Okay, it wasn’t actually fourteen beers. You’re not Roy. But it was almost all of Jim’s beer, two strawberry margaritas, and a regular margarita. Plus all the ice.

Roy wouldn’t be caught dead with a strawberry margarita in his hand. You don’t think he’s ever actually eaten a strawberry. That’s why he’s at Poor Richard’s getting drunk on Jack Daniels with his friends, and you’re at Chili’s… getting drunk with your friends…

Whatever. You don’t miss him.

How could you when you’ve got a Dundie in your hand, all your coworkers returning your hugs, and Jim’s hand at your back as he walks you through the parking lot? He’s being so light with his touch, as if he’s doing it subconsciously.

His caution is only fair, you suppose, since you haven’t put him in an easy position tonight. It’s not like you to act first and think second, but your fight with Roy and the four drinks you had eliminated any chance at rationality. Now a persisting pinprick of guilt is ruining the warm exhilaration from icy tequila. You kissed someone other than your fiancé, in a bold move that could have ruined your safest relationship.

Drunk or not, you don’t want to think about why you actually went and kissed Jim. You’re starting to feel dizzy, too, so Jim finds a place to sit while you wait for Angela to get you. He doesn’t have to stay, but you love that he’s waiting with you. You close your eyes and try to focus on the warmth in your heart instead of the sour in your throat.

“I feel bad about what I wrote on the bathroom wall.”

“No, you don’t.” He laughs before he finishes his sentence, and you blush all the way up your cheeks as you stare at the trophy in your hands. He doesn’t need to know that your first dabbling in bathroom graffiti was originally about him, or that Roy only laughs this much when he’s testing your limit of offensive jokes.

“Oh, here she is,” Jim says as Angela pulls up to the curb. He pulls you to your feet and doesn’t let go until you’ve taken the step down off the sidewalk.

Suddenly it hits you that you’re going to turn into sober Pam again tomorrow morning, into the Pam that doesn’t listen to her heart without consulting her head first and thinks taking a chance means drinking caffeine after 5:00 p.m.

“Hey, um,” you say, still scrambling for a way to elongate this moment. “Can I ask you a question?”

You’ve seen him smile a hundred times before, but this one seems new. “Shoot,” he whispers.

“Will you not tell anyone that I kissed you?”

Jim has a pretty expressive face, but you’re still surprised when his appreciative smile dissolves and his eyebrows knit together, meeting somewhere between confusion and anguish.

“Yeah, no, for sure,” he says slowly. His hand slides through the back of his hair and lands uneasily at his neck. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Thank you. I mean, I know you wouldn’t. But, um…” you trail off. But I’m engaged. And you’re my best friend.

“Yeah.”

He looks away uncomfortably, and you almost regret asking your question.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

Jim shrugs a shoulder and offers a quarter smile. “It’s okay. You were pretty drunk in there.”

Not drunk enough to use it as an excuse, you think.

Angela rolls down the passenger window and sighs in the aggressive way that only Angela can. “Pam?”

Your heart sinks, as you’re feeling nowhere close to ready for this conversation to be over. You’re not sure if you’re sober enough to avoid saying something you’ll regret in the morning, but how can you do worse than a kiss?

Jim leans down to look into the car. “Hey, I’ll take her home, okay? Thanks, Angela.”

Angela huffs and rolls up the window before driving away without another word.

“I think we need to find her a boyfriend,” Jim says as Angela’s car turns onto the street.

You burst out laughing. “Oh, come on. No one deserves that.”

“Well, I’m not saying it has to be permanent. Just someone to loosen her up a little.”

“Ugh, gross.”

You turn to walk to Jim’s car and make direct eye contact with a documentary camera. You forgot the crew was still here. Did they catch your kiss with Jim? And if they did, do they know what you just asked him?

Jim must sense that you’re panicking at seeing the cameras again because he reaches over and gently squeezes your arm. “They’re not seeing anything new here, Beesly. Come on.”

Jim opens the passenger door for you, and turns on the heat before backing out. The last margarita starts swirling in your stomach at the same ten mile an hour speed of Jim’s careful driving. You groan a little and close your eyes, resting your cheek against the cool leather headrest.

“Did you eat enough for dinner?” Jim asks.

“I ate some of your onion rings.”

You hear him smile. “I know. Anything else?”

“Not really.” You had a few of Roy’s nachos, but then he got mad and said you should have ordered your own appetizer.

“Let’s get you some food, okay?”

“Just not Burger King because one time I threw up a Whopper.”

Jim laughs. “Were you drunk?”

“No, I was in high school.”

“You didn’t drink in high school?”

“Good point. No, I had the stomach flu or something.”

“Is Taco Bell okay?”

“Yeah, baby,” you say, ending your sentence with a fit of laughter.

You put away both of your chicken tacos before Jim can even make it onto the highway. You start feeling warm after eating all that food, so you roll down the window and stick your head outside. Ahhh, wind.

“You okay?” Jim asks.

“It’s hot in your car.”

“Okay, um, do you want to take off your coat?”

“Oh, right!” You sit back down in your seat and struggle with your sleeves until Jim reaches over and helps you. “My mouth is still hot.”

Jim smiles and rolls his eyes before handing you the rest of his Baja Blast. “Here. Second drink.”

You grin, feeling mildly embarrassed. “Thanks. Remind me to pay you back for all your food I ate tonight.”

He turns to look at you for a moment, then looks back to the road and clears his throat. “Don’t worry about it.”

You pop the lid off the soda cup and try to remember the last time Jim let you pay for something. Even the first time the two of you had lunch together, which was like two days after you met, he insisted on paying. You don’t think he had even met Roy yet.

Wait. Was that really how it went? Maybe you’ll remember better when you’re not drunk.

Jim drops you off before you’re really ready for the car ride to be over. You’re warm and a little too full, and you can feel a headache coming along. You would love nothing more than to close your eyes and not leave this passenger seat for another eight hours.

“Alright, Beesly, take care of yourself, okay?” Jim says as he pulls into your driveway. From the looks of it, Roy isn’t home yet, so at least you’ll have a little time to think things over.

“I will. Thank you so much for the ride.”

“Anytime. See you tomorrow.”

You give Jim a final wave through the window before heading inside. The house is dark and silent, but you call out Roy’s name just in case.

You start feeling worse and worse as you get ready for bed. You wish you could blame it on the alcohol and the taco-induced heartburn, but neither of those explain why you’re feeling completely and utterly stuck. Stuck between discord and dishonesty, complacency and regret.

You were so angry with Roy when the evening started. All you could think about was how he only listens to you after he’s made a decision, and then he gets mad if your side doesn’t perfectly align with his.

But how can you still be angry with him when the third thing you did after he left was kiss another guy?

You wish this were a normal night. Even though your arguments always end with an apology from you and a halfhearted promise from Roy, you just want to go back to being mad at Roy like you were three hours ago, without this extra layer of guilt.

And then it hits you how wrong all of this is, when the lesser of two evils is the normal situation of being mad at your fiancé.

As if on cue, you bolt for the toilet. Up come the tacos and the Baja Blast and at least two margaritas. You groan weakly as you stand back up, but you feel a tiny bit better. You brush your teeth and head to the kitchen to get a glass of water before going to bed. Maybe you can put some of the night behind you and deal with the rest in the morning.

The garage door opens, and the hum of the truck vibrates through the hallway. You find yourself taking a step backwards into the darkness of the kitchen, as though the words I kissed Jim! are written on your face.

He’s not going to know, you tell yourself. Not right now, anyway. You step into the hallway just as Roy is pulling the door closed.

He takes a visible breath, offering a subdued smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you reply. Do I still sound drunk?

“You’re up late.”

“You’re home late.”

“Yeah, I know. It was my turn to drive.”

“Oh.” You weren’t expecting that answer. “So you didn’t drink?”

He shrugs. “I had a beer.”

You smile in spite of yourself. “Yeah, I did too,” you say under your breath.

Roy clears his throat. “Hey, listen, um… I’m sorry about tonight.”

“It’s okay,” you mumble.

“Really?”

“Well,” you say, shifting from one foot to the other. “No, but… I’m sorry, too.”

Roy nods. “Well. Guess that’s two of us.”

You nibble on your lip, thinking of five different things to say and ten reasons why you shouldn’t say any of them.

“Let’s just go to bed, okay?” he says, reaching for you with an outstretched arm.

You nod and let him follow you through the doorway. His hand on your shoulder provides a sense of comfort and awakens a sense of guilt. It all seems to cancel out and leave you with nothing, like an eerie stillness before a natural disaster.

Roy heads into the bathroom as you stretch out under the covers. You realize that you’ve been getting into the habit of just apologizing when things get tense between you and Roy, hoping that an I’m sorry will smooth things out. It’s always easy to find something you could have done or said differently, and this situation is certainly no exception.

You’re starting to wonder if Roy’s been doing the same thing, just for different reasons. You’re so receptive to an apology from him that even an insubstantial one is enough for you to convince yourself that you’re not upset anymore.

You hear the shower running and decide to just let this one go, at least for now. Your head and stomach are still hurting, and you find momentarily relief in the coolness of the pillow and the heaviness of the covers. You don’t want to leave this conversation with Roy so unfinished, because there’s so much more on your mind. But Roy thinks that it’s finished, and that’s always been enough for you before.

Besides, you’re a lot less innocent this time around. If you’re going to start being honest more, this isn’t a great time to start.

***

Seven a.m. feels terrible when you’re hungover and still need to wash your hair before work. You have no idea how you ever liked mornings before. You think about calling in sick, but somehow that feels more embarrassing than just going in and pretending like nothing happened. So you groan quietly into your pillow and force yourself up, trying to think of how nice hot water will feel right now.

