Jim didn’t want to answer the phone when it rang. He knew it was Karen, checking on him after his "headache," and most likely wanting to talk about their spat at Phyllis’ wedding. Maybe she has laryngitis, he thought bitterly. Immediately contrite at the thought, he picked up the phone on the last ring before the answering machine picked up.

It was worse than he had thought. She was on her way over, having picked up some pizza and beer ("if your head can handle it, lightweight"). Jim liked Karen. He really liked her. She made him feel like a different person, somehow- someone smart and charming and ambitious. She talked to him as though she assumed he had plans and goals and an idea of where he wanted to be in ten years, even as she confessed that her own road was not entirely clear to her- after all, she’d never expected to be here, in Scranton. When Jim looked in Karen’s eyes, he saw that she pictured him in her future. He was tempted by the challenge that represented. If she didn’t always laugh at his jokes and sometimes seemed to wish he liked different movies, what did that matter? In the back of his mind, though, lurked the thought that maybe the guy she saw through those big dark eyes wasn’t really him.

Feeling like a different person could be exhausting (and was getting harder every workday). Jim leaned his head wearily against the front window, watching for Karen’s car to pull up in front of his apartment building. He would buzz her in. He would eat pizza and drink beer and, if she wanted, talk about their relationship some more. If she asked, he would tell her she had nothing to worry about, that he wasn’t interested in pursuing Pam. He would not, of course, tell her that this was because the thought of Pam in Roy’s arms had broken him to the point where he had no strength to pursue anything but the next breath. Again.

"You look like hell. Are you sure you’re OK?" Karen stood in his doorway, her lovely features pulled into an expression of concern. She was wearing a red sweater and jeans, and her hair was twisted back in an endearingly whispy bun. In one hand she held a six-pack, and in the other she balanced a pizza box. She was beautiful. She was perfect, in fact, and Jim closed his eyes for a second to wonder why, in the name of all that was holy, he couldn’t just love her. "Jim, seriously, are you all right?"

He opened his eyes and nodded. He decided, for the thousandth time, to try to be whomever she wanted. Maybe the new guy would be able to love her the way the old Jim had loved Pam.

***

After Pam’s frustrated, self-loathing sobs had died away, the silence had filled her apartment entirely. She sat on the sofa and looked out her window for nearly an hour, wondering if the people in the cars zooming by had any idea where they were going.