scranton I had always been labeled and defined, relegated to a less desirable non-cheerleader subgroup of society. The plain, quiet, artistic kind. But in New York, those weren’t necessarily better or worse qualities than being outgoing, eccentric, right-brained. There were so many subgroups intersecting all over the place that my old labels didn’t quite seem to fit anymore. And I liked that, not being labeled.

I worked so hard at Pratt. I was often overwhelmed and filled with doubt and sometimes just wanted to go back to answering phones at Dunder Mifflin because at least that was something that I knew I could do, something I could do well. Jim tried to talk me through it over the phone, encouraging me and telling me I was good enough, but I don’t think I believed him. He was the guy who fell in love with a receptionist. He believed in me, but what did he really know about art? Of course he thought I was good enough. He loved me and, because of that, he was incapable of objectivity. Sometimes when he’d encourage me, I found myself grateful that we were on the phone and not face to face so he wouldn’t see me roll my eyes. He was smarter and more cultured than Roy, but often his encouragement reminded me of Roy’s “Your art is the prettiest art of all the art.” Jim loved me, but his praise lost its power in New York, diluted by the city, watered down by the thousands of artists within walking distance from my dormitory. What did a paper salesman in Scranton know about artistic talent? I loved him, but sometimes I wanted him to just listen to me complain and not tell me I was good enough. Maybe I wished he didn’t love me so much so he could be honest, so he could see, objectively, if I truly was good enough or not.

I always looked forward to Jim’s visits, but eventually they felt a little like trying on a once-favorite pair of jeans, a pair that now seemed too tight and slightly out of style. The things Jim and I had always bonded over, the things we had always talked about, were now so far away. Dwight, Michael, the office, Scranton, it all felt like a lifetime ago. And Jim certainly tried to talk to me about my new life, but he was only there every week or so for two days, and when we were together we didn’t spend a lot of time with my new friends. He didn’t come to class with me, he didn’t meet my professors. The life I was living was completely separate from him, now. And a part of me wanted him in that part of my life, and a part of me wanted it to be my own. I liked having something that I didn’t have to bounce off him, waiting anxiously for his approval. Not because he needed to give his nod, like Roy did, but because I so badly needed someone else to confirm that what I was doing was the right thing. My inner Pam voice told me that I needed to figure that out for myself.

So I tried.

---

---

One time during that first year Jim and I were together, I was standing in line at a Wendy’s waiting to order my Frosty or 99-cent Junior Cheeseburger or whatever and a lady caught my eye and smiled at me in the way that told me I’d been recognized. She immediately let someone cut in front of her so we’d be next to each other and then she leaned close to me, like we really knew each other as opposed to her just recognizing me from TV.

She said, in an awe-filled whisper, “You’re so lucky.” And I knew immediately what was coming.

“Most people never find their soulmates,” she breathed, her tone full of envy and wistfulness.

I nodded and smiled. “Yeah…”

She went on to tell me how fortunate Jim and I were to have found each other, that true love finds a way, that things that are meant to be just work themselves out. And at the time, I believed her. I was lucky. Jim was my soulmate. We were blessed.

But eventually I started to wonder what people meant by soulmate. Jim and I had a connection, sure. We had a similar sense of humor, some common interests, a strong attraction. But soulmates? What did that mean, exactly? That we were perfect for each other? That we were like two unique puzzle pieces that would only fit with each other, that there wasn’t one other person in the whole world that was a better match?

It was a lot of pressure, I’ll admit. Jim and I loved each other, and we got along a lot more than we fought. But we still fought. We understood each other most of the time, but sometimes we just … didn’t. We knew each other as much as each of us would allow, but there were still dark, mysterious places that neither of us let the other visit. We had good, often passionate, sex, but it wasn’t perfect. Sometimes he tried too hard when all the trying in the world wouldn’t matter, and sometimes I just didn’t try hard enough.

Often I felt like I failed to live up to his expectations and sometimes he failed to live up to mine. Sometimes – yes, I’ll say it – sometimes Jim could act like Roy. He wasn’t flawless, despite what thousands of swooning fangirls probably thought. He could be selfish and petty and he could hurt my feelings on purpose. Do soulmates do that kind of stuff?