It’s a shame that Jim is such an integral part of the mental mess you’re in, you think as you step into the shower, because you talk to him about almost everything. You know that if this were any other situation, all it would take is a ten-minute conversation with Jim, and you would know exactly what to do.

You’re in the middle of conditioning your hair when it hits you that the exact same line of thinking could apply, should apply to Roy, and yet it doesn’t.

Comparing Jim and Roy is a habit you’ve developed in the last few months, and you hate it when you catch yourself doing it. It’s not fair to either of them.

Jim has proven himself over and over to be the best friend you could ever ask for. Roy is, well, not exactly the world’s best fiancé. But that shouldn’t matter. You’re supposed to accept your fiancé for who he is, because you love him.

Because you love him.

If you think about it anymore, it might sound like you’re trying to convince yourself.

You towel-dry your hair and pull on a light green button down shirt and a gray skirt. Then you pack both of your lunches and make enough coffee for both you and Roy, since your normal cup of chai isn’t going to cut it this morning.

Roy walks in, still tucking his shirt into his pants. “Mornin.”

“Hey.” You turn to offer him a smile, but he’s already rooting through boxes of cereal.

“We’re getting low on milk,” he says as he shuts the door to the fridge.

“Yeah, I saw. I’ll go shopping tomorrow.”

Roy nods. “Are we, uh… are we going to go out together tonight?”

You stir your coffee and pretend to think about it. “Do we have to go out? Why don’t we just do something at home?”

Roy looks at you for a moment, as if you’ve never made this request before. “I’ll see what the guys are up to tonight. If they’re not doing anything then we’ll stay in. Okay?”

You open your mouth to say something in response, but then you just nod and attempt a smile. The last time you tried to compromise with Roy it ended in a yelling match.

Roy finishes his peanut butter Cap’n Crunch and puts his bowl and coffee mug in the sink. “We should leave soon cause I want to get gas on the way.”

How nice of him to tell you now, you think, since you’re barely ready. You blow dry your hair, leaving it looking even frizzier than usual, and put on a little mascara before finding your purse and climbing into the truck.

Luckily Roy is never very talkative on your drive to Dunder Mifflin. He just hums a little to himself and grumbles about traffic, leaving you to worry about what you’re going to do today.

You’d been so focused on Roy and Jim that you completely forgot about everyone else you work with. Even if Michael didn’t find a way to accidentally work the kiss into a company email blast, Angela or Phyllis might say something.

You get a little jolt in your stomach as you pull into the parking lot, feeling somewhere between bug under the microscope and deer in the headlights. Even Roy notices something is up.

“Cheer up, babe, it’s Friday,” he says, punctuating his sentence by slamming the truck door.

You smile half-heartedly. “Yeah, I know.” You walk to the other side of the truck and go to give him a kiss. Your lips land on his cheek at the last second. “Have a good day.”

The two of you walk off in opposite directions. Stanley holds the door open for you in the lobby, and you ride the elevator with him. He doesn’t say anything, but that’s typical.

As you enter the bullpen, you see Jim walk into the kitchen. You start to follow him, but you still feel bad about being able to talk to Jim when you can’t even tell your fiancé you don’t want to go out tonight. Maybe you should talk to someone else first.

Your eyes slide over to Dwight’s desk and the peculiar man behind it. You don’t think you’ve ever had a voluntary conversation with Dwight, but he might be the perfect soundboard for you. He doesn’t really care about the personal relationships in the office, and he probably feels equally mild disdain for both Jim and Roy. You crack your first genuine smile in ten hours and watch Dwight get up from his desk and walk into the conference room.

Doubt begins to creep in the moment you even think about asking Jim this question. You take a deep breath, stalling, looking around for any reason to back out.

And unfortunately you make eye contact with a documentary camera, the best excuse in the world for staying silent.

“Um, I just wanted to say thanks,” you say.

Jim raises his eyebrows. “Not really a question.” He laughs and you’re relieved he doesn’t say anything more about it. “Okay, let’s get you home. You’re drunk.”

He takes a step towards Angela’s car and opens the passenger door for you. Trying not to think about it anymore, you get in. You’ll see him tomorrow, you tell yourself.

“Bye,” you mumble as the warm darkness of the car receives you.

“Goodnight,” Jim says. “Thank you, Angela.”

Angela grunts in return, and you watch Jim walk back to his car before the parking lot disappears from view. Then you close your eyes and try to pretend that you’re not in a moving vehicle. The last margarita is sloshing in your stomach.

“You guys are still on Adams, right?”

“Mmm hmm.”

Thankfully Angela doesn’t say anything else as she drives you home. She turns on a classical music station and leaves you to think about the implications of the 2005 Dundie Awards.

All you wanted was to forget about your argument with Roy. Actually, that wasn’t true. That wasn’t true at all. All you wanted was to spend the evening with your fiancé, laughing and maybe having a couple drinks and making fun of your coworkers and praying your way out of an embarrassing award. But Roy had other plans. Plans he just assumed you would want to follow.

You tried standing up for yourself, and instead you just made a scene. Roy grabbed your arm, you pulled away, and one car door slam later, he was gone. And you were where you wanted to be, only, not really. Could anyone blame you for running to your best friend in a situation like that?

Perhaps not, if you had been able to make it through the night without kissing said best friend. God, what was wrong with you?

At last, Angela pulls into your driveway. “We’re here.”

“Mmm. Okay.” You sigh and start to get out of the car. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Goodnight, Pam. Feel better.”

You grin and turn around to look at her. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay,” you reply, hiding a chuckle. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Goodnight.”

Roy’s truck is nowhere in sight, but you’re not surprised. You call his name anyway as you walk into the house. You don’t quite know how to feel about the silence that responds, but the nice thing about silence is that it doesn’t demand very much of you.

You managed to keep it together on the ride home, but suddenly your stomach tightens, and you bolt for the toilet. Up come drinks four, three, two, and one.

You feel better and worse as you stand back up and face your pale reflection. The only thing that sounds good right now is to put the night behind you and go to bed. You’ve done this plenty of times before. Maybe you can pretend this is just another night that Roy is out late.

You call his cell phone, but it goes straight to voicemail. Looks like you’re on your own for at least a little while. Your soft bed is calling you…

But you hesitate. You and Roy may not have the most harmonious relationship in the world, but a fight like this is still worth talking about. As tired and ill as you feel, you wonder if waiting for Roy to come home is the right step forward here.

You both have work in the morning. He probably won’t be out that much later.

You set your purse down behind your desk and head over to the kitchen before you change your mind. This is just damage control, you tell yourself. There’s no reason to be nervous.

Jim is bent over, digging in the back of the fridge. You almost duck into the bathroom when Jim stands up, but you make eye contact before that can happen.

“Hi.”

Jim smiles thoughtfully, as if he’s reacting to everything that’s ever happened between you two rather than your simple greeting.

“Hey. How you feeling?”

How are you not feeling? You shrug a shoulder. “Okay, I guess.”

You want to pretend that it’s just a normal Friday, but there are several reasons you can’t do that. The least of which is your lingering hangover. Jim is still looking at you expectantly, knowing you have more to say. You take a deep breath.

“Um, listen,” you continue. “I wanted to--”

The kitchen door opens and Angela walks in. She gives each of you a look and puts a small paper bag in the fridge before going into the ladies’ room.

Jim glances to the door and then back at you. “Not here.”

“Stairwell?”

You thank God that Kelly isn’t here yet, and you follow Jim into the annex and down the first flight of stairs.  You lean against the wall and immediately recoil from the cold surface.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if I made things weird for you,” you say to Jim. “I mean, you know how our office gets.” You attempt a chuckle, but Jim doesn’t look at you. “Can we just forget it all happened?”

You’ve always had this organic connection with Jim, a connection that never needed to adapt or evolve or do much of anything to stay strong and unobstructed. For the first time in all the months you’ve known him, you have absolutely no idea what he’s thinking. 

He brushes a section of hair off your shoulder and lets his hand linger for a moment. Your heart goes to drop, but instead it changes its mind and swoops back up again, as if you heard an animal rustling and it turned out to be a sweet little rabbit instead of a rabid raccoon.

“What are you doing?”

He sighs gently, still averting your eyes. “I’m trying to feel the same way I felt last night after you kissed me.”

You stare at him, in denial that he meant any of what he just said. But he doesn’t correct himself. You’re suddenly in an entire new dimension of a situation you thought you had thoroughly explored, and you’re beyond unprepared.

You feel your face crumple, and overwhelmed tears start leaking out of your eyes. This whole conversation is having the exact opposite effect of what you wanted. There’s no way you’ll be able to just move on from what happened last night. Not if Jim is trying to replicate the effects of what was supposed to be an accident.

Jim looks up, and your stunned silence finally inspires him to break his.

“Oh, Pam, I’m so sorry. Please don’t cry.”

You shake your head, trying to catch your breath so your voice doesn’t crack. “No. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not your fault, either.”

Well, you’re not convinced of that. But you just nod once and fixate on the end of the railing like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“What do you want?” Jim asks softly.

You shake your head. “I don’t know.”

You’re not convinced of that, either. But you can’t admit what you want. Not even if you thought you deserved it.

Jim opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something, but instead he shakes his head, turns around, and walks up the stairs. You wait a moment, knowing it’s time for the workday to start. You brush away the dampness on your cheeks, then follow Jim’s footsteps back into the office.

Less than ten minutes ago, you were worried that the Dunder Mifflin grapevine would turn your intoxicated lip slip into the story of the workplace affair of the year. And now you learn that Jim might have legitimate feelings for you. It strikes you that your coworkers who witnessed the kiss don’t even know half of what’s going on.

But then again, no one does. Roy doesn’t know, although that’s not really surprising. He doesn’t know how tired you are of going to the same hangout spots, watching the same football games, drinking the same beer. He doesn’t know that some of the comments he makes about his friends, especially his female friends, make you feel insecure. You wouldn’t expect him to know that you wonder what life would be like if you had more input in your romantic relationship.

