Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.




“Hi, I’m Jim Halpert,” I announce to the receptionist. Her nameplate says ‘Laura Erickson.' She’s thirtyish and petite, with short dark hair. “I’m here to meet with Mr. Harris?“

“Hi Mr. Halpert, I’m Laura.” Her eyes take note of the wet coat folded over my arm and my dripping, broken umbrella. I can’t get it to close right because a couple of the spines are broken. “Still raining?” she asks. Like there’s any doubt, but I know she’s just trying to be nice. I must look pretty nervous because…well...I am.

“Yeah, it’s pretty nasty out there.” It’s just above freezing and there’s a steady rain falling. The closest parking place I could find was four blocks away. I don’t mention that my socks are really wet.

“You can just have a seat there.” She motions to the three chairs along the opposite wall. “Mr. Harris will be with you in a few minutes.”

“Thanks.” I’m ready to turn and take a seat, when a man in a sport coat and khakis emerges from the office behind her with a big, smug smile plastered to his face. He’s maybe forty, barrel chested, and he walks like a guy who thinks he owns the place, but doesn’t. He winks and nods at Laura and states boldly, “Well, that went well." And then he makes a little clicking noise with his tongue. "Guess I’ll see you on Monday, Laura.” This guy makes Todd Packer seem subtle. He’s not through, either.

He looks me over. “So, dude, if you’re here for this job, you can just go on home and not waste your time.” He laughs at his own brilliant wit and then adds with a smirk, “And you need a new umbrella.”

My people skills may be a little rusty, but I can still recognize an asshole when I see one. As he struts by me, I motion toward the front of my pants. He frowns and looks back at me, and when I have his attention, I draw my hand up like I’m zipping my fly, and then motion toward him.

I thoroughly enjoy the panicked look on his face as he pulls his jacket closed and exits the lobby in a hurry. His fly wasn’t really open, of course, but that’s the most fun I’ve had all day. I could swear I hear Laura stifling a giggle behind me, but when I sit down in the fabric covered chair to face her, her head is buried seriously in her work.

While I wait, I try to psych myself up for the interview. I’m a good salesman and I’m determined to bring my ‘A’ game today. I’ve got a good feeling about this one because it’s something I think I would actually enjoy. Yup, I know I could sell the hell out of playground equipment. I want this job. I need this job. Badly. I’m tired of seeing the worry in Pam’s eyes all the time. This morning I hugged her as she balanced Daniel on her hip, and then I kissed her head and told her everything was going to be okay - that I would get this job one way or another. I swallow hard.

“Mr. Halpert?” Laura startles me from my thoughts.

“Yes?” I get up and go back to her desk, and I notice there’s a picture of a little boy beside her phone. He’s cute.

“Do you have any updates to your information that you want to add?”

“No, it’s all there.” I haven’t been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in the month since I applied for this job. Nope, nothing new with unemployed me.

“Okay, thanks. Not long now.” She knows I’m nervous.

I linger a bit, wave at the picture on her desk and ask, “Yours?” Her face beams with a big grin. “So that’s a ‘yes’?” I laugh. “We have a little boy, too. He’s twenty one months.”

“Randy’s three.” She’s a proud mom.

“Have you worked here long?” Never hurts to get a feel for the place.

“I used to work here full time before Randy was born, but right now I’m just filling in three months for Bonnie, the regular secretary. She’s on maternity leave – she’ll be back in two weeks. We’re expecting another baby in April.”

“That’s awesome, congratulations.” We want another child, too, but we can’t think about that right now.

“So,” I venture, “Is Mr. Harris a good guy to work for?”

“Yes, he’s a good man,” she assures me with an amused look. Of course she would say that, but it’s the delivery that is telling. Harris must be okay. Good to know. Just then the phone buzzes and she answers.’

“Mr. Harris will see you now.” I think she means it when she says, “Good luck.”

I walk into his office and Mr. Harris is sitting comfortably behind his big oak desk wearing a Playworld company polo and jeans. He rises from his leather chair to shake my hand. I concentrate on getting the firmness just right, and projecting an air of likeable competence. First impressions are important, just ask Charles Miner. I scan the room for talking points. One side of the room is lined with bookshelves holding various manuals, binders, and books, and a few pictures, mostly of family. There’s an autographed picture of an Eagles player, but I can’t see who it is. On the wall behind Harris, the outside window is surrounded by posters of playground equipment and plaques from youth team sponsorships. To my right, the large second floor picture window overlooks a ground floor indoor showroom of sample structures.

I wonder if I’m overdressed in my suit.

He‘s friendly, and that helps. We exchange pleasantries and then the questions start. Do I know anything about playground equipment? I’ve done my research, and I can talk the talk. I’ve also visited a competitor’s showroom – now that was a field trip that Daniel really enjoyed. I still have a lot to learn, I admit, but I emphasize that I’m a quick study. I finish by pointing out that with my own son approaching two, I’m going to have to learn this stuff soon anyway. He seems to like that answer. So far, so good.