Sometimes a shadow would slide across his expression and I knew he was thinking about our past, about the hurt I had doled out to him in fairly equal servings for those first years of our friendship. I felt so guilty about that – about my fear and my cowardice and my dishonesty. And I felt a little resentful that, on top of my own self doubt and lingering past guilt, he couldn’t seem to forgive me completely. Hadn’t I proven to him that I loved him enough? Hadn’t I made up for my mistakes?

Of course, I had my own share of grudges towards him. He had had four years to tell me how he felt and he waited until a month before my wedding? And then left, almost immediately afterward? And then when he came back, he brought his new girlfriend (his pretty, exotic, brave new girlfriend) to rub in my face?

Yeah, there were plenty of hurt feelings to go around in our relationship. But instead of talking about them, of learning from our past, we tiptoed around those heavy issues like they were sleeping giants. We tried to make up for lost time with apologetic kisses and tangling our bodies together, trying to press reassurance into each other. But the past was still there, just sleeping. Waiting.

Do soulmates do that? Do they avoid the truth to keep peace? Do they hold on to hurt instead of flushing it out?

Or were we just people, trying to make a relationship work? That explanation seems more palatable to me, now. Because if I failed at a relationship with my soulmate, what hope do I have for the future?

~*~

New York was terrifying. And exciting. And … terrifying. Every day there was a part of me that just wanted to pack up and abandon my tiny subletted studio apartment and run back to Scranton. But there was a just slightly bigger part of me that wanted to stay and just … see what was going to happen. I tried Indian food for the first time. One day I found my way from Brooklyn to Queens to Manhattan to Greenwich Village without asking for help one single time. I went to a movie alone, ate out at a restaurant (a REAL restaurant, not fast food) alone, took the Subway alone. I felt like freaking Lewis and Clark – an explorer. An adventurer. And New York wasn’t the topography I was truly exploring. I was learning who I was and who I wanted to be. I was feeling out the rivers and valleys of myself, wondering where they led, what was on the other side of that hill, where I might find an oasis. Something in me was shifting and I don’t know how else to describe it other than to say… I was mapping my soul. For the first time ever.

From the moment Jim and I started dating, I knew what my life with Jim would be like. It would be happy. We’d be happy, overall. We’d get married and have kids and live either in Scranton or some similar city or its suburbs. We’d do the things that nice, suburban couples do: barbecues, family gatherings, soccer games. We’d have fairly frequent sex and we’d grow old and be content. And that was fine. It was the kind of life I had had with Roy, for the most part. Jim and I were better together, of course, than Roy and I and I knew that could make all the difference in the world. But the life itself – the role as a wife and mother and classroom mom and chauffeur – was pretty much the same and I could imagine, already, what it would be like.

But my life in New York was unlike anything I had ever imagined.

I had sort of made peace with missing out on my 20s. I had never gone away to college, never (besides the one year between Roy and Jim) lived truly on my own, never lived in a big city, never partied too hard or had a one-night stand. I was okay with missing out on those things because I convinced myself that those things weren’t me, anyway. I wasn’t that kind of girl.

But what about the kind of girl who wore vintage, slightly dorky t-shirts and spent a sunny Saturday afternoon doing nothing but sitting on a park bench sketching the changing shadows of skyscrapers across the grass? What about a girl who could eat a different ethnic food every night for two weeks, all from restaurants within walking distance of her apartment? What about a girl who could be invisible in a crowd but never feel completely lonely because of the vibration of peoples’ dreams and stories and lives around her? What about a girl who could do what she wanted and be who she wanted without ever having to ask permission or apologize or worry?

Living in New York gave me glimpses of that sort of life, of the sort of youth I’d missed when I had wrapped my life up in a beefy boyfriend named Roy. And even when I was with Jim, I realized I was still wrapping my life up in someone else … but he was just leaner with floppier hair. I didn’t know how to be Pam. I didn’t know who I was without a “him” to define me.

But I knew that I should.

---

---

In August, my friend Samantha and I were sitting in our favorite coffee shop, sharing a scone and laughing about one of our professor’s awful combover.

“He just wraps it around his whole head.” Samantha mimed coiling hair on top of her head, almost spilling her coffee as she gestured.

“Like a hair turban,” I gasped between laughing fits.

We giggled – yes, giggled – and I felt young and funny and free.

“So. What are you going to do after this?” she asked when our laughter died down.

“Hmmm?” I looked up, thinking she was talking about what I was doing later, after coffee. “I’ll probably go to the computer lab and work on that stupid ….”

