Eight more “maybe tomorrows” came and went and Jim still hadn’t asked Pam her opinion on teaching at Hazelton. It would be a big adjustment for them. It meant either a commute for him with earlier mornings and later evenings, or uprooting them right after having a new baby and taking them away from a life they had just begun to build in Scranton–a life he knew Pam loved. He loved it too, but he couldn’t deny that the new job in Hazelton would be everything he imagined when he dreamt of his teaching career in college. It was only an hour away, but it felt so different there. So he decided to tell her that night.

Lately, he and Pam had been driving to school together and he would drop her off at home before heading to Hazelton for practice. It gave them a few minutes to discuss their day before he had to leave. To be honest, it was the best 6 1/2 minutes of his day. Her hand in his as they drove home and traded stories of high school hormones and teenage absurdity was his favorite thing.

But today he wanted more than 6 ½ minutes. He snuck away during lunch and called his assistant coach.

“Hey Wayne! Listen, I’m not feeling so great today. Do you think you can handle practice today on your own? Yeah. No, I should be good by tomorrow hopefully. Yep. Thanks man, I appreciate it.”

He hung up and joined Pam in the faculty lounge again, feeling healthier than ever, but Wayne didn't need to know that.


The final bell rang and Jim began to gather his things. It had genuinely been a good day. The “problem” students were less problematic, his AP class had some of the best discussions about To Kill a Mockingbird he’s probably ever had, and he had even gotten a note from one of his students thanking him for being such a great teacher. It only got better when he felt a small scratch on his back and a pair of soft lips on his cheek.

“You ready?” Pam asked. “I’ve got a couple doozies to tell you from today."

He slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and gently placed a kiss on Pam’s lips, ignoring the “Get a room, Mr. H!” he heard from the hallway. “Let’s get out of here,” he smiled.

On the drive home, Pam told Jim about the two students she found making out in the janitor’s closet when she went to find some more paper towels for her classroom and how Michael mixed up the words “physics” and “psychic” in an email to her.

Jim pulled into their driveway and killed the engine, prompting a confused look from Pam. Normally, he pulled in, kissed her, and left without getting out of the car, so as not to be late for practice in Hazelton.

“Did you forget something inside?” she asked.

“I did,” he nodded, opening the door. He walked around the front of the car and opened her door, offering his hand to her. “I forgot that I needed to spend some quality time with my wife.”

“No practice?”

“No, there’s practice. Just not with me today,” he shrugged with a smile. “Is that okay with you?”

Her eyes beamed and she nodded enthusiastically, taking his hand as he helped her out of the car. They walked inside and Pam made her way to the kitchen. She began filling up a small watering can at the sink while Jim leaned up against the kitchen counter and observed her carefully water each small house plant around the room.

"So," he began, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket beside him and shining it on his shirt. "Where do you want to eat tonight? Any particular cravings?"

She stopped watering and squinted, as if deep in thought, mindlessly running her fingers over her growing belly. "Are there any Thai places that also serve chips and salsa?"

"If there aren't, there shouldbe," he said, mouth full of apple.

Pam smiled and walked to him, wrapping her arms around his torso and resting her cheek against his chest. Jim thought about how much extra time they could have if he took the job at Hazelton and they moved there. He kissed the top of her head. "I love you," he said quietly against her hair.

Her head tipped back, chin on his chest, and she smiled blissfully. "I love you too, Mr. Halpert."


They ended up going to a Mexican restaurant for appetizers and then a Thai restaurant for the main course because Pam couldn't choose, claiming she "just might die" if she didn't get both.

"Well, we can't have that," Jim protested, and came up with the solution of two restaurants, and even suggested a third place for dessert. "The tour of Scranton cuisine" he called it.

He was halfway through his bowl of Tom Kha Gai when he heard his name.

"Jim!"

It took him a second to make his brain adjust to seeing Karen outside of Hazelton High.

"Oh, hey! Karen!"

Jim could see the look of confusion playing on Pam's face across the table.

"Pam, this is Karen Filippelli. The vice principal at Hazelton. Karen, this is my wife Pam."

The women exchanged pleasantries and Karen pointed to Jim. "Your husband," she said, "is one hell of a basketball coach. The kids love him. And the winning record doesn't hurt."

Pam flashed Jim a grin. "That's the only reason I married him, really. His coaching skills."

Karen let out a laugh. "Well, hopefully he teaches as well as he coaches. We can't wait to have him on the staff."

Jim's stomach dropped and the look on his wife's face didn't help. Pam scrambled to compose her expression, letting out a forced chuckle and nod, obviously unable to find any actual words. Luckily, Karen's friends called for her to join them so she quickly said her goodbyes and left their table.

Jim swallowed hard, watching as Pam softly placed her spoon down on the table. "Pam…"

"Can we go?" she interrupted.

"Pam," he insisted. "I haven't…"

"I'll be in the car."

She stood up and walked out. Jim put his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands, cursing under his breath.

After paying and boxing up the leftovers on the table (Pam would surely be upset but it would only be made worse if she stayed hungry, he knew) he approached the car and lowered himself into the driver's seat. The two of them sat in silence, the only sound being the occasional squeak of the styrofoam containers in Jim's hands as he contemplated what to say first.

"I was going to tell you tonight," he said quietly.

She couldn't seem to look at him. "How long has this been a thing? Teaching there?"

He shook his head and turned toward her, wanting to reach out but he could almost physically feel the wall she was putting between them. "I haven't accepted the job. Karen made it sound like I have, but I haven't given them an answer."

Finally she looked at him. "How long?"

He sighed. "A little over a week."

A flash of hurt fell between her knitted eyebrows before she looked down to her hands in her lap. "Oh."

"I wanted to tell you about it, I just…"

He what? Why couldn't he tell her?

"Are you going to accept it?" she asked.

He shrugged. "We can talk about it. But…I'd like to," he said cautiously.

"Okay."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you when I got the offer."

She just nodded her head. He continued to look at her, but when it was clear she didn't want to say anything else, he started the car, grappling with how he was feeling–guilty, frustrated, confused. He knew he should have told her earlier, but it's not as if he took the job. He had always planned to tell her before he made any decisions. He tried to tell himself that it was Pam who was being a little ridiculous, because he truly wasn't doing anything without her input.

But in reality, he also knew that the two of them talked about quite literally everything. He had always immediately jumped to tell her the mundane, the minuscule, and the minute details of his life and so the fact that he kept something of this magnitude to himself for a week would understandably be hurtful to Pam and he hated himself for it.

The car ride was deafeningly silent and when they arrived home, Pam walked straight upstairs, wordlessly. Jim put the leftovers in the fridge and loosened the tie he had been wearing all day. He finished the dishes in the sink, took out the trash, and finally dragged his feet up the stairs too.

When he entered their room, the lamp on his bedside table was the only light on. Pam was in bed, wrapped up to her chin with the comforter, eyes closed, seemingly asleep. But he knew her–he had watched and marveled as she slept so many times–and he knew she wasn't actually sleeping. Her breathing gave her away. But he let her pretend, a nagging pain settling in from knowing that he had caused her any sort of hurt, and he flicked off the lamp.

It was the first time she had ever skipped kissing him goodnight.