We talk sales. We talk sports. (Yup, he’s an Eagles man.) We talk strollers. I think I’m still doing okay, and then…

“I see you’ve been out of work for six months, Jim. That been hard?”

My heart races and I will myself to sound calm. “Yes,’ I am honest, “It has been. But I’m looking for something permanent, you know, a good fit.” I don’t tell him that I’m desperate to find work and that we’re just a couple of months away from losing the house, and that I scare myself thinking about what I’d do to get this job.

Then we touch on expected income and his eyebrows rise when I mention what I’d like to earn. I add, maybe a little too fast, “ If you’ll notice from my resume and records, my client retention is excellent and my numbers show sales increases. I’m a hard worker and I will absolutely make your company money.”

He settles back in his chair noncommittally, quietly considering, and my palms start to sweat. Did I just give away my desperation?

A gust of wind causes the rain to lash hard against the back window and the noise distracts me while I wait for his response. The weather is getting worse and my wet feet are getting cold and it’s a long way back to where I parked. His voice pulls me back.

“Jim you might wonder why we’re hiring in December – not exactly our busiest season.” I can’t admit it hadn’t occurred to me at all, so I just nod. I do know that if I don’t get something this month, January and February are very unlikely to present any real opportunities. “Lost a good salesman – a good friend - to a heart attack back in October. Larry was only fifty eight and I miss him like crazy. He was quite the practical joker and he kept us all on our toes.” He pauses, remembering, and looks genuinely sad. “Anyway, the point is, we’re looking for someone for the long haul. This is a good job – Larry carried all the school and park accounts for us and that would be your priority here.”

“I’m sorry about your salesman,” I offer politely. “I can’t replace your friend, but I will absolutely exceed your expectations if you’ll give me a chance.” And then it just slips out, and I try to stop the words but they’ve already escaped my lips. “I have been known to pull a prank or two.”


He frowns and sits back, evaluating again, and I hope there’s no perspiration showing on my upper lip, but I’m not sure. When he speaks again, he sounds irritated. “No, no one can replace Larry.” Oh my God, why did I say that? Things had been going well. I want to turn and run out the door.

“Look, I’ll be honest with you Jim, I interviewed six people yesterday for this position, and I have a total of five today to see, including you. They’re all good candidates. Well, almost all.”

It takes me a second to recover from that gut punch. I think I keep my voice from shaking when I say, “I hope you’ll consider me, sir. I guarantee you that nobody will work harder than I will.” Oh my God that sounded lame, but Michael Scott said to always guarantee something.

And then he just dismisses me with a handshake and a nod, “Jim, thanks for coming in, especially in this weather. We’ll call if we need you.” I can see him already scanning his list for the name of the next person on the interview list as I walk out of his office, trying to control the urge to vomit. I’ve blown it.

I manage to thank Laura the receptionist on the way out, and she smiles at me and then says to the man standing in the lobby,” Mr. Stewart, please have a seat, Mr. Harris will see you in a few minutes.” Poor schmuck looks just as desperate as I did. As I am.

Jesus, what am I going to do now? I walk down the flight of steps to the first floor, and the movement helps me hold it together. I am stunned, because I’d actually talked myself into believing that I was going to get this job. I’m so stupid, really, what should I have expected? This is by far the best job I’ve gotten an interview for in the six months since Dunder Mifflin closed and, since I’ve managed to screw up a dozen interviews before this one, why should today be any different?

I give my broken umbrella a disgusted push, opening it to its half mast best. As I stand under the entry awning, I can hear rain mixed with a little ice peppering down on the metal above me. I wonder if it’s going to get bad on the roads. I hope they let Pam off early. I hate that she’s had to get a job as a receptionist again, but adding her salary and benefits to my unemployment is the only way we’ve managed to stay afloat so far. The pay isn’t great, but she gets health insurance and it covers Daniel’s shots and checkups and visits for earaches. My unemployment ran out three weeks ago and we don’t have any savings left. I pull my coat collar up as far as I can and head out into the wet under half an umbrella.

By the time I get to the car, my feet are completely soaked and the rest of me is damp. This is my only decent pair of dress shoes so I hope they’re not ruined.

I’d go get Daniel, but Pam’s mom is always disappointed if I pick him up early – she watches him on Thursdays. Rose, Pam’s friend, watches him on Tuesdays, and I watch Rose’s two year old girl on Mondays with Daniel. It’s good for them both to have a playmate, and that gives me Tuesday and Thursday to job hunt. I have Daniel by himself the other two days a week, Wednesday and Friday. That’s the only upside to this whole situation – I love being with him. I love really getting to know my son. So yeah, Wednesdays and Fridays? Those are my good days.

I guess I should go home and cook or do laundry or sleep even. Starting back in September, Steve (the vending machine guy) got me two night watchman shifts a week at his warehouse - eleven to seven on Saturday and Sunday nights. It helps with groceries and diapers and gas and I feel like I’m contributing a little, but it keeps my sleeping all messed up. To tell the truth, I never feel rested anymore. I try to get up with Daniel if he wakes up at night during the week, so Pam can get a good night’s sleep. She’s the one working, after all.