“No, I mean after the program. Are you going back to Scranton? Are you gonna look for a new job?”

“Oh!” I felt my palms get damp while the scone in my mouth suddenly felt incredibly dry. My feeling of youth scattered like the crumbs I brushed off the table into my palm. “Um, yeah.” I swallowed and took a stalling sip from my mug. “I mean, yeah, Jim’s there. So I’ll probably look for a new job in Scranton.”

The Pam voice inside me cleared her throat, mumbled out a really?. It was getting harder and harder to shut her up lately.

Samantha nodded and sipped her coffee. “It’s nice in Scranton? You like it there?”

Before I could stop her, inner Pam blurted out, “Not really.” Not only could I no longer shut up inner Pam, but apparently she was now speaking out loud for me, too.

Samantha looked surprised.

“I mean, Scranton is … fine. It’s … whatever. But that’s where Jim’s is, so….”

“You don’t think he’d move?”

I didn’t answer right away, though I knew he’d move. He’d probably do whatever I asked him to do without complaint. He’d already come back to Scranton once for me. Twice, actually. He’d given up a job in New York for me. Of course he’d leave Scranton to follow me wherever I wanted to go. And that was good, right? The fact that he loved me that much was good.

Right?

“He’d move,” I answered, trying to sound proud rather than put out that my boyfriend would follow me wherever I went.

“Then you guys should move to New York! Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

I nodded, trying to picture Jim in New York. I’d always thought Jim was a little more cool than me back in Scranton – his music, his friends, his taste in beer. But in New York he seemed a little overwhelmed. Big fish, little pond concept, I guess. On his visits he seemed to enjoy it, liked trying new food and seeing new places. But kind of like a tourist enjoys it: curious but not comfortable. Glad he was visiting, not living in such a noisy, chaotic place. But for me, if he thought it would make me happy, he’d probably move.

And for the first time since I’d gotten to New York, I felt sort of claustrophobic. I didn’t want that kind of pressure anymore, the pressure of making someone happy, the pressure of someone needing ME to be happy.

~*~

Time seemed to be going by so fast. Instead of it dragging between visits from Jim, it sort of flew by. I was still glad to see him, still excited to be together again, but every visit marked another week closer to the end of my time in New York. I was no longer crossing off the days in anticipation, but more with a slight sense of … not dread, no … but melancholy. I wanted to be with Jim, I did. But I also wanted this life for a little while longer. I was frustrated that it took being with Jim to build up my confidence enough to go to Pratt in the first place, but if I had gone sooner, I would have been less in a hurry to get back to Scranton.

One day, not too long after my conversation with Samantha, a guy flirted with me after class. Just a guy—I think his name was Brad—no one I was interested in, of course. I truly wasn’t interested in anyone but Jim. But I think it was the first time anyone had flirted with me since Jim. Hell, he was probably only the third guy to EVER flirt with me (if you didn’t count Michael, Kevin, and Todd Packer, I definitely didn’t count them as guys. They barely counted as people, sometimes.) Anyway, Brad flirted with me, said he liked my t-shirt. It was a black t-shirt with white garden gnomes on it and it said “Chillin’ with my gnomies” – something I never would have worn in Scranton because it just seemed too gangsta for me. But here, in New York, with my art school friends … I was cooler. I could pull it off. So he complimented my shirt, and we laughed a little bit, and then he asked me out for coffee and I froze. I literally froze and felt unfaithful just for him asking. I got red and flustered and told him I couldn’t, spat out awkwardly that I had a boyfriend. But he just shrugged and smiled and said, “Oh. Well, that’s too bad.” And even though I didn’t really want to go out with him, even though I was entirely happy with Jim, I was a little bummed that my dating days were over before they had really begun. I went from Roy to Jim with barely a breath in between (if you don’t count Mr. Freedom Fries … and I definitely don’t count him). I was almost 30, and I’d never really dated. And it made me a little sad.

That weekend I wore a little Victoria’s Secret number for Jim, all see through black lace. He seemed to really like it, but there was a moment when I was on top of him, when his hands were resting lightly on my hips instead of grabbing them tightly like I kind of wanted him to do, that he looked up at me and asked, “Who are you?” He sounded kind of awed and maybe even a little freaked out, and I felt powerful but also sort of … resentful. Resentful he didn’t see me like that – all black-lace-sexy, the girl who gets what she wants. I wondered if a guy who hadn’t known me while I was with Roy would see me like that.