Jim doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that you go home every day thinking about some offhand comment he made about a drawing you did or about how he liked the color of your blouse. He doesn’t know that Roy is starting to get a little suspicious of how well the two of you get along.

Hell, you don’t even know everything that’s going on. You’ve spent the entire morning playing peekaboo with the top of your desk and Jim’s side profile, dissecting the last sentence he said to you like it’s a grammar exercise and you’re one point away from failing.

It’s so frustrating that you could cry again. You want to undo what you did, unlearn what you know, and have everything go back to how it was before.

You want him to find his way over to you like he always does at this point in the day. You would pretend to be absorbed in a game of solitaire so it didn’t look like you were waiting for him to come say hi. He would make a joke about Michael or tell a story about a client, and then you would ask him what you should draw, even though he always suggests Dwight.

“I’ve told you before. I’m not good at drawing faces.”

“Not yet,” he would say. “You’ll get there.”

You want Michael to call a meeting just so you have the excuse to sit next to Jim. Michael might do an offensive impersonation or tell a story about how he thought he met Elvis, but you could tune it out and focus on the closing distance between your left shoulder and Jim’s right shoulder, the physical closeness reflecting a comforting sense of solidarity.

If the meeting were long enough, Jim would probably lean over and ask for advice on a prank. “Should I tell Dwight that his fly is down?”

“Is it?”

“Does it matter?”

You smile, then and there at your desk. Then you feel a bit unsettled when you realize that your automatic daydreams are about Jim, that you have to think about him if you can’t spend your entire evening and workday together. If you could bring yourself to think about it more, you would realize that you don’t think about Roy like this, even though the amount of time you spend together has only decreased since you got engaged.

Jim and Roy are just different people, you tell yourself. It’s always easy to get along with Jim, but Roy has a lot of good qualities too, even if they have to be coaxed out of him sometimes. Jim also hasn’t been part of your life for all that long. You didn’t know him in high school or college, and you don’t live with him. You just don’t know him as well as you know Roy.

Okay, that last one is a lie, but the point still stands. The light, happy feeling that you get when you think about your friendship with Jim isn’t grounds for abandoning your future marriage.

You almost laugh when you think about your relationship with Roy from the perspective of being married soon, even though that’s what being engaged means. At least, that’s what it should mean. Over the years, Roy seems to have developed his own definition of “engaged,” synonymous with “dating,” “forgetting to save money for a wedding,” and “doing nothing to advance the relationship.”

The odd thing is that even though your engagement seems to have no end in sight, you have this pinprick of a desire for everything in your life to stop so you can figure out this mess. You and Roy haven’t even set a date, and suddenly the wedding seems far too soon.

What if I just called it off?

The thought startles you even though you knew it was coming. It’s certainly not the first time you’ve had that idea. He’s made comments about other girls even if you were there, dismissed your contributions to the relationship, and discouraged you from anything remotely ambitious. You’ve been talking yourself into a sort of cautious optimism for the past year, ignoring any suggestion that you needed to take a more serious look at your relationship.

Following that pattern, you ignore the relief that accompanies the idea of ending your engagement and decide to see what happens when you talk to Roy about all this. You figure he should be there when you make the big decision.

You go to the break room to get a Coke and a Diet Coke before you face your fate in the warehouse. You know that a can of soda is a measly peace offering for what you’re about to do, but you’ll feel better if you have a sense of purpose other than possibly ending your ten-year relationship.

The break room is empty except for Jim, sitting alone with his usual ham sandwich, and Kevin, sitting alone with a huge container of leftover spaghetti. You hope it’s leftover, at least. Kevin has been known to cook real meals in the office kitchen.

Jim watches you pull two cans of soda out of the vending machine. Your eyes meet before you turn around and walk away with both of them. His face, seconds before a crash of disappointment, lingers in your mind even as you try to dismiss it for now. One thing at a time, you think.

You find Roy loading up the last of a shipment, and Darryl lets the two of you sit in his office during the warehouse lunch break.

Roy opens the can of soda you gave him and takes a sip, nodding to the Diet Coke in your hand. “Where’s your lunch?”

“Oh, um…” You turn the can over in your hand and scan the nutrition label for an idea of what to say next. Finding it unhelpful, you begin, “I actually wanted to talk to you.”

He looks up from his sandwich and eyes you suspiciously. “You sound serious. Are you breaking up with me or something?” he asks with a chuckle.

He said it first, you think, biting your lip to stifle a nervous, ironic smile. You try not to think about the fact that this moment might bring a huge chapter in your life to a close.

“Do you still want to get married?”

Roy blinks in surprise, then looks over at the other warehouse workers and their lively lunch break. “Are we seriously having this conversation here?”

You shrug a shoulder, as if you hadn’t spent the last three hours thinking about how you were going to bring up this topic. “I just… I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and I guess I just want to know how you’re feeling.”

“Well, we’re engaged, aren’t we?”

“That’s not what I asked you,” you mumble under your breath.

“What?”

“I didn’t ask, ‘are we going to get married?’ I asked, ‘do you want to get married?’”

You expect Roy to hesitate, but he doesn’t. Not for a second. “Yeah, of course I do!” He stands up and tosses his sandwich onto Darryl’s desk. “Are you… having second thoughts?”

No, of course not is on the tip of your tongue, but you push that sentence away, knowing it’s dishonest. You almost feel like you had to breathe in twice in a row as you held back, and suddenly everything you’ve been thinking all morning comes out in a single exhale.

“After what happened last night, I just started thinking about things. I know last night was bad, but it’s not out of the ordinary for us, is it? I mean, we fight all the time, and when we aren’t fighting, we aren’t really doing much of anything. We’re in the same place now as we were last year.”

You grapple over what to say next, unable to think of anything that advances the conversation slowly enough to allow you to retreat if necessary.

“I didn’t know you felt this way,” Roy says, in a softer tone than usual. “Let’s, you know, start planning a wedding, then.”

Yesterday you would have been over the moon to hear Roy say that. You’d been waiting literally years for him to show some sort of initiative, some sort of desire to get married and invest in your relationship. But all that time has given you space to see where Roy’s priorities lie. How he wants to spend his time, what he’s really aiming for, what thinks about when he wakes up in the morning.

It’s all been proof that maybe, just maybe, you made a mistake saying yes.

Marriage has been so important to you for as long as you can remember, but that might be because you can’t really remember what your life was like without this long-term relationship. It’s been your center, your identity, your goal and motivation all at once.

And, truth be told, you’ve always been a bit scared of navigating life alone. But now it hits you that you’ve been doing almost exactly that for months, and you never noticed because you were too distracted by the little diamonds on your finger.

Roy’s been watching you think this whole time, and he finally speaks again. “Are we… good? We’re still getting married?”

You can’t keep holding all this in. You shake your head slowly and bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying. “No. I’m sorry.”

You pull the ring off your finger and set it on Darryl’s desk, freeing yourself of the sterling symbol of promises and unity that evolved into a symbol of complacency and limitations.

Roy looks at the newly unoccupied ring and turns his gaze to you. “You’re serious? You don’t want to get married? Tell me who out of the two of us has always been talking about planning our wedding and setting a date.”

“Tell me who has to be reminded every so often that we’re not dating if we’re engaged and has to be coaxed into interrupting his schedule for one evening so we can do something together?” you fire back with more intensity than you intended.

Roy blinks in surprise. “Okay, well… I won’t do that anymore.”

“It’s not that simple,” you say to the floor, suddenly feeling timid again.

“So what do you want me to do?” His voice catches at the end of his question, and it makes you look back up at him. “I don’t want to break up.”

“I just think it’s better for us,” you say, trying to play off your hesitancy as gentleness. “We’ve grown apart more than I think you realize. We’re living two separate lives. And I just feel like we never listen to each other anymore. So many of our conversations end with us fighting.”

“All couples fight.”

“I know.” You don’t feel like explaining why that isn’t a valid reason for allowing your relationship to continue like it had before. “I think I’ve been wanting this for a while,” you continue. “Last night just made me… reconsider things.”

Once again, you’re leaving out part of the story. But you remind yourself that your kiss and ensuing conversation with Jim were just the push you needed to climb up the ladder, and you made the decision on your own to jump off the high dive.

“I’m not happy anymore.”

Seconds, perhaps a full minute, goes by. Roy takes a step backwards and sinks back into his seat, looking more stunned than upset at this point. You wait a few more moments, wanting nothing more than to run away and not look back. But he looks so dejected that you try to soften the blow. “Thank you for… my first relationship.”

He lets out a humorless puff of air, the outline of a scoff.

“I’ll talk to you later.”

He nods. “Okay.”

And with that, you scrape together the last of your courage, turn on your heel, and walk out of Darryl’s office.

The hard part is over, you tell yourself, even though you’re not so sure that’s true. There’s baggage to deal with: your families, finances, future comments from coworkers. Not to mention figuring out who you are without the identity fallback plan of a nine-year-long relationship.

In a bit of a daze, you head up the stairs and pop into the restroom to calm down before walking back to your desk. You just need a moment to yourself, even though it looks like your future is going to be full of moments to yourself.

After a few deep breaths, you give your reflection a nod of approval and walk back into the bullpen. You sit back down at your desk, assuming your typical position with Jim in your diagonal line of eyesight from your computer. You lean forward to get a better look at him; you’re not sure why. Maybe if you get close enough, you’ll be able to hear what he’s thinking.

It’s probably wiser to keep quiet about the situation, but you need to tell Jim that things are over between you and Roy. You think about sending him an email or an IM, but you really want to tell him in person. You settle for staring at him until he glances in your direction.

It’s not a long wait.