I start the car and I can barely see out. Rain and sleet are slushing together and sticking to the windows, obscuring my view. My wipers swish the ice away on the windshield, but a new crop of crystals immediately appears in their place. I turn the wipers on high.

I should go home, but I can’t handle an empty house right now so, despite the bad weather, I just drive. I drive by the mall and by the old Dunder Mifflin building. I think back to the end of April. Things had been going well, we thought. Pam’s sales were picking up, and we’d just splurged and used our spare cash to get the kitchen remodeled. Daniel was starting to talk. And then one day out of the blue, David Wallace walks into the office and announces that Dunder Mifflin has declared bankruptcy, and that it’s the target of an ongoing federal fraud investigation of some sort. We’re all out of jobs as of right then, including David. No severance, no nothing. Not a good day.

I keep driving. Probably by chance, I pass Pam and Roy’s old apartment. Roy’s married now, a kid on the way. We got a Christmas card this week. He’s got a job.

I drive by Poor Richard’s. I don’t stop. That’s not going to help and I know it.

The temperature must be dropping because there’s more sleet in the rain, and my wipers leave little piles of ice at the base of the windshield. I turn on the radio and catch that the temperature has dropped to 31 degrees.

Crap. It occurs to me that I need to get home and quit wasting gas – I’ve gone through at least a third of a tank. And what if I wreck the car? I’m an idiot. I turn to head for home and the car in front of me slides sideways on the ice. I take my foot off the accelerator and slow down, and luckily he manages to hold the road.

Christ, please don’t let me wreck the car, because our deductible is huge. Our health insurance deductible is huge. My life insurance policy is tiny. I creep home in the ice, hoping they let Pam out early. She’s supposed to pick up Daniel at her mom’s on her way home. She’s a careful driver, but I still worry.

Nobody’s home when I get there, and the house is dark. The ice is coming down heavily now. When I get inside I hang my tie and jacket up right away, hoping to avoid a dry cleaning fee. As I open the closet door to get a hanger, it squeaks. Pam has been complaining about that for a week, and I keep forgetting, so I head out to the garage to get the WD40 right now. Maybe I can do one useful thing today.

On my way outside, I see Daniel’s little blue walking car sitting out back in the sleet. I’m in my shirt sleeves, but I run out and grab it anyway – he’ll want it when he gets home later. The ice stings my face and now I’m really wet. I drag the car into the garage and flip on the light to look for the can of oil. I see Pam’s art stuff still sitting here. She's always too tired to draw now. Her sketch book is lying on the small table and I walk over and run my finger across it, drawing a line through the dust on the cover.

I ease down into the old stuffed chair, wipe the dust off the book with my damp sleeve, and start thumbing through it. The drawings she did while she was in New York – they’re really good. Pam finally took a chance. She loves drawing like this. She loved New York. And then – then I proposed.

I wonder if I should move all of her stuff out of the way so she can pull the Yaris in here tonight. I can’t bring myself to do it – shove Pam’s dreams over to the side of the garage in a pile? A sudden burst of anger hits me, and I bring my fist down hard against the overstuffed arm of the old brown chair. The thud echoes and a tiny cloud of dust rises and quickly disappears. Perfect.

I sit there, looking at the sketchbook for – I don’t know for how long, I lose track. I don’t hear her enter but then her voice fills the empty space of the room, “Jim? I didn’t know where you were. I got off early.”

I glance back to see her alone. “Daniel?”

“The roads are getting really bad and mom said she’d just keep him tonight. She was dying for an excuse, you know – I hope she doesn’t hold him all night.” She adds lightly.

Daniel loves Pam’s mom. Gamgam. That’s what he calls her.

I can hear the smile in Pam’s voice as she says, “It’s just you and me tonight, mister,” and a little part of me wants to die. She’s hoping for a celebration.












...

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.







She closes the door behind her and stands there expectantly, waiting.

“I came out to get the WD40 for that closet door,” I explain. I don’t – no – I can’t tell her yet. I’m a coward and I know it. I try to keep the defeat out of my voice, but of course, I can’t.

“Oh.” She takes in the fact I’m looking at her sketchbook and I can see the cogs turning in her head as she’s trying to read me. Then a horrible thing happens. Her eyes widen and she comes forward on her toes like she does when she’s excited about something. And I realize she thinks I may be messing with her – pretending things didn’t go well so I can surprise her with good news.

I can actually feel my insides twist as she stares at me and slowly figures out that I’m not kidding and her smile droops when she realizes things have not gone well. The truth settles down over her face, and I have to turn away. She doesn’t say it, though, and she walks over to me and puts her hand on my shoulder and I swear, it almost hurts when she touches me.

“Jim?” She’s surprised. “Your shirt is soaked. You’re shivering!” She’s really concerned. And she’s right about the shivering. I hadn’t noticed, but my teeth give a chatter to remind me that I’m shaking. I guess it’s from the cold.