---

---

I finished my courses at Pratt and said goodbye to my new friends. I tried to hide my secret sadness with a bright smile. I missed Jim. I missed home. But knew I’d miss my New York life, too. So when Jim drove me back to Scranton, I tried to be cheerful and chatty while I discretely wiped away the couple of tears that snuck out. I don’t think he noticed.

I didn’t want to be confused any more. I didn’t want to NOT know what I wanted anymore. I hated that indecisive, unsure part of myself and damn it, I was ready to move on and make some decisions.

But even still, I wasn’t quite ready for Jim to propose yet, and every time we were alone together, every time he gave me a certain look, I held my breath hoping he wouldn’t ask. Not yet. I would have said yes if he did ask, of course, but I just needed a little time to figure out my life. I wanted to quit being a receptionist at Dunder Mifflin. I wanted to take myself and my career seriously. I didn’t just want to be someone’s fiancée and get caught up in planning a wedding. Again.

So instead of getting engaged we moved in together and neither of us brought up my earlier comment about wanting to be married first. I don’t know exactly what I had been doing when I said that to Jim. Hinting? Baiting? Fishing? Was I really so unsure of our status that I needed him to propose for me to feel secure? Had I really been that girl … the one who pressures her boyfriend into proposing? I felt ashamed of that whole conversation, now. I obviously didn’t believe that people needed to be engaged or married to live together – I lived with for awhile Roy when we were neither. I hated that I dropped a heavy handed hint instead of just telling him what I wanted. And even what I wanted seemed to change from moment to moment.

But I shouldn’t have worried so much because Jim didn’t ask. I wasn’t sure why he wasn’t asking and at first I was relieved enough that I didn’t care. But eventually, if you can believe it, I started feeling a little resentful. Even though I wasn’t quite ready for the ring on my finger, I was kind of annoyed that he didn’t seem to want to put it there anymore. At the time, I thought maybe it was because he was trying so hard NOT to be Roy.

Our whole relationship – from the moment we met – Jim prided himself in being the anti-Roy. When Roy was overbearing and bossy, Jim deferred to my preferences. When Roy was thoughtless and insensitive, Jim always knew the right thing to say. But sometimes, sometimes Jim seemed to ignore his own instinct, seemed to stifle his true nature just so he wouldn’t be anything like Roy. And not very often but once in awhile, I missed Roy telling me what to do. Roy would have said, “If you want to quit your job, Pammy, just fucking quit and stop whining about it.” But Jim said stuff like, “Well, what do you want to do? I’ll support you no matter what choice you make.” You wouldn’t think supportiveness could be so infuriating.

So time passed and things went on and I did get a new job, which I loved. I thought that would fix everything – that my new job would fill the hole I was feeling lately and things with Jim would straighten out nicely. But it didn't, really. It actually seemed like Jim was changing, too.

One time, Jim watched me get ready for work. I slipped on a clingy gray v-neck sweater over a black bra. I wore a slim black pencil skirt and knee-high boots, and pulled my hair back into a messy bun. I put on my make up – I was still new at it, but my friends had given me lessons, and I kind of liked practicing. It was like painting, in a way. I liked feeling pretty, confident, a little bit sexy, even.

“You dress different for work now.”

“What do you mean?” I was trying to get my mascara on without blinking. It took every ounce of concentration I had.

“I don’t know. You put in a lot of effort for this job.”

“Yeah.” I switched eyes. “I didn’t care about being taken seriously as a receptionist, I guess.”

Jim was quiet for a moment and I finally stopped putting on my make up to look at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No. What? I saw you in Stamford, Jim. You dressed different there, too. You worked harder. You were trying.”

“Yeah.” His voice was flat. Maybe even a little pissy. “I was definitely trying.”

We didn’t talk much about the past, Jim and I. We had gotten together so quickly after he broke up with Karen and neither of us wanted to be the one to break the spell, so we had started dating and sleeping together, and moving forward. Neither of us knew how to go back and address our history without mucking up the waters. So whenever things came up, even now, I felt us both tense up.

“You know what I mean, Jim. You were trying to take your job seriously. You dressed the part. You made the effort.”

“So this is you making the effort.”