You gesture towards the elevators with a tilt of your head and stand up, motioning for him to follow you. Jim raises an eyebrow, his chest deflating with a silent sigh.

Please? you mouth. You know there’s no way for him to know how different this conversation will be from the one you had in the stairwell or the one you had last night. There’s no reason he should interpret your soft smile as anything but pity, anything but a final shove into the friend zone. But he finally nods and follows you down the hallway.

You grab his hand and pull him to the side as the door closes behind you. A few butterflies gently flap in your stomach as a moment you didn’t have the foresight to anticipate unfolds before you.

Jim looks down, away from your eyes and away from your loosely joined fingers. “Pam, I don’t--”

“I broke up with Roy.”

“Oh.” Color returns to his cheeks, light to his eyes. He smiles tentatively, visibly reining in his true reaction. “How are you feeling?”

You don’t have much of an answer for that even though it’s all you’ve been thinking about today. You still feel a bit conflicted and as unsure as ever about the future, and you still haven’t decided if you’re going to be fully honest with Roy about what prompted you to end things today. But you’re not as afraid of it all anymore.

“The same, I guess. But better.”

Jim chuckles softly. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know.” You laugh at your own comment, knowing that just because it didn’t make any sense didn’t mean Jim didn’t understand. He understands you perfectly, and all you have to do is sit across from him. “I need some time, though, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he says quickly. “Whatever you need.” He squeezes your hand once before letting it go, in that moment holding you closer than he’s ever let himself before. “Should we go back in?”

“I guess we should.”

You set up your post at reception for the third time today. The phone rings just as you take a seat, and you transfer the call to Kelly.

As you go to hang up, Jim glances in your direction and smiles. Your cheeks flush as you finally let yourself indulge in the feeling of flattery that a look from Jim evokes.

You look down at your bare left hand. Seeing your engagement ring always made you think about the night you and Roy got engaged, never your future wedding. You always tried to imagine it, but there was nothing in place to give you inspiration. It was just easier to think about the past.

Now you have a lot of uncomfortable moments ahead of you. You have to face Roy again, find somewhere to stay tonight and somewhere new to live, tell all your family and friends that you called off your engagement.

But now, as you watch Jim take a phone call, type an email, trick Dwight into kicking a dent into his filing cabinet, and talk Michael out of buying a dog for the office, it’s already easier to think about the future.

THE END

You and Roy owe it to each other to talk things through, but you suppose that wouldn’t have to happen tonight. Your head is still spinning as you transition from drunk to hungover, and getting some rest seems like a better idea than waiting for Roy to come home.

Good decision, you think as your head hits the pillow. Soothed by the weight of the covers and the surrounding darkness, you fall asleep within seconds.

***

You’re not sure which is worse: the sound of your alarm clock, or the brightness of the sunrise. You wince at the onslaught of sensory information and quickly shut off the noise.

A dull throb behind your eyes initially prevents you from thinking about much else. Then you remember going to bed alone the night before, and you turn to your right to see if you’re waking up to the same situation.

To your mild relief, Roy is asleep next to you, snoring lightly. Your lips curl into a tired, humorless smile, seeing that your argument must not have affected his ability to sleep, either. Rubbing your temples, you push yourself out of bed and shuffle into the kitchen to make a big pot of coffee.

You become aware of a developing pit in your stomach as you get used to your hangover. You know that before you leave the house, you and Roy are going to have to talk things over, or at least pretend to, and you hate how much the very idea of that fills you with dread.

You want to feel, if not confident, then at least comfortable unpacking an argument with Roy. But it’s hard to feel that way when talking about past events just makes things worse half the time. Even if it’s a smooth conversation, the verbal resolution you reach hardly ever reflects how you’re actually feeling.

And if you’re going to spend the rest of your lives together…. Well, maybe that just means you have time to learn how to work these things out together.

You don’t feel much better by the time you’ve showered and gotten ready for work. You had been hoping that a night of rest would help you clear your mind a little, but it seems as though it had the exact opposite effect.

Before, you were simply overwhelmed, unable to think about everything that had happened. Now it’s like your mind is stuck playing an album with only one song. You just want to hit pause, but all you know how to do is skip around from one memory to the next: arguing with Roy in the parking lot, sharing Jim’s beer and stealing his onion rings, kissing Jim on the lips, letting him escort you to your car, and chickening out of asking the question that had been on your mind all evening.

That last one has been the hardest to forget about, though it was arguably the best choice you made the entire night, given that you’re walking down the hallway to meet your fiancé in the kitchen.

Roy’s back is turned when you walk in, but to your surprise, there’s a full mug of coffee at your seat, as well as two Black-Eyed Susans that you immediately recognize from your neighbor’s front yard. You chuckle softly, feeling a long-awaited moment of relief.

Roy turns around upon hearing you laugh. A hesitant smile takes over his face. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

He runs his fingers down the back of his head, letting his hand settle on his neck. “I felt really bad when you were asleep when I got home cause, you know, I wanted to talk to you. Make sure you were okay.”

You nod, feeling touched. “I am.”

“I’m really sorry for what happened last night.”

His vague wording isn’t lost on you. “Me too.”

Maybe it will be lost on him.

Roy pulls you to him with one arm and deposits a kiss on the top of your head. “Let’s do something fun tonight, okay?” he says. “We’ll go to Chili’s or something.” He chuckles, clearly amused with himself.

You grit your teeth in what you hope is a convincing smile. “Yeah, interesting story there.” You proceed to tell him that you got kicked out of the restaurant for swiping people’s drinks and getting so drunk that you fell off a bar stool.

“You?” Roy says suspiciously, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah.”

“Nice!” He offers you a high-five and squeezes your hand when you accept. “That’s my girl. Man, I wish I had seen that.”

You roll your eyes and attempt a chuckle. You and Roy are still a good match, no question about it. “Oh… you didn’t miss much,” you say as you dig through the refrigerator, bringing the conversation to a close under the guise of making breakfast.

By the time you and Roy pull into the parking lot of Scranton Business Park, you’ve thought of three different ways to distract Michael in case he decides to talk about anything from last night, but the planning ahead doesn’t stop your stomach from doing little flips when you walk out of the elevator. Maybe it’s your hangover.

You almost expect paparazzi to greet you at the door of the Dunder Mifflin bullpen, but the most confrontational thing is the reception phone already ringing. You run to answer it before transferring the call to Michael.

No one is looking at you when you return your focus to the rest of the office. Stanley grunts at his crossword puzzle, Dwight is measuring his desk for who knows what reason. Angela’s haughty gaze seems to linger a second longer than it usually does, but you can deal with that. In a way it’s not surprising, you think, since no one really notices you much here.

“Hey, Beesly, how’s it going? Feeling better?”

You turn to your left and see Jim hanging up his coat. He offers you an ear-to-ear smile that immediately makes you laugh.

“Yeah, a little,” you reply.

Jim smiles again and turns to his desk. You sit down and start to boot up your computer, when you’re struck with a flash of inspiration. “Oh, hey, c’mere,” you say, gesturing him over to you. “I thought of the question I was going to ask you.”

He raises his eyebrows and retraces his steps to reception. “Alright, this better be good. I’ve been waiting all night for this.”

So have I, you almost say. “Um… were you the one who came up with the whitest sneakers Dundie?”

His first reaction is a look of surprise. But he nods, slowly.

You, on the other hand, are not surprised. Of course the award was his idea. Michael would never have let his favorite joke go down without a fight.

“Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

He nods again. “Of course. Anything to… you know, liven up Michael’s comedy routine.”

You feel a little twang in your heart as you watch Jim walk back to his desk. He doesn’t know how much you owe him for talking Michael out of his favorite moment of the Dundies, although that’s probably a good thing.

The Dundies aren’t going away, you think. But it looks as though your consecutive longest engagement awards are one less thing to worry about, knowing how much Jim looks out for you.

THE END

You burrow under a throw blanket and nibble on some crackers as you wait for Roy to come home, feeling basically hungover by now and like you’re just a long blink away from falling asleep. But you still think you should stay up at least a little longer and try to work things out. With or without Roy.

It’s not the first time you’ve waited for him to come home, but it’s probably the first time you’ve left the anger-disappointment ombre that feels a little too familiar. The outside isn’t any better. Guilt is an ugly emotion with few friends on its side.

You wonder if Roy ever feels this way.

The garage door creaks open, and you suddenly dread the moment you’ve been waiting for. Whatever happened to the days of running to greet him when you hadn’t seen him in a while? You suppose those days are less likely to happen when you work in the same building.

You push the blanket off you and rub your eyes, willing some energy back into you. The door to the garage opens and shuts, and, memory dawning, you suddenly start to panic, wiping your hand across your lips as though the words I kissed Jim! are written there.

He’s not going to know, you tell yourself. Not right now, anyway. You stand up from the couch just as Roy makes it to the living room.

He takes a visible breath, offering a subdued smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you reply. Do I still sound drunk?

“You’re up late.”

“You’re home late.”

“Yeah, I know. It was my turn to drive.” He spots the crumpled blanket, empty sleeve of crackers, and half-empty glass of water. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Yeah.”

“That was nice of you.”

All you can do is stare in exasperated un-surprise. You stayed up for this? A forced apology isn’t much better than none at all, but ugh, you just can’t help it.

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

Roy makes a noise somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. “No. I… I guess I didn’t know how to say it.”

“You don’t know how to say ‘sorry?’”

Wow. Drunk Pam is clearly still in charge here. You would never have said that sober, but you don’t think you’ll necessarily regret it.

“That’s not what I meant.” Roy sits down on the arm of the couch and runs his hand down the back of his head. “You know I don’t want to fight.”

He’s had worse opening lines.

“I don’t either. That doesn’t make it okay that we did.”

“I know, but it takes two people to fight, doesn’t it?”