“Daniel’s car was out there s- so I pulled it in.” I avoid her eyes and my teeth chatter a little more.

“Jim.” She tugs gently at my shoulder. “Come on. Come inside, sweetie.” There’s nothing but kindness in her voice and it breaks my heart. I don’t move so she runs her hand down my shirt sleeve and grasps my hand and guides me up and toward the door. I tuck the sketchbook under my arm to take it inside, and then I notice the oil on the shelf by the door - so I hold back until I get it, too. Stepping out the door, I flip off the light and we leave Pam’s supplies to sit in the freezing space.

She leads me straight up to our bedroom so I drop her sketch book on the bed and head toward the squeaky closet door with the oil.

“That can wait, Jim, you need to get out of those wet clothes now.”

“Lemme do this.” It will take maybe a minute and I need to fix this.

“You can oil it later,” she insists. “You’re freezing. You need to get warm first.”

I already know I’m cold – I don’t need her to remind me and my answer comes out snappish and rough. “I will in a minute. I’m going to do this first, though.”

Her voice rises, too, and she counters with a shrill, “Just TAKE the wet clothes off.” When I start to back toward the closet door anyway, she adds an exasperated, “We can’t afford for you to get sick!” Her words hang in the quiet for several seconds as we both wonder what they mean.

Then I recover and I yank my arm away from her. “I’m just going to oil the damn door, Pam! Jesus, you’re the one who’s been complaining about it! I want to do this, okay? Will two minutes really make any difference?” I’m nearly shouting by the end.

I finish oiling the door, and she looks stunned when I turn back to her. “I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. I mean it for a lot of things. “The door doesn’t squeak now.” Wow, I’ve really fixed things, haven’t I?

“I didn’t mean…” she doesn’t finish but she bites on her lower lip, and I know.

I point to the bathroom and say almost in a whisper “I’ll just go in here…and take a hot shower.” And I escape without waiting for her reply.

I’m still shivering as I pull off my wet clothes and I turn on the water in the shower as hot as I can stand it. I step in and let the spray assault my back, but I still feel cold. I wrap my arms around my sides, trying to hold it all in. I bow my head and lean the top of it against the shower wall while the water stings my shoulders. It hurts, but it doesn’t hurt enough. I just stand here, alone, under the scalding water, as long as I can stand it.

I realize that I have to go out there and tell Pam. Say the words. All this time I’ve been telling her – reassuring her - that it will be okay, that it will all work out. She’s believed me. Christ, she believed me this morning. I turn off the water and wait as it drips off of me. She believed in me. I thought I was telling her the truth. Well… I’m not sure anymore. Maybe I’m going to keep disappointing her.

When I go out to the closet to get some dry clothes, she’s gone. I can hear her downstairs in the kitchen so I pull on some jeans and a hoody and head down the hall.


I pass Daniel’s room - it’s dark and quiet. I glance in and see the playhouse I made for him out of those appliance boxes from the kitchen remodeling. He really likes it and Pam was amazed at how well it turned out.
I wish Daniel was here. He’s a happy little boy and when I make him laugh, all of this goes away for awhile. Pam says I’m a good father. I know there’s not much laughter on the agenda tonight as I shuffle down the stairs.

She turns from the kitchen counter to look at me and I take a deep breath and I just say it. “Pam, I don’t think I got the job today. I blew the interview.“ I look down at my tattered house shoes. “I’m sorry.” I pause and then add, “I shouldn’t. . .have yelled at you.” If I could disappear, I would.

She tilts her head and her eyes are sad. “I didn’t mean it like that, you know,” she says, and I nod. We both know we’re frustrated, but everything still feels stiff and scripted.

“Hey,” she says, and smiles up sideways at me, “I got us a six pack of beer and Taco Bell. Woohoo! And I rented Robin Hood – it was only a buck fifty.” We cancelled the cable long ago, so renting is a real treat. She rubs her hand in a little circle on my stomach and I understand she needs to have a good time tonight in spite of all this. I’ll do whatever she wants, but we’ve got to figure out a few things first – we’d been putting off decisions about the bills thinking I’d get this job. And I told her I would, didn’t I?

“Let’s go through the bills and figure this out,” I suggest. “And then we’ll party, okay?” I try my best to give her a smile that looks genuine.

So we sit down and put the bills in order of what needs to be paid first all the way back to the less urgent ones. We’ll pay as many as we can as far as the money goes. I tell her I’m going to apply for that Best Buy job. It only pays about half of what we really need, but if I get it and we sell the house, we’ll be able to make ends meet in an apartment, at least. She looks like she’d like to protest, but she can’t. We’re out of options. It’s depressing work, but we finally get through the stack.

“Okay, we’ve talked about it,” she says, clearly intending to put our troubles on the shelf for the evening. I take another deep breath and resolve to at least do this for her.