“Yeah,” I said, raising my chin up. “This is me.”

Our eyes met in the mirror and we stared for a minute until I blinked and then reached for my lipstick.

---

---

At some point I think I realized that Jim might never truly forgive me. I had broken his heart, almost married another guy, and then didn’t reach out to him for months. Five months. And even though we did eventually get together, I realized that he might never let go of that hurt.

Frankly, I was getting tired of trying to convince him. I loved him. Wasn’t that enough? Did it matter that it had taken me longer to realize that than it took him? I didn’t think that it should. He obviously did.

I did wonder sometimes… did he really love me as much as he thought he loved me? Or had I become some sort of prize he had finally won, some challenge he overcame? Some distraction from the other parts of his life? Did he love ME, the real Pam, the inner Pam, or did he love some rose-colored idea he had of me? Sometimes I wondered if he would wake up in a few years time and wonder why he had made such a fuss over me to begin with. I worried about what he’d do when he realized that Pamela Beesly was just a girl like any other. Nothing magical or perfect – just a flawed girl.

We lived day to day, going through the motions. We weren’t unhappy, exactly. We were in a holding pattern. Living inside our own heads far too much, not sharing what we were thinking or feeling. Just … waiting.

I knew things finally were over when I found the ring in his night stand. At first I thought he hadn’t asked me because he knew I wasn’t ready. But after that conversation, I realized that he hadn’t asked me because he wasn’t ready. And as hypocritical as it may sound, I was hurt that he wasn’t sure about marrying me. After all this time, all these years, now he was having second thoughts? I knew that if we weren’t ready by that point, we never would be.

Even in the end, I fought my feelings, I fought inner Pam. I asked him why we couldn’t just wait, continue on as we were, even though that’s not really what I wanted. What I really wanted was to go back in time and break up with Roy after the senior prom and go off to art school in New York. I wanted to have an exciting, successful career as an artist, to date at least a handful of different guys, and to be almost 30, with all those experiences behind me, ready to marry Jim and start a family. But I knew I couldn’t go back, couldn’t change who I had been, who I was, who I was becoming. I knew that things unfold as they should and that I was where I was supposed to be, with or without Jim.

So we broke up. TV show and fans be damned, we broke up and broke a million hearts, besides our own, in the process. The first weeks were tough. I floundered, I second guessed myself, I debated going back to Jim a hundred times a day. But each day I asked inner Pam what I should do, and she always answered, “Just wait.” So I waited. I went to work, I saw my friends, I lived my life.

After a few months I decided to make a big change and leave Scranton. The documentary had made it hard to live there, constantly a sort of celebrity, with everyone’s nose in your business. I had such happy memories of my time in New York and my friends there kept trying to lure me back, so I eventually took a job for a graphic designer who worked out of her beautiful apartment in Manhattan. She paid me fairly well because she had no overhead and didn’t offer benefits. She mentored me and needed me and trusted me in a way I had never been needed or trusted in my job before. Although I was just designing logos and advertisements, I felt like I was contributing. Like I was creating. I felt valuable.

I shared a tiny apartment with Samantha and shopped at thrift stores and dug into my wedding savings once in awhile when I was in a pinch. But I got by okay. I loved every minute of living with a female roommate, staying up late, feeling young, even going out dancing. I thought of Jim often, but not so much with longing as with a sense of relief. He was free now. I was free now. We could both live authentic lives. If we were meant to be together, that would happen some day. And if not, something else would happen. So I stopped constantly questioning if I had made the right decision. I no longer was filled with doubt.

And at some point, I actually started noticing other men, started thinking that maybe being with Jim had gotten me ready for the love of my life. Maybe I had gotten him ready for his.

---

---

A few weeks before Christmas, on what would have been Roy’s birthday, ironically, I was forced to face the music and see if all my self-help, fully actualized woman stuff was true and not just a load of crap.

I was at my little desk at work, designing a logo for a client. Designing logos was tough for me, trying to get to know the client well enough to capture the essence of their business in one little graphic, but I liked the challenge. It was a million times better than answering the phone and sending faxes. And this client – Ethan – well, he was special. A photographer, probably 33 or so, really cute. And funny. And passionate and talented. He was the first guy that I’d been remotely interested in since Jim. I got a little fluttery and excited just thinking about his dark curls, his broad shoulders, his surprisingly light blue eyes.