His tone stays low, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes that makes your heart ache and your voice quaver. “Are you blaming me for what happened?”

Roy stands up and starts walking over to the kitchen. “I’m just saying it wouldn’t have happened if you had just been up front with me in the first place.”

That’s what blame means, you think but don’t say out loud. You’re tired of it all at this point. Tired of Roy ignoring you, tired of telling him how you feel only to have him shit on it.

As if reading your mind and getting the letter but not the spirit as usual, Roy jerks his head down the hall and opens his arm to you. “Let’s just go to bed, okay?”

It’s better than any of your ideas. But you know this situation is wrong, and for the first time in a long time, you’re not pushing the thought away for you to find later.

You wait in the dark until you hear Roy’s throaty breathing, then quietly peel yourself away from the bedroom and build yourself a nest on the couch. Finally, you feel like you have space to think again and really analyze the mess that you’re in.

Except you do the opposite of that, and replay all of today’s Roy-less scenes until there’s a soft smile on your face. It’s enough to comfort you as you fall asleep, but as you gloss over the biggest moment of the evening, you know that you can’t keep going on like this.

***

A loud clunk pulls you from dream to reality, and it immediately hits you that you forgot to set an alarm. You sit up quickly, squinting at the shape of Roy in the kitchen. “What time is it?”

“Almost 8:30.”

You groan in response and shove your head back into the oversized throw pillow.

“Should I have woken you?”

Yes, but you can’t exactly blame him for letting you sleep since you’ve gotten mad at him for waking you up before. And he sounds legitimately sorry, so you’re not going to make him feel worse.

“You know what, it’s okay. I’m actually not feeling great,” you say, and it isn’t a lie. “I think I’m going to call in.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I have sick days left anyway.”

Roy makes a few more noises in the kitchen before walking over to the couch. “Alright, well… hope you feel better.” He gives your shoulder a pat and collects his things from around the apartment, leaving you alone once again as he heads out.

One nice thing about having Michael as a boss is that he never questions a sick call that’s definitely a hungover call. At this moment, you think that might be an even trade off for all the Dundie award ceremonies.

After leaving a message for him, you shower, find your glasses, and make yourself a small breakfast. You have a long day of thinking ahead of you.

You’re in the middle of watching The Breakfast Club when it occurs to you that Roy being around you all the time isn’t what’s keeping you from making a decision. It’s the thought that if you make a decision, you might have to actually do something about it. And you don’t know if anything will be much better than the small, familiar world you’ve created with Roy.

You turn off the movie and head to your bedroom, figuring you’ll at least get dressed today. A few minutes later and you’re reorganizing all your clothes.

Clothes you’ve had since high school, clothes you bought for your job at Dunder Mifflin, one bridesmaids dress… and that’s about it. So much for that activity.

Your cell phone rings and it startles you, making your heart skip a beat. Half of you hopes it’s Roy and the other half of you is absolutely positive it’s not Roy.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Jim.”

“Oh, hi!” Just as your heartbeat is returning back to normal, it falls again.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m just hungover.” You sit down on your bed and cross your legs in front of you. “You’re shocked, aren’t you? I held it together so well.”

Jim chuckles. “Yep. Definitely shocked.”

You twist the bedspread in your hands, trying to think of something else to say. “How’s Dwight?”

Jim doesn’t hesitate. “Oh, he misses you so much.”

You can’t hear exactly what’s happening on the other end, but you can tell it’s Dwight in the background.

“He said that he’s not going to make it through the day if he can’t talk to you.”

“Well, then I think you should put him on.”

You hold back a laugh as the phone is passed to Dwight.

“Hi Pam, I do not miss you.”

“Oh, it’s okay. You don’t have to pretend for me.”

“You sound awfully perky. Should I come make sure you’re really sick?”

Thinking quickly, you reply, “Jim will just think you’re trying to skip work.”

Dwight pauses. “Dammit, you’re right. Okay. See you Monday.”

You hold your breath, expecting Dwight to hang up, but you smile in relief when Jim speaks a moment later.

“Hey, it’s me again.”

“Hey.”

“So…”

“Yeah?”

All you hear is a breathy exhale, the sound of a smile.

You never knew how nice it would be to just be on the phone with Jim. You’d had a similar thought before, sitting next to him in meetings or looking across the bullpen to make eye contact with him. You didn’t think it would translate outside Dunder Mifflin and the shared experiences of your unique workplace. But you could stay on the phone with him for the rest of the day. Just existing at the same time. Breathing, listening, waiting.

Only, as much as you want to preserve this moment, you can’t wait around to see if he does too.

“Did anyone…” you begin, changing your mind halfway through the sentence.

“What’s that?”

You clear your throat. “Nothing. I’ll see you on Monday.”

He pauses for so long, you almost wonder if he hung up. “Yeah. For sure.”

“Have a good weekend.”

“You too.”

You look at the pile of clothes on the floor and the midday sun filtering through your bedroom curtains, and try not to think about Jim seeming like he didn’t want to end the conversation, either.

***

You watch the rest of The Breakfast Club and make a bowl of Cap’n Crunch so you can really be one with Ally Sheedy. They’re the peanut butter kind, but it’s okay. Ally gets it.

The movie isn’t as enjoyable as you want it to be. You have a little nagging thought bouncing off the walls of your brain, reminiscent of knowing you have an upcoming test that you’re not ready for and doing nothing about it.

Roy will be home soon. The test day is approaching whether you like it or not. Sitting around and dreading his return isn’t the most enjoyable thing to do, but it is the easiest.

The garage door opens at 5:26. You run your fingers through your hair and push yourself to your feet, trying to think of how you can begin a conversation when you’re not really even sure what you need to talk about.

Roy gives you a little wave and shrugs off his jacket as he walks into the bedroom.

“Hey baby, I’m just here to change really quick. Darryl and I are heading to Mickey Gannon’s.”

You can’t think of anything to say in response, even though you thought about this interaction all day, and you have no reason to feel so stunned by this new information. You slowly walk into the bedroom, weighing the few options that come to you. “Really? You’re going out?”

Roy tosses his work shirt in the hamper. “What do you mean, ‘really?’”

Yeah, that wasn’t the right word to use, now that you’re thinking about it. Because you’re not surprised he’s going out. You’re not surprised he didn’t call you today, or check on you when he got home, or ask if you wanted to come with him tonight. What surprises you is that this is the first time you’re doing something about it.

The last thing you want is a repeat of last night’s argument. And you decide right away that that won’t be happening. You’re trying something new this time.

“Do you still want to get married?”

Roy stops in the middle of pulling his sweater on, and you might laugh if it weren’t so serious. His face emerges at last, looking stunned and a little bit offended.

“Yeah?” he replies. “Why are you asking that?”

You can’t quite bring yourself to list everything he’s done that made you question your engagement. Over the years you’ve said it all before, and he’s ignored it like it was wind in the air. Your plan to sit down and discuss things with him goes out the window, and you say what you’ve been thinking all along without letting yourself admit it.

“Because…”

Are you really going to say this? What happens after this sentence ends? What if there’s nothing better than you and Roy?

“I don’t think I do.”

You know that was a cheap move, but you’re breaking up with him, so you can’t dwell on it for long. You pull off your ring and set it on the dresser, then take a step back into the hallway, fearing the worst reaction. Last night’s argument ended with you twisting out of his grip, and now you’re saying you want to leave his life, not just his evening plans.

But Roy seems more shocked than angry. He finds a seat on the edge of the bed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I didn’t know you felt this way.”

“After what happened last night, I just started thinking. I know last night was bad, but it’s not out of the ordinary for us, is it? I mean, we fight all the time, and when we aren’t fighting, we aren’t really doing much of anything. We’re in the same place now as we were last year.”

This explanation doesn’t seem to smooth things over.

“What the hell, Pam?” he whispers. He looks up at you with glossy eyes, something you’re not sure you’ve ever seen. “We’re done? One bad night, and you’re ending things?”

“That is not what I said,” you reply with more intensity than you intended. “I have made this relationship my life for the past nine years. Okay? I’ve given up so much for it, and… you know what, some of that was the right thing to do. But I’m not getting what I need from our relationship anymore. I’m not happy anymore.”

You hate this. You hate that an afternoon of reflection led to such a poorly worded speech, that you still care about the man that doesn’t treat you well and has held you back, and that you let yourself waste years of your life in a relationship that dragged you around in circles instead of pushing you forward.

Roy stands up at last and scrubs his hand across his face. “Fine. Whatever. I’m still going out.”

He gathers his jacket and keys and thumps down the hallway, leaving you alone yet again as the garage door closes with a resounding creak.

You expect to cry, but it doesn’t happen. You don’t feel normal exactly, but familiar. Like you’re back to being fourteen years old again, before you really knew who Roy was. Of course, fourteen-year-old Pam knew who she was without Roy Anderson. Maybe you’ll get back there one day.

You start packing clothes and shoes and other random things. You can’t tell what your thought process is as you cram a faded beach towel and some books you’ve never read into an old suitcase, only that it’s hard to figure out what things are important to you.

Finally, you grab your pillow from the king-sized bed in the middle of the room, the asymmetrical result sparking a tentatively triumphant smile.

Now what?

You haven’t talked to Isabel in a long time, and you don’t think asking her if you can spend a few nights at her place is a great way to rekindle your friendship. You could stay at a hotel, but you feel uneasy about spending money since you and Roy aren’t sharing finances anymore.

Thinking of no other good options, you pull out your cell phone and give Jim a call. You’re walking into dangerous ground, but… whatever. It’s not like you’ve never been there before.

“Beesly! What’s happening?” Jim sounds like he has a mouthful of chips or something, and it makes you smile.

“Hey, um…” You take a breath and ask your question quickly so you can’t change your mind halfway through. “Would it be possible for me to crash at your place tonight?”