We have a couple of beers and she tells me about her coworkers. They’re kind of crazy, but not in the entertaining, original way of a Dwight Schrute. She says she even misses being called “Mrs. Tuna,” and I laugh. Then there’s a space and I can tell she’s wondering whether or not I’m going to talk about my day. The last thing I want to do right now is remind her about that. She’s been smiling and I like that. No need to bring her down.

We reheat the burritos in our fancy new microwave. I haven’t had Taco Bell in a long time – Daniel won’t touch Mexican food - and I have to admit it tastes really good, but the beer just makes me tired.

“I wonder what Daniel thinks about all this ice?” I ask, trying to keep things light. So we talk about him for awhile and then she says, “Want to watch the movie?”

“Would you rather draw?” I ask.

“No, let’s do something together,” she says. I wish she would draw.

“Guess...” she says brightly and she goes over to our shiny “state of the art” fridge,”...what I got!” She opens the freezer and holds up a pint of Haagen Dazs vanilla.

“Wow, you did splurge.” It’s my favorite, but I don’t want any right now. I will make nice for Pam, but I don’t really feel like celebrating. “I’ll wait.” I say, and she gives me a puzzled look, but I prefer not to notice. “Go ahead though.” Her face falls and I know I’ve made a mistake - that she thought she was doing something special for me, so I scramble. “Go get the movie started, I’ll get us a couple of bowls,” I say.

“No, no, let’s wait,” she insists, and I know I’ve managed to damage the moment.

We end up watching the movie lying on the couch, heads at alternating ends. My body is stretched behind hers in the opposite direction. We situate the old wool throw over both of us, and I rub her feet and she sighs. It’s a good sigh.

Pam loves to have her feet rubbed. I started doing it for her when she was pregnant, and I think it’s right below having sex on her pleasant sensation list. Speaking of sex, I think about the fact that we haven’t made love much in the last couple of months. We’re constantly tired, we have weird schedules and in the back of our minds, we know that we have no idea how Daniel happened. It’s way too obvious to us both that getting pregnant again right now would be a financial disaster of epic proportions. So we just...don’t.

Halfway through the movie, I start to nod and I look over and she’s sound asleep. Her curls are falling over her cheeks, and the worry is gone from her face. She’s beautiful, my wife. Daniel has her mouth and her nose. I carefully lift myself over the back of the couch so I don’t disturb her, and she doesn’t stir. I cover her with the throw and turn off the TV and lights and sneak up to the bedroom.

I slide under the chilly covers in our bed, and end up curled up on my side, facing the edge. I’m dead tired but the day keeps replaying in my head. I can’t turn it off.
Then I hear Pam’s footsteps in the hall. I pretend to be asleep as she changes into her pajamas and crawls into bed on the other side. She settles in and I can tell without looking that she’s lying on her side, facing me. She moves her hand toward me under the covers and almost reaches my waist, but she pulls it back. Then she says, “I know you’re awake,” and I groan inwardly. Not tonight. Not…but instead she says, “I have something to say.”

“Pam…” I start, but she interrupts.

“No, hear me out first?” she asks gently. “Please?”
Now she’s scaring me a little, but I murmur, “Okay.” I’m not sure what to expect.

“I don’t like the way we are right now, Jim,” she starts, and my heart races. Oh God.

“I can’t do this…like…this. I can live with the penny pinching, with moving – with all of this - but only if it’s happening to us and not to me and you separately. Jim, you’ve stopped talking to me and since Thanksgiving you’ve...I don’t know...you’ve…”

“Pam...” I try to interrupt. I sure as hell don’t want to talk about Thanksgiving.

“Just let me finish, please?” she asks simply. So I shut up.

“I know you said you didn’t want to talk about Thanksgiving, but…” she hesitates a little and then finishes with a deep edge of anger in her voice. “Pete was an absolute jerk.”

I cringe just thinking about that whole scene.

“It’s not that it wasn’t a nice gesture for him to offer to help us out, but Jesus, in front of everybody like that - when he knew you hadn’t told your folks everything?” With Dad’s heart and all, we didn’t want him to worry too much. “And what he said? My God, what an idiot and so totally out of line. He doesn’t know shit about what I think!”

She has to be referring to Pete’s statement that “We can’t let Halpert women worry about being homeless, can we?” I know he was going for comic relief, but even Tom knew it wasn’t funny. What a day that was.

Aaand Pam’s not done yet. “So now – now you had a crappy day today, but you won’t tell me about it, and that’s exactly what I’m talking about. Why is that, Jim? Your stupid brother? I get that you want to take care of me and Daniel – that you want to provide for us and that’s…sweet...and, and...good… but...” She makes a little exasperated noise and I feel her hand touch my back.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I was your friend before I was your wife. You’ve always been there for me – even when I was still with Roy, you were there. When I quit art school? During my parents’ divorce? Remember?” She gives my ribs a soft little rub for emphasis. God, she was a mess when her parents got divorced. But that was different.

“You’re going to say it’s not the same, but it sooo is. I’m here, Jim. Talk to me. Please?”

I’m...busted. I involuntarily let out a huge sigh and I can hear her smile in the dark.