I would have never thought a guy like Ethan would be interested in me, but it seemed that he was. I would have never thought a guy like Jim would have been interested in me, and yet he had been, too. I was slowly learning not to underestimate myself just because I wasn’t the prettiest, sexiest, most confident woman in the room. I was funny, and warm, and thoughtful, and I was learning to embrace even the more flawed parts of myself, too.

And I had to admit -- the idea of being with a man who had never known me as a mousy receptionist was exciting. He’d been living in France for a few years and had never even seen the show, so if I wore my Victoria’s Secret outfit with him, I don’t think he’d make me feel like a stranger. Or a slut. He’d believe me to be the person I wanted to be – the person I was inside: confident, sexy, decisive Pam.

My email pinged and I was grateful for the interruption. Designing a logo for a hot client you wouldn’t mind seeing naked was tougher than you’d think. I switched screens to my email and I saw that Isabel had sent me a link to a celebrity blog website. Just above the link she had written:

I wasn’t sure if I should send you this, but I figure better you get it from a friend than see it without warning. I think you’ll be okay with it but … what do I know?

I sat for a moment, staring at the screen, wondering what it could be. I figured it had to do with Jim – why else would Isabel be nervous about sending it? I tried to imagine why Jim would be featured on a celebrity blog when neither of us were really celebrities anymore. So I took a deep breath and clicked on the link.

Up popped a picture of Jim holding hands with a girl. A woman, actually, I guess. She was tall and her silky blondish hair peeked out of a cute knit hat. Her long legs and smooth hair were enough to make me hate her on site, but on top of that, she was smiling up at Jim – a warm, genuine smile. She had sunglasses on, so it was hard for me to see much of her face, but she was clearly pretty, and she was clearly happy. Jim looked down at her just slightly – they were only a few inches different in height – with a similar smile. They looked sickeningly cute. They looked in love. And I felt sort of queasy.

It’s not like I didn’t expect Jim to meet anyone. Of course I knew he would. He was Jim – smart and funny and attractive. Of course he’d find someone else. But to see it for myself, the evidence of this new person? Well, it hurt my heart a little.

But then I sat there for a second, quietly, looking past my instant “Kelly” reaction and listened to inner Pam instead. And surprisingly, she was pretty fine with it. In fact, she was relieved. I hadn’t damaged Jim so badly after all. I guess I had always worried that maybe I had scarred him for life. He spent years quietly loving me, and then a couple years actually dating me, and I thought that maybe through all that I had wreaked havoc on his confidence and his relationship stamina. But here was evidence that he was recovered, or at least he was in the process.

His smile told me that he was definitely recovering. This wasn’t the kind of smile he had given Karen. This was the kind of smile he had given me.

Relief flooded over me. He was going to be fine. We both were going to be just fine. I looked at the photo again and read the caption: Jim Halpert, star of the surprise hit reality show The Office, appears to have found a new life – and love – after Dunder Mifflin. He was seen Saturday walking the streets of his new hometown, Philadelphia, with an unidentified woman.

I studied the photo. An unidentified woman. In Philly. Huh.

I was heading to Philly the next week for a graphic design conference and suddenly I was overwhelmed by the need to see him. To get some sort of closure so we both could move on. Or at least so that I could move on. Maybe with Ethan.

So this is how I found myself getting out of a cab in front of his apartment building on a cold December afternoon.

Someone came out of his building and held the door to his vestibule open for me – a woman, I think – but I was so nervous I barely even looked at her. I rang his bell and then heard his voice for the first time in 10 months.

“Change your mind?”

It stopped me in my tracks. How did he know it was me? Did he think I was coming to see him because I’d changed my mind and wanted to get back together? Oh, God. Maybe I had made a huge mistake by just showing up, unannounced. What if his new girlfriend was there? What if he wanted me back? What if he slammed the door in my face!

But then the door buzzed and I realized it was now or never – he already knew I was there. Might as well get on with it. So I pulled open the door and headed up the stairs. It wasn’t until I saw his face that I realized he hadn’t known it was me after all. He had been expecting someone else. Probably the tall, golden-haired mystery woman from the celebrity blog. Maybe the woman who had held the door for me, the woman I had been too nervous to notice, was the “unidentified woman”!