He doesn’t respond right away, and you don’t blame him. “Sure,” he says gently. “Uh… need me to come get you?”

“Wow. That would be really great of you. Yes, please.”

“Alrighty. Are you ready for me now?”

You give him your address, and he lets you know he’ll be on his way soon.

As you wait, it occurs to you that Jim was intuitive enough to ask if you needed a ride, and he didn’t ask why or what was going on. The scandalous nature of all this is starting to matter to you less and less. At least, for now.

Even so, you feel like you’re doing something wrong as you bring out all your luggage to the driveway. Hopefully you don’t run into any neighbors out for their evening strolls as you get picked up by a man who isn’t your fiancé.

The feeling gets worse and better as Jim pulls into your driveway. But you try to ignore it as Jim jumps out of the car and starts loading your suitcases into the trunk.

“Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, straining a little to lift one of your bags. “Jeez, Pam. You moving in or something?”

He immediately gets a funny look on his face, as if he regrets saying that. You don’t want to make him feel bad about it, so you just shrug.

“I broke up with Roy.”

Jim slams the trunk, nodding slowly. “I figured.”

Neither of you say anything else until you’re almost out of your neighborhood.

“I really appreciate this, Jim,” you say, turning in your seat to face him. “And it’s just for tonight. I can figure out something else after this.”

“Hey, you’re fine,” he says quickly. “Whatever you need, okay?”

You nod, knowing he means nothing shy of that sentiment and also knowing you probably shouldn’t take him up on it.

“You eat dinner yet?”

“No.”

“Want to get something?”

“Um… anything but Chili’s.”

Jim chuckles. “Sounds good. Why don’t we just grab a pizza or something? Mark is out with some friends tonight, so the house is ours until he gets back.”

With everything else going on, you had forgotten it was Friday. “Oh no, did you have plans tonight, too?”

Jim smiles and waves a finger at you. “You’re funny.”

Half an hour later, the two of you are sitting on either end of Jim’s couch, eating a sausage and mushroom pizza and watching the Flyers game. It reminds you a little too much of Roy, and it’s stupid, but you decide to ask Jim if he can turn it off.

“How attached are you to seeing this game?”

Jim smiles and shakes his head. “Not very. I can just check the results later tonight.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He turns off the TV and grabs another slice of pizza. “We can play a board game or something.”

“That would be nice. You also don’t have to hang out with me,” you add, though you hope he doesn’t take that suggestion seriously.

“Oh, stop it. Why wouldn’t I want to hang out with you?”

He probably expects you to respond to that, but you can’t think of anything that doesn’t make your cheeks burn just thinking about it. Instead you just finish your pizza and ask him what games he has.

Jim opens a cabinet across the room and starts digging around. “Okay, there’s Scrabble, Backgammon, Battleship. Do you play chess?”

You’ve played about five games of chess with your dad, and they all ended with you giving up because you were too bored to keep going. “Not really.”

Jim sighs lightly. “Darn. No one ever wants to play chess with me. I keep asking Mark if I can teach him, and he’s never interested.”

You’re not really in the mood for playing a game that requires strategic thinking, but maybe that’s a small way you can pay him back for taking you in tonight, not to mention all he’s done for you in the past.

“We can play chess.”

“Really?” His delighted grin and raised eyebrows are proof that you’re making the right decision.

You shrug. “Sure! You might have to help me out a little, or maybe you can just play both sides.”

“Hey, I’ll take it.”

“You know you can always play computer chess.”

Jim shakes his head and starts setting up the board on the coffee table. “Dwight can play computer chess.”

“You play chess for the social aspect.”

“Exactly.”

“When we go back to work on Monday, I’m going to tell Dwight that you know how to play chess.”

“That’s just what I need, actually, is more in common with Dwight.”

You play in silence for a few minutes. Jim seems to understand immediately that you need to concentrate all your attention on the game, but he finally speaks up after you’ve taken a little too long to figure out what to do next.

“I’m not asking to know what happened,” he begins carefully. He twirls a pawn in his hand as he watches you mull over the board. “I’m just going to say that if you want to talk about… you know, anything, I’m here to listen.”

“Thanks,” you reply, feeling a little self-conscious. “I wouldn’t even know how to start, so I’ll spare you.”

You move your rook down the board and take one of Jim’s pawns, feeling not at all certain that it’s a good move. But at least bad moves mean the game is over sooner.

Jim smiles gently. “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not allowed to put yourself in check.”

“Oh.” You try to find the attacking piece, and Jim comes to the rescue again by pointing out his knight and queen working together. “Okay, so you were here,” you say, putting his pawn back. “And I was… here?”

“Back one.” Jim picks up your hand with the rook and moves it to the right square, letting go gently.

You ignore the soft chill that runs up your arm and look back down at the board. “So what do you think I should do?” you whisper.

His eyes automatically meet yours when you look back up at him, as if he was waiting for your gaze to return. He doesn’t respond. He just blinks once and smiles with half of his mouth, reacting to something more than what you just said.

A little butterfly nudges at the wall of your stomach. The feeling is just as familiar as the way Jim is looking at you.

“Is that your way of saying that it doesn’t matter because you’re still going to win?”

Jim chuckles, solidifying the broken spell. “I mean, yeah.” He looks back down at the board. “You’re doing a pretty good job, though.”

“If you say so.” You sink back into the couch, forgetting that it’s still your turn.

“Do you want to be done?” Jim asks with an amused smile.

“Oh. I guess,” you reply. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Jim stands up and starts collecting the napkins and pizza box. “Lemme go change my sheets for you. I’ll take the couch tonight.”

You protest immediately. “Jim, no, I can’t take your bed.”

“Oh, I insist.” He reaches over the coffee table to take your empty plate.

“No way! You’re so tall. I’m not going to make you cram onto the couch.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Okay, but still. You’re like a foot taller than me.”

He chuckles, “I’m not a foot taller than you--”

“How tall are you?” You can’t help grinning as you ask him a question you’ve been dying to ask for a while. At least since the basketball game in the warehouse.

“Six-three. How tall are you?”

You sigh. “Five-six.”

He smiles triumphantly.

You wave your hand, holding onto your argument anyway.  “Okay, nine inches, a foot. Same difference.”

Jim raises his eyebrows. “Same difference.”

“Yeah.”

He laughs again. “Alright Beesly, suit yourself. I’ll go find you some blankets though, okay?”

While he’s gone, you finish cleaning up the living room, and then you decide to check your cell phone, something you’ve been avoiding all evening.

Five missed calls. Two voicemails.

Holding your breath, you try listening to the first one. All you can make out is background noise, “Pam,” and a few slurred apologies. You don’t even bother with the second voicemail, instead shoving your phone deep into your purse so you aren’t tempted to throw it against the wall.

You know the fallout from a nine-year relationship is going to be long. Even though your engagement seemed to be more and more for show than for romance, ending it was bound to lead to a more intense interaction with Roy than you had seen in months.

What surprises you is that you still can tell being uncomfortable outside of the relationship is better than being comfortable inside.

Jim comes back downstairs with a sheet, a pillow, and two different blankets. He opens his mouth to say something, then changes his mind when he sees you lost in thought, chewing on your bottom lip.

“You okay there?”

He doesn’t need to be more involved in this situation than he already is, you think. So you just nod and smile, and it’s not exactly a lie.

“Well, I’ll be upstairs,” he says, jerking his thumb behind him. “So, if you need anything, just call me.”

And you know he doesn’t just mean tonight. You stand up to take the bedding from him, then pull him into a hug before you can think twice about it. It’s the closest you’ve ever been to him, and you wish you could forget why you’ve never done this before.

You hear his exhale as he smiles and briefly rests his chin on the top of your head, and you can’t help but think how perfect it is that he’s only nine inches taller.

You get ready for bed after Jim goes upstairs, changing into pajamas in the tiny half bathroom in the hall. You figure out how to turn off the lights in the living room and feel your way around to your makeshift bed. You had a pillow of your own, but you decided to use the one Jim gave you. The pillowcase smells vaguely like him, which is weird. You didn’t think you knew what Jim smelled like.

You keep expecting to feel guilty about what you’ve done, about not being honest with Roy sooner, about breaking up with him instead of trying yet again to make things right. It’s like you’ve spent the evening distracting yourself from a breakdown that wasn’t even there in the first place, and now that you have the space to indulge it, there’s nothing. You don’t want to feel worse right now… or maybe you do.

It doesn’t help that everything with Jim looks a little fishy. You kissed him last night, you know you’ve flirted at work with him before, and now you’re spending the night on his couch. Even the logical thought that no one will know about all this doesn’t comfort you. And you’re not really sure why.

***

You must have fallen asleep at some point because you wake up to a room full of sunlight. You feel a little stiff from sleeping on a couch, which makes you feel better about insisting that Jim keep his bed.

You quickly remember that you need to talk to Roy again sometime this weekend. It probably won’t be worse than your conversation last night, and you made it through that one. That thought doesn’t really alleviate the pit in your stomach.

It’s been harder to know how to feel when you have more control over the situation, and you’re not just reacting to what’s around you. This decision to break up with Roy was more than just a reaction. It didn’t just happen to you, like so much else in your life did.

But maybe you don’t really need to know how you feel if you know something is just the right thing to do.

A soft clink comes from the kitchen. You sit up quickly, shoving your glasses on.

Jim’s roommate pours himself a mug of coffee and offers you a salutatory nod. He leans over the counter into the living room, as if he’s preparing to tell you a secret. “See, now I never kick a girl out of bed.”

You offer him a confused blink before the implication hits you. “Oh! Um… that’s not what happened!”

Mark smiles, pleased with himself nonetheless. “I know, I’m just teasing ya. Jim told me he was having a friend over. You want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

You find the sweatshirt you were wearing last night and put it on before walking over to the kitchen.