I roll over on my back, and I don’t look at her, but I talk. “The guy who interviewed right before me was like Todd Packer on steroids,” I start, and she finds that hard to believe and she laughs when I tell her about the zipper thing. Then I tell her about the parking, and the umbrella, and the nice receptionist, and how Harris seemed like an okay guy and how I blew the interview at the end. I tell her about my wet socks and how I want her to have time to draw again. While I’m talking, I feel the knots in my shoulders unbunch a little bit and that suffocating feeling that’s had a hold on me loosens up a fraction.

I keep on talking and she mostly just listens. Sometimes she squeezes my arm with her hand. She’s so...great.

Finally, I’m talked out. She doesn’t say anything, but she slips her arm under my head and pulls me over and I roll on my side toward her so I can rest my head in the crook of her neck. She smells like spring and Taco Bell. She gathers me in her arms, and for the first time today, I’m warm enough. Before I know it, I’m asleep.






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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.





“Jim!” I feel Pam shaking my shoulder, my eyes pop open, and I lift up with a start. “Get up!” Is Daniel sick…have we overslept…what? My head clears and she’s saying “Come on.” She pulls at my arm and I look up at her face. She’s smiling and excited and now I know it’s nothing bad, but I’m confused. I remember Daniel is at Helene’s – can’t be him.

“Wake up, you need to see this!”

“What is it?” I’m still not good and awake, but I sit up and try to get moving. “Gotta...” I point at the bathroom.

“Okay, hurry,” she says as she pulls me to standing, and I head for the bathroom. When I come out, she’s holding a pair of thick socks. I look down at her feet and she’s already got on socks, but she’s still wearing her flannel pajamas.

“Here, put these on.” She shoves the socks into my hands.

“Pam?” I’m still puzzled. What’s got her so excited? Pam isn’t exactly a morning person.

“Just do it, you’ll see.” She’s impatient, so I pull the socks on standing up, teetering back and forth trying not to lose my balance. She moves over to stand next to me and I lean against her while I manage to get the second sock on. “Now c’mon downstairs, we’re going outside.” I lumber down the stairs after her and she stops at the foyer closet and pulls out her pink coat and my parka, and she pushes my boots toward me. I glance out the window and then I see why.

We step out the front door into the barely morning light. Everything - and I mean everything - is covered with a coat of ice. The new light is shining pink and the ice is glowing.

Hand in hand, we stare agape at the landscape, our breath coming out in little clouds. The whole world is shimmering pink. “Holy crap, this is amazing,” I say to her, which is totally inadequate - there’s no way I can come up with words that will do this justice.

The light changes rapidly from a rosy glow to fiery orange and soon we’re engulfed in a raging frozen fire. Then the sun moves a little higher and everything in sight begins to sparkle white. Even the trashcans on the curbs of the street glitter and glint like diamonds.

I feel her shiver, so I move up close behind her. I wrap my arms over her shoulders and pull my open parka around both of us and she leans back into me. It feels good.

“It – it looks like a giant disco ball!” she squeaks. She does that sometimes when she’s excited.

“Poetic, Beesly.” I chuckle, and she pokes me with her elbow.

We stand there watching the light shift, taking it all in, and I figure we both look like Daniel did when he saw the enormous Christmas tree in front of the courthouse the other night. The sun rises quickly, and I feel a drip on my cheek. I glance up and see the ice is already starting to melt off the branches above us.

We don’t want to break the spell, but she finally says, “We’ve got to go in – it’s too cold.” She turns around under my coat, and looks up at me all bubbly (I haven’t seen that look for a long time). When she reaches up to give me a quick kiss, the look on her face suddenly turns to concern. She wipes the drip off my cheek with her finger.

“No, Pam, it’s a drip. Off the tree.” I point up to the branches. Then I get to grin while she looks sheepish.

We head on inside and she puts on some coffee while I hang up the coats. Waiting for it to brew, we stand over the heating vent to get warm, rubbing our hands and hopping up and down. We look dorky, but nobody’s watching and it works.

“Hey, Pam?” I say. 'Cause I have an idea. “Why don’t you go on up and take a shower and I’ll fix us some breakfast.”

She cocks her head at me curiously, smiles a crooked smile, and says, “If you insist,” and off she heads upstairs. A second later she calls down, “Want your robe?” I am chilly in my t shirt and flannel pants.


“Yeah, send it down express?” I manage to catch it when she fast pitches it down the stairs in a ball.

I slip it on quickly and get myself busy cooking, and just as she comes down the stairs, it’s ready. Good timing. I stop her at the bottom of the stairs. “Close your eyes, I’ll help you.” I take her hand and guide her to sit at the kitchen table. I’ve put a plate of waffles topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream and covered with chocolate syrup onto the table in front of her. I wish I had a cherry, but it looks pretty good anyway. “Okay, you can open.”

The look on her face when she opens her eyes is priceless. “Ta da!” I announce, and I make a big flourish when I put her coffee next to the plate, and I fuss a little bit about the placing the silverware just right.