But even if he hadn’t been expecting me, he invited me in anyway. I looked around his apartment and deduced right away that things with the new woman must be fairly serious. A pair of cute women’s shoes sat on the floor by the front closet. His apartment smelled like cookies. And he had a Christmas tree decorated with ornaments that I was sure weren’t his.

~*~

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked. “Or … a Christmas cookie?”

I smiled. “I never knew you were such a baker.”

He shrugged a little self-consciously. He obviously hadn’t made those cookies alone.

“But, I’m good. Thanks.”

He gestured for me to sit down and I chose the couch we used to own together. We’d had sex on that couch, I realized too late. He’d probably had sex with his new girlfriend on it, too, and the thought was so surreal and yet intensely personal that I had to shake my head to dislodge it from my mind. Jim sat kitty corner from me on a chair that looked new. Perhaps I should have chosen the piece of furniture that didn’t have such a history.

We sat for a moment, awkwardly, and then both started talking at the same time.

“You look really good—" I said.

“How long are you in town—" he started.

We both stopped and laughed.

“Sorry.” He blushed a little. “Thanks. So do you.”

I smiled and nodded, accepting his compliment. “Just a few days.”

He nodded and waited for me to say something else. I took a deep breath.

“Um…” I shook my head. Still smooth, Beesly. All my months of growth and bravery and I still started my sentences with ‘um.’

I tried again. “Whew. I really thought I could do this.”

Jim tilted his head, still waiting. He could have made it easier for me, but he didn’t. Which was probably good. I needed to learn to do things even when they were hard.

Aaaaaand … that’s what she said.

“I thought there’d be more small talk or … just … that somehow I’d know what to say.”

“We can do small talk, if you want,” he offered with a small smile.

But I shook my head and smiled gratefully at his attempt. “No. It’s fine. I just … need to spit this out.”

I took another deep breath and held it for a moment before exhaling.

“I really just wanted to tell you that you were right. About me and just … about lots of things, I guess.”

“I was?”

“Remember at my art show, how Gil said that real art takes courage? And … honesty?”

Jim nodded, remembering. He hadn’t been there to hear it first hand, but he had seen the episode later. After.

“And then Oscar said that those weren’t my strong points?”

He nodded again, looking like he wanted to say more, but he didn’t.

“Well, it hurt me to hear that, but it was the truth.”

“Pam—"

“No. I mean, it’s okay. I have been sort of a coward my whole life. Kind of just … going through the motions, you know? With Roy, with my job, with my art. Even with you.”

I looked at him, and he looked away. I felt a surge of confidence that maybe, for once, I was braver than he was.

“That’s why I’m here. To try being brave and … honest, for a change.”

Jim looked scared. Petrified, actually. But it was too late to turn back, so I plowed ahead.

“I mean, I tried to be honest. That one time, at the beach. But everything came out wrong and not clear enough. With the cameras there and … Karen … I never said what I really needed to.”

I wiped my hands on my new jeans. Even though I was okay with Jim moving on, I had still felt the need to look good when I saw him, and I had bought a new pair of jeans for the occasion. “Even when we were together I never said what I really needed to.”

Jim was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his thighs, hands folded. Almost like he was praying.

“I’m sorry.” I blurted it out and he looked up, confused. I rolled my eyes at myself and tried to explain better. “You were so much better than Roy in so many ways. In just about every way, actually. I knew that, but for so long I stuck with him and hurt you.”

“Pam…we’ve been through this all before. It’s okay—"

“I know. But I need to say it. Out loud. Again.”

He looked at me for a moment and then nodded for me to go on.

“I don’t know why I did that, exactly, other than that I was just afraid to go after what I wanted. I was afraid of hurting the people that I loved.”

I stared at his Christmas tree – so pretty. It was real, I could smell the fresh pine scent. The ornaments were a little sparse and random, but it was warm and happy. I thought maybe I’d like his new girlfriend if I met her.

“When we were … together … I was still doing it. I loved New York. I mean, I missed you, but Jim… I really loved being there. And I felt like if I told you that, it would hurt you. So I didn’t, I acted like I couldn’t wait to get home. But the truth was, I wanted those experiences. I realized maybe I wasn’t ready to get married yet. But I knew you wanted to – you had been waiting so long for us to get to that point – so I couldn’t tell you that I wasn’t ready. So I didn’t. And every time I kept those little secrets, it pushed us apart. And it seemed like the gap just got too wide, you know?”