“It’s Pam, right?” Mark asks as he hands you a Sixers mug.

“Yup, that’s me. Do you guys have any milk?”

Mark takes your favorite vanilla creamer out of the fridge instead and hands it to you proudly.

“Even better,” you say, pouring more than a full serving into your mug. “Okay, which one of you is the creamer guy?”

“Neither of us, actually.” Mark glances over his shoulder and drops his voice a few levels. “Jim had me get that for you while I was out last night.”

You swear your heart actually melts a little. “Wow, really?”

You hardly ever have coffee at work, so you’re surprised Jim even had the chance to notice what kind of creamer you like.

Mark raises his eyebrows and smiles into his mug.

You and Jim spend the morning researching apartments in Scranton, and in the afternoon he lets you borrow his car to go look at some. As you talk with landlords and fill out paperwork, it feels like you’re starting adulthood from scratch, even though you know that’s not really true. You already have a job and health insurance and just a bit of credit card debt. It’s more the experience of facing life by yourself that you’re building from the ground up.

You find a couple apartments that you like, and Jim again offers to let you stay with him and Mark until you can move into one of them. You’re secretly relieved, even if it’s not the most ideal situation. When you call your parents to let them know that you broke up with Roy, you don’t mention that you’re staying with two guys.

By the time Sunday rolls around, you know you need to talk to Roy before you risk seeing each other at work the next day. Breakups and closure don’t really go hand-in-hand, but you haven’t talked to Roy since he stormed out of the house, and you figure it’s worth trying to leave things on a better note.

You pace outside on Jim’s porch for a few minutes, take a few deep breaths, chicken out once, then press call. The phone rings four times before Roy picks up.

“Hey.” His voice is more breathy than vocal, with an air of resignation to take the sound just outside the realm of familiarity.

“Hi. Um, I just figured we should talk.” You nudge the side of the house with your toe, waiting for a response. His pause makes you think that maybe this will go better in person, even if you kind of dread looking him in the eye again. “Can I come over?”

Roy hesitates before he responds, but he says yes. You’ll take it.

“I’ll be right over.”

You borrow Jim’s car and park down the block from the house, in case Roy somehow recognizes your vehicle of choice. You feel as though there’s a weight in your chest, your heartbeats heavier than your steps in the road. You’re still trying to figure out why you’ve come back to talk to him when the last three times you’ve tried have ended miserably.

Maybe you’ll feel better if you can explain yourself again and apologize for putting Roy in this position. Or maybe you’re playing with fire, giving Roy the opportunity to know where you went, who you stayed with, and exactly why you left him.

It’s odd to knock on the door of the house you lived in for almost three years. But that thought completely disappears from your mind when a disheveled, unshaven Roy opens the door, and the faint smell of beer wafts out. You’ve seen him like this before, of course, but it’s the first time your automatic reaction isn’t frustration, mild disgust, or confusion about how men are comfortable going so long without showering.

He looks at you with the slightest fatigue in his eyes, with a face devoid of color. He offers a small smile, and your heart stirs with pity. You think he wants you to notice how he’s been holding up. You think he knows how it’s making you feel.

But you had the entire drive to think about what you were going to say, and you’re going to stick to it anyway. “Listen, I just felt bad for leaving things the way we did. You’ve obviously been a huge part of my life for such a long time, and I guess I just… wanted to say that I don’t hate you… or anything,” you finish lamely.

Roy chuckles softly. “I know you don’t. I never thought that.”

You smile, but you can tell he’s more hurt than he’s letting on, which surprises you. You didn’t think your leaving him would have this much of an impact on him in such a short amount of time given the previous trajectory of your relationship, where Roy seemed to care less as you looked for more.

He glances around the house. “Do you need anything while you’re here?”

“I guess not now. Could I come back in a few days?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” He fiddles with the door handle, stalling, looking for something more to say. “I guess I’ll see you at work. Do you need a ride?”

Your heart skips a beat, but you manage to keep it cool. “I got it. Thank you, though.”

You take a small step back, hoping Roy doesn’t ask anything more about where you’re staying or how you’re getting by now. A crease forms at his brow as he watches you move away from him again, and he poses the one question you were dreading the most.

“Are you sure we can’t make it work?”

You don’t let his glossy eyes and wavering tone sway you from the hours of reflecting you’ve done this weekend. You’ve got plans in your head, paperwork in your purse, and two hungry boys waiting for you to bring Chinese food back to the house. When you think about all that, it doesn’t seem so hard to answer.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You bite your lip, searching for a way to soften the blow. “I’m sorry,” you add, because you are. Maybe you shouldn’t be, but maybe that doesn’t matter. “Thank you for being my first.”

Roy nods, even smiles. You don’t know if he was expecting that, but it seems to have meant something to him. “You too.”

And with that, you turn and walk down the porch steps, picking up the pace once you hear the door close behind you.

You hate seeing Roy so upset, even if your parting words were mildly positive. You still feel guilty for breaking up with him, for trying and failing to be honest with him, for building a life with him that was destined to fall.

But you’ve lost count of the number of times the situation was reversed, and Roy is only just starting to think about where your relationship went wrong.

He’s going to get over you, you tell yourself, just like you’re going to get over him.

***

One month later

You finish scrubbing down your kitchen counter, wishing for not the first time that it wasn’t such an odd cream color. But you don’t have much to complain about. You found a place that was well-lit, small enough to be cozy and affordable but not cramped, and within a reasonable distance from work.

The complex doesn’t allow pets, which really puts a cramp in your plans to get a dog as soon as humanly possible. That’s probably good, though. You needed some forced time alone, and your new responsibilities are significant enough.

You spent your last three weekends going to garage sales for furniture, books, and incomplete dining sets. Plus dealing with the fallout of your breakup. You spend an hour one Saturday on the phone with Roy’s mom, listening to her alternate between apologizing for her son and asking why you can’t give him another try.

Jim has been nothing but an angel these past weeks. He helped you move into your apartment, helped you pick out a car, and drove you to work every day until your little Yaris was finally ready for you. It was fun to add a new dimension to your normal work relationship, something that gave the two of you a legitimate reason to hang out all the time.

Sometimes you wondered if you were asking too much of him, if you were taking advantage of his friendship. Then he would wink at you while the car salesman made the same joke twice or your upstairs neighbor gushed over what a cute couple the two of you made, and you knew he didn’t mind.

It hasn’t all been easy. You’re grateful at first to come home to an empty apartment, but the problem is that it just stays empty. There’s plenty of time, space, and quiet for you to figure out who you are and what you want to do with your life now that your biggest excuses are gone. But you think you like it, even if it’s not easy. You’re looking forward to seeing what’s next.

Jim is coming over tonight for dinner and a movie. You finish cleaning and sprawl out on your new couch, tapping your fingers on your stomach to settle the butterflies that have inevitably developed. But it’s okay. You kind of like them now that they’re not forbidden.

After a moment you reach for your cell phone, figuring Jim wouldn’t mind if you asked him to come over a little earlier.

THE END

You know talking to Dwight is always unpredictable at best, but you follow Dwight into the conference room anyway, finding him crouched in the corner of the room.

Upon hearing your footsteps, he jumps to his feet and spins around, handing you the end of a measuring tape. “Here. End of the wall, please.”

“Hello to you, too,” you say, taking the measuring tape and walking to the doorway.

You help Dwight measure both sides of the conference room and the diagonal.

“You know you could just calculate the diagonal,” you suggest.

Dwight shakes his head. “I can’t waste the batteries on my calculators.”

“Then why do you have them?”

“In case I need them in a survival situation.”

“Right, of course. Silly me.”

Dwight clips the measuring tape onto his belt. “Thank you, Pam,” he says with a salutatory nod.

“Wait,” you say, taking a small step in front of the door. “Um, can I ask you your opinion on… something kind of personal?”

He rolls his eyes and sighs heavily. “You don’t look fat.”

You can’t help but crack an amused smile. “Okay, thank you. Not that, though.” You glance into the bullpen and, finding it sufficiently empty, continue. “What do you think of Roy?”

Dwight tips his head to one side as he considers. “Well, he’s of a good height, good build. Do you know if baldness runs in his family?”

“No.”

“Well, I’d still say he’s a suitable mate for you. Depends on how many children you want to have, I suppose.”

You just nod, unsurprised that Dwight chose to focus on the most primitive aspect of the human relationship. “Did you see… what happened last night?”

“I saw everything. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Like did you see anything that, maybe, people wouldn’t want others to know about?”

His face turns even more serious, and he takes a step towards you. “This is highly classified,” he says in a low voice. “But I have strong suspicions that Michael’s hecklers from last night were planted spies from a rival paper company.”

You decide the best way to respond to that idea is to ignore it. “Yeah. I just meant that… Well, I meant that I fought with Roy. Loudly. In the parking lot. I don’t know if anyone saw that.”

“I see.”

Dwight, for once, doesn’t know what else to say. You’re not sure if that comes from lack of experience or lack of human empathy, but one guess is as good as another.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” he finally says. “Men and women always want different things from a relationship. It’s just biology.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Like how a lioness hunts and watches the cubs and stays with the same pride her entire life. The lion moves from pride to pride and fights with other lions.”

“Right. Okay. Well, thanks for…” You struggle to come up with a reasonable ending to that sentence. “Thanks.”

Dwight nods again and strides out of the conference room.

Well, that was productive, you think as you turn to walk back to your desk. In your hurry, you don’t look where you’re going, and suddenly you find your face smack in the middle of Jim’s button-down shirt. With Jim inside it.

“Oh, sorry,” you groan, pulling away from him as quickly as you can.

“Better watch out there, Beesly,” he replies with a rosy-cheeked smile. “Didn’t you learn to look both ways before you cross? I thought that was a pretty standard kindergarten lesson.”