“No cherry?” she smirks, but I know she’s really pleased. Pam likes her waffles.

Just then the phone rings and it’s Ann, Pam’s boss. They want to give the streets time to thaw, so she doesn’t need to be in until ten.

Turns out we get to eat our waffles in uncommon leisure, and they are very good if I do say so myself. (I wonder briefly if Waffle House pays any better than Best Buy.) We mostly talk about the morning’s light show, and then phone rings again. I answer, and it’s Pam’s mom. Daniel is still asleep, she says, so she suggests I wait until later to come and get him, after the roads melt. As long as get him by noon, because she works this afternoon. Pam gets the gist of our conversation. Once I hang up, I shake my head, “God knows how late she let him stay up, Pam.”

“Maybe you should just keep him up all day so we can sleep tonight,” she suggests, and she’s probably right.

Finally I have to bring it up. “So. I’m going to take in my application to Best Buy later,” I say, and she nods in resignation. I look down to finish off the last forkful of my waffles.

“Jim, I was thinking.” There’s something in her voice. “Maybe we should go ahead and buy a couple of carts.” My head snaps up and I see that mischevious look creep into her eye. My mouth drops open in disbelief. She’s not.

“Grocery carts, you know?” she explains, but I get it already. Yup, she‘s going there. And damned if I’m not smiling. “While we still can?” she adds.

“Good thinking.” I pick it up and run with it. What the hell. “We’ll have to get one of those little carts for Daniel, too. Like the ones that the Bi Lo has for kids?”

“Yes, perfect.” She’s grinning now. “We’ll be the only homeless family in town whose child has his own cart!” She squeals with excitement. “That’s why I married you, you know, Halpert. It’s all about the lifestyle to me. Hey, you have to feed me grapes out of the trash bins, you know.”

“Demanding, as always. Red or green, as you wish.” I bow and wave my hand in deference, and then my hand comes to my chin as I think. “Maybe l’ll get a cardboard box and put an “X” on it. You know, Call of Duty, the Salvation Army Edition?”

She rolls her eyes. “Always thinking of your own entertainment.” Then she sets her jaw in determination and threatens, “Well, I’m not sleeping in anything less than an abandoned Mercedes, mister. I have standards.”

“Such a Eurosnob.” I blow out a breath in mock disgust. Then something else comes to me – something perfect. “Wait! Oooh, Pam!” I’m very excited. “You can do the graffiti under our viaduct. You’ll have plenty of time for your art again.”

He eyes widen first in shock and then appreciation . Got her good. And this is so, so not funny but we’re both laughing anyway.

“We can invite Pete over to our favorite dumpster for New Year’s.” She giggles. “BYOB, of course.”

Oh God, she’s got to stop. My sides hurt and her eyes are wet from laughing. We gradually sober up from our hysterics and a dark seriousness slowly and quietly replaces our bravado. She walks over and puts her arms around me and we stand there in the middle of the kitchen, hugging. Clinging to each other, really. We’re both scared, but it’s okay.

I kiss her head and say, “I’ll call the realtor on Monday.”

“We can do this,” she reminds me. And she’s right. We can find a little apartment that’ll work. I notice the time and I say I’d better go ahead and make her lunch. I don’t want her to have to hurry driving in – there may still be icy spots.

She glances at her watch. “Guess you’re right.” She gathers the dishes from the table and I head over to the sink. I pick up the bottle of chocolate syrup with my right hand and, as I reach below it to get the butter with my left, the bottle tilts sideways. Suddenly a thick stream of syrup gushes out onto my arm below. “Shit.” I turn it upright quickly but half the bottle is already spilled. “Shit!!” I had unscrewed the cap because the spout was clogged but I’d forgotten, and now there’s syrup all over the sleeve of my robe, all over the counter. “It’s everywhere!” I slam down the containers and scramble to get a paper towel and I manage to get syrup all over my right hand in the process. What a mess. I’m an idiot.

I hear her behind me. “Now I see where our son gets his stickiness.” She’s enjoying this.

“Shut up.” Everywhere I touch is sticky and brown, and my nose starts to itch.

“Well, Halpert, I see you have this under control,” she quips, and as she turns to head upstairs to get ready, the phone rings. It’s only a few feet from me, but I’m elbow deep in sticky. “Pam! Wait! Wouldya get that?”

She answers with, “Halpert residence,” and she immediately looks surprised. “Yes, just a moment, please, Mr. Harris,“ she says in her best receptionist voice.

She looks at me with a “Yikes!” face and her eyes pop open wide.

I hold up my sticky hands and shake my head “No” but it’s too late, so I silently mouth “speaker phone” to her and she nods in relief. She pushes the button and mouths back at me, “it’s on.”

“Hello, Mr. Harris, Jim Halpert here.” I’m holding both hands out over the sink as I talk, and my heart leaps up in my throat. You don’t suppose?