Jim nodded and looked down at his lap again.

“When we broke up I felt a little relieved. I mean, I missed you every day, but it was a relief to not be disappointing you all the time.”

“Pam. You didn’t disappoint me.”

I reached out and touched his leg. He looked up. “Yes. I did. We disappointed each other, I think.”

He put his hand on mine for just a second and squeezed my fingers. It felt like forgiveness. I squeezed back some of my own before letting go and sitting back on the couch again.

“So last week Isabel … um … emailed a picture of you with … well … with a woman.”

Jim looked surprised.

“A pretty woman.”

There was an awkward moment before I added, “A pretty tall woman.”

My attempt to lighten the mood worked, and he smiled a little.

“Emily,” he offered.

I nodded. Emily. “A teacher, I’d guess?” I gestured towards his Christmas tree.

He nodded.

“Before I saw that picture, I was so worried that I had permanently damaged you. That maybe we’d both had our chance at love and we’d totally blown it, and I just … I don’t know. I felt so guilty. But when I saw you and Emily in that picture, I realized that it’s possible to find something like we had, but without all the baggage. Someone you can start fresh with. You deserve someone right now who wants what you want. And I deserve to be able to live the life that I want without compromising.”

I wanted to ask if he loved her, but I realized that maybe even Fancy New Beesly wasn’t quite that mature, yet.

“I want you to be happy, Jim.”

“I know. I want you to be happy, too.”

“I know. And I am happy now. I’ll probably always feel a little like you’re the one that got away. Maybe you’ll feel that way about me a little, too. But we weren’t so good for each other all the time.”

We both sat quietly for a moment, but the silence felt comfortable. Clear. For maybe the first time since we’d met, there didn’t seem to be anything unsaid hanging between us.

“Pam. I’m sorry I pressured you, that I expected more from you than was fair—“

I reached across and put my hand on his again. God, his hands. I missed them. “No. You just wanted what you wanted. And I wanted what I wanted. And that’s okay.”

He stared at me for a minute before shaking his head. “Wow,” he said. “You are something else.”

I smiled and a part of me wondered where we’d be if I’d been this honest with him years ago. But that was neither here nor there. We were where we were now, and I had no regrets. Well, some regrets, but nothing I couldn’t live with.

I patted his hand and sighed. “I should probably go. But … I’m so glad I came here.”

He grabbed my hand and held it for a second, his thumb brushing against mine. “Me, too.”

We stood and he walked me to the door and we hugged. The hug lingered, but it wasn’t anything weird or sexual. He felt like a friend, an old friend that had been away far too long. I knew we’d never be able to go back to the kind of friends we’d been years ago – because that would be a lie. Even back then, that friendship was a bit of a lie because we both had wanted more. But I imagined there might be a day when Jim and I could meet up for coffee, where we could catch up and show each other pictures of our spouses, our kids, and be genuinely happy for each other. I hoped for that day.

~*~

When I got back to New York, it felt like an anvil had been removed from between my shoulder blades. I walked different. I talked different. I felt like a new woman.

Ethan noticed.

“Are you doing something different with your hair?” he asked me when we met to go over his logo options.

I touched my hair lightly. I suppose I had put a little more effort in that morning, for him, but nothing too unusual.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Huh,” he said, staring at me in a way that would have made me uncomfortable before, but now I just met his gaze and smiled. “You seem … lighter.”

He ended up choosing the logo that was my favorite, too, and then invited me to a new wine bar for drinks. We laughed easily together, talked about his photography and my painting, and when he hailed a cab for me and then leaned me against it and kissed me softly, I felt lighter.

His mouth was soft, warm, new. When he pulled away, I smiled – maybe too big of a smile because he looked at me funny.

“What?” His smile was hesitant, like he thought he had done something wrong.

I grabbed the front of his shirt in one hand and pulled him closer and kissed him again, a little longer than the first time. His body pressed against mine and I heard someone whistle as they walked past us. I was okay with that.

“Nothing,” I said when we separated. “Just … no one’s ever hailed a cab for me before. It’s so … New York.”

“Well,” he smiled and tucked my hair behind my ear, “This is New York, Pam.”

I released the front of his shirt and smoothed the fabric with my hand, feeling the swell of his chest under my palm.

He was right. This was New York Pam. And I liked her.

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