“Um, maybe I was absent that day.” You make eye contact with Phyllis, who smiles, then Angela, who frowns. You mumble something about leaving your lunch in the car and duck out of the office before anyone can say anything else.

You try to calm yourself down in the room by the elevators, reminding yourself that no one ever cares about what happens here and no one pays attention to you for more than a few minutes at a time.

For a moment, you marvel at how you were able to kiss Jim in the middle of the restaurant and sit back down like it never happened, but today you bump into him accidentally and you’re too embarrassed to even think about it. There’s sort of a key element missing, though. Maybe you can catch Meredith before she comes in and take a swig of her Big Gulp.

Although now that you’re thinking about it, you’re sort of… always like that around Jim. You talk to him more than anyone else in the office, and there’s only so many conversation starters that can come from a day at Dunder Mifflin. This awkward feeling of mild regret from crossing the line only feels unfamiliar because you’ve never reflected on it before. How had you gone this long without noticing it?

The door to the office creaks open and Jim walks out. “Hey,” he begins gently. “The phone rang.”

“Oh!” You start to run back into the bullpen when Jim speaks again, holding up a hand to stop you.

“I answered it.” He continues in a falsetto, “Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam.”

Your cheeks flush as you smile. “Yeah, you got it.”

An unstructured silence follows. Jim shoves his hands in his pockets, stands on his toes, and clears his throat twice.

“Listen, are you okay? I’m sorry if I said something--”

You dismiss the suggestion with a wave of your hand. “No, you didn’t say anything.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“I promise. I just… I don’t really think I can talk to you about it.”

Even to you, the words ring a little hollow. Knowing better than to talk to Jim about a personal issue has never stopped you before. You know you’re not being fair to him as you slip past him and go back to your desk.

As you predicted, no one seems to have even noticed you were gone. You open up Spider Solitaire on your computer and wait for the phone to startle you.

It turns out that it’s hard to be startled when you’re preoccupied, and right now you’re more alert than you’ve ever been in this office building. In the aftermath of pretty much any other situation, you could probably just grit your teeth and wait for life to move on. But you can’t move on from the head-on collision between your favorite relationship and your strongest relationship. You can only hold your breath as you watch it unfold.

And something else has been bothering you, too. As unintentionally insightful as Dwight can be, you refuse to believe that men and women always want different things from a relationship, even though you know there’s some truth to that. Just look at you and Roy. The two of you hardly ever seem to want the same thing.

It’s always the little differences that stick out to you first, like how you never agree on who needs the car or how to spend your weekends. Things that distract you from the bigger issues like your never ending engagement, the fights that ensue anytime you ask him to help with the housework, how Roy seems content to live the same week over and over while you’re longing for something new.

You feel absolutely no sense of resolution after three more hours of thinking about this, so you head to the kitchen to grab your lunch and two sodas before walking downstairs to have lunch in the warehouse. You don’t know if Roy wants you there or if you want to be there, but it’s better than facing anyone upstairs.

Roy and most of the other workers are gathered by the open warehouse door. The conversation dies down as you walk over to them, and that’s almost enough to make you run back upstairs.

But you don’t. You find Roy and hand him the soda to indicate a reason for your being down here, because, you know, being his fiancée isn’t enough for that.

“Hey, what’s up, Pam,” Darryl says around a bite of his sandwich. “We missed you last night.”

You and Roy glance at each other, then look away. “Yeah, thanks,” you reply. “You didn’t miss any quality entertainment, though, that’s for sure.”

The other warehouse workers laugh.

“But I did win a Dundie.”

“Really? What’d you win?” Roy asks.

Your cheeks turn warm despite the cold breeze flowing in. “Whitest sneakers.”

“Huh,” Darryl chuckles. “That’s cute.”

Roy’s brow furrows slightly. “Weird Michael didn’t stick with what he’s done before.”

You don’t wait for Roy or anyone else to comment on why it’s surprising that Michael changed his favorite award. “Yeah. What did you guys do last night?”

The guys tell variations of the same stories and jokes about booze and quick decisions, and then you decide that twelve minutes of that is enough.

“I’m gonna head back up, okay?” you say to Roy under your breath.

“Go ahead. Oh, hey, listen.” He follows you a few steps away from the group. “The guys were thinking of going to Mickey Gannon’s tonight to watch the hockey game, and I told them we’d be there too.”

You gape at him. There’s no way he’s serious. But he is.

“Really? Even after what happened last night, you thought it would be a good idea to agree to plans without asking me?”

“Oh, come on. You got to stay at Chili’s last night. We’ll do something together tonight.”

“Right. That’s how it works.”

You get the sense that nothing you could say would advance this conversation any further. Maybe you’ll both be in a better headspace by the end of the day. But for now, you just turn on your heel and walk away.

“So we’re good?” Roy calls to you.

“I don’t know,” you yell back down the stairs.

Okay. There’s probably a way that could have gone worse, but you think you’d be feeling about the same. Maybe even better, since you’d have a clearer sense of what to do now.

“Ugh!” you groan in the auditory confines of the stairwell. You’re too frustrated to cry and too upset with yourself to pass it off as Roy being a jerk. All you can feel is completely and utterly stuck.

It wasn’t like you thought Roy had changed. He couldn’t even vocalize what he had done wrong, let alone have the foresight to do things differently.

No. That wasn’t it. You did think Roy had changed. Because you always think he will. You’re constantly hooked on a drug of cautious optimism, thinking that this moment, this conversation will be the turning point for your relationship. Roy would abandon his dismissive, discouraging comments in favor of real support and genuine compromise.

You forget that at the end of the day, Roy doesn’t change, doesn’t apologize for it, and doesn’t understand why you’re making a big deal. And you’re left riding the waves of alternating hope and disappointment, indicative of your deep investment in a relationship with dwindling returns.

You give yourself a moment to breathe at the top of the stairs before going back to your desk. Finding your inbox empty and nothing adequately distracting, you resort to drawing flowers on Post-It notes as you silently stew.

Part of you feels like you need to give Roy an ultimatum and give him a chance to save your relationship, since he has just as much of a say in this decision as you do. But you know deep down that you’ve given him so many chances over the course of nine years. Every day you were together was a chance for the two of you to grow.

It seems as though you’ve grown without him. And even if Roy changes one day, you can’t stay in this relationship. You just can’t.

Your heart drops in your chest, as though that realization jolted you from a hazy dream. You look around the office, somehow expecting your coworkers to react the same way you did to your silent decision. All around you are the clicks from keyboards and the hum of printers and a single telephone ringing.

As the shock wears off, a strange sense of relief washes over you that solidifies the rightness of ending things with Roy. Then you look out into the bullpen, just a hair to your left, and suddenly you’re questioning it all again.

You kissed Jim less than 24 hours ago, and now you’re thinking of ending your engagement to Roy. It’s not going to be difficult for people to draw the connection, and they won’t be wrong. They won’t have the full story, but they won’t be wrong, either.

Are you really going to throw away a nine-year relationship in exchange for that?

You’re not really sure what you’re supposed to do at this point, other than just wait for the day to be over. That’s often what you do anyway, especially on a Friday, but you’re usually hoping for time to go faster than for it to stop entirely.

At some point, Michael calls a meeting. You sit next to Phyllis and quickly start a conversation with her to avoid suspicion. But Jim just sits on your other side, like he always does. So much for avoiding suspicion. You’re not even sure how to sit in your chair as you try to balance the attitude of not caring or even noticing that he’s next to you with the way you always feel four inches away from your best friend.

Michael begins talking about a possible new client before switching to dinosaurs (apparently he had dino egg oatmeal this morning), and you let your mind wander off. Well, back to where it was before.

It occurs to you that if Jim weren’t in your life, you probably wouldn’t be making this decision. But it’s more because he pushes you in ways that other people don’t. Not your friends, not your family, certainly not Roy. The more you think about it, the easier it is to understand that you need to break up with Roy because it’s the right thing to do. You’re not purposely ending things with Roy to be with Jim.

That’s just an added bonus, you think, contorting your lips into an odd smile to prevent an audible laugh. Okay, one thing at a time.

Michael keeps you all a few minutes late so he can get back to the original purpose of the meeting, and everyone trails out of the conference room at 5:06. You take the moment to look out the window and see if Roy is waiting for you at the truck yet.

He is.

Your stomach does a little flip as nerves and cumulative self-doubt collide in your stomach. You can only wait here so much longer before you’re forced to make a decision one way or the other.

You hear footsteps behind you, and Jim appears at your side.

“What are we looking at?” he asks, assuming your same position at the window.

You smile and shake your head. “Nothing.”

You weren’t planning on telling him. He’s probably more involved than he wants to be.

“I think…” you begin. You could still change your mind. You could still not tell him. “I think I’m going to break up with Roy.”

“Oh.”

You look over to him for the first time since he walked over. His eyebrows are slightly raised, lips slightly parted. His eyes are devoid of any expression other than mild surprise, but you have a feeling he’s doing that on purpose.

A few seconds go by. Jim doesn’t know what else to say, and you know you wouldn’t either if you were in that position.

“I’ve just been thinking about it, and--”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says quickly, patting the air. “It’s okay.”

Telling Jim made you feel more at ease, but you can’t help wanting to stay behind and milk every second you can get with him. You have a long night ahead of you.

“Will you say, ‘Go get ‘em, tiger?’”

He pauses just enough to grin from ear to ear. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Your cheeks flush, and the two of you laugh without making eye contact. This is your cue to leave. Your cue to go face the world.

“Um, well, have a good weekend,” you say as you turn to head out the door.

Jim nods. “You too,” he says sincerely.

You take the elevator down and watch the number change. This is your time. Your time to stay strong, stay brave, and stay honest with yourself.

Three.

Two.

One.

THE END