“Mr. Halpert, I’m calling to follow up on our interview yesterday.” My hopes fall just as quickly as they had risen, because he sounds very somber – not the tone you use to offer somebody a job at all. “As you know, we interviewed several people for this job, but we can only hire one person, unfortunately.” I look at Pam and she knows, too, and she wraps her arm around my waist and leans into me. It helps. As it turns out, Mr. Harris is just guy who’s decent enough to tell you “No” himself.

“I wanted you to know we thought you were an excellent candidate, and we wish you the best of luck, but we’ve decided to go with another applicant. You may have met him – I think he interviewed right before you did.”

“No sir, you must be thinking of someone else,” I blurt out. He couldn’t have hired that buffoon.

“Yes, I’m sure. I recall he was the man before you because he and I got on so well I almost cancelled your interview. He may even have mentioned to you that he thought he had the job. But you’d made the trip on such a nasty day, I went ahead and saw you, and I’m glad to have met you anyway.”

Fucking hell. Not that guy. That jackass is getting my job? MY job? And somehow again, my tongue starts working without asking my brain, and “What the...?” sneaks right out but I manage to stop the rest of it. How is it that this obnoxious excuse for a man can get a job and I can’t?

“I’m sure you remember him, the guy with the zipper problem?” Harris adds. Wait, how did he know that?

I’m standing here completely dumbfounded and I don’t know what to say, and then Harris bursts out laughing. There’s a distinctly feminine laugh in the background, too, I think. Has he been…messing with me? A smile slowly creeps to my face, and I look down at Pam, but she’s still totally confused.

“Jim, I’m pulling your leg, son. I’ve called to offer you this job.”

All of a sudden my knees get wobbly and I’m glad Pam’s got me shored up. I take a moment to compose myself before I answer, “I’d – I’d love to accept the job, Mr. Harris.” I’ve never been so glad to be the butt of a joke. I pause, and then, because I have to ask, I sputter, “But...how..?”

“My daughter told me about your…interaction in the waiting room.”

“Your daughter?”

“Yes, Laura, my daughter. She’s filling in for our regular secretary while she’s on maternity leave.”

Laura, the receptionist. She’s Harris’ daughter? She must have told her father. I shake my head. Wow. “She didn’t mention that she was your daughter.”

“Oh, I know. Clever, isn’t it? She’s actually an integral part of my interview process. You got good marks. You know, the guy who’s not nice to the waiter?”

“Is not a nice guy,” I finish it for him. And I have to chuckle.

“I think you’re going to fit in well here, Jim. When can you start? Monday too soon?”

“Monday’s…” I glance down at Pam and I’m not sure whose smile is bigger, hers or mine. “Monday’s fine, sir.”

“Oh, and forget the “sir” business, Jim, call me Michael, please.”

“Monday’s great, Michael.” Oh my God, his name is Michael.

“Looking forward to seeing you Monday at nine, then?”

“I’ll be there…Michael. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

There’s a click and a dial tone. Pam lets go of my waist and rushes over to put the receiver back, while I frantically strip off my sticky robe and wash my hands. When I turn back to her, we look at each other for a moment in disbelief and then we fall into each other and she says oh my God and I say I can’t believe it and she says you did it and on and on and I feel ten feet tall.

I see the time on the clock and reluctantly loosen myself from her. “Pam, you need to go get ready.”

“Oh, okay,” she pouts a little but she knows I’m right. She gives me a squeeze and then trots quickly up the stairs. I love the new spring in her step.

“Wow.” I stand here in the kitchen and say it out loud because I’m trying to accept what just happened, and then I realize I’ve got to get my act going here and make Pam some lunch. It’s made by the time she comes back down and we’re both kind of giddy when I walk her to the door and as she starts to go, I pull her in close and kiss her. I mean really kiss her. And she kisses back and she’s pressed up against me and she’s warm and soft and luscious, and I’m thinking maybe Daniel needs a sibling right damn now. But there’s not time and we break away, and she whispers in my ear, “Tonight?”

I barely manage to get out, “Count on it,” because I really want her to stay. She heads out because she has to and I miss her the instant the door closes.

I sigh and set myself to the task of cleaning up breakfast (and my mess). I take the steps three at a time when I go up to shower and get ready – I’m going to go get Daniel and take him to that indoor Burger King playground this afternoon. Gotta tire the little man out so he’ll sleep tonight. After I’m dressed, I stop by Daniel’s room to get him an extra set of clothes just in case, and I notice Pam’s sketchbook lying on his night table. How’d that get in here? Better move it out of reach. When I pick it up, I notice there’s a pencil stashed between the pages.

I’m curious, so I open the sketchbook to the page where the pencil is bulging. On the page is a new drawing of Daniel’s cardboard playhouse. His head is sticking out of one of the doors and he’s making a goofy face. I’m standing behind the other half of the house, and I’m laughing at him. Did she draw this last night or before I got up this morning? Wow, this is really, really good - it looks just like us. I’ll have to tell her tonight. I start to put up the book, and I almost miss the three words she’s written in the corner at the very bottom - they’re so small. “What I need.”

And I know, without a doubt, I’m the luckiest man in the world.


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