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I hang up, and suddenly, we’re alone. Why is he here? Why is it so dark all-of-a-sudden? Did he really tell me he was in love with me? He’s sauntering over, moving slowly but steadily. I’m nervous. I don’t know what I’m going to say, but I start anyway.
“Listen, Jim…” is all I can manage. Not because I’m stuck, but because his lips are against mine and there’s a feeling that makes me nauseous, in a good way, in a way that makes me feel like I’ve never been kissed before. It is one swoop; his arms and hands weave around me, and fit so perfectly like that’s where they belong forever and have belonged for lifetimes before this. I catch my breath, and hesitate only for a moment, but I don’t even think he can feel it. His lips are gently on my bottom lip and my hand is resting on his shoulder, uncertain. I make a decision, and I move my hands to the back of his head, pushing them through his tousled, brown hair, and he pushes further. He knows. I know. We both know that this is us and we are here and this is where we should be. I tell myself to remember this moment. I make a conscious decision to note every detail, every part of him, and the way this all feels, and remember it, because this is perfect.
And then I stop. I drop my hands from his hair and slide them down to his chest. I’m engaged, I think, but he’s looking at me. He’s looking at my lips, and his feet, and back to my lips, and now my eyes. No, he’s not looking at them, but in them. Searching. Like he knows that that’s where a more honest answer lies. My mind is reeling and my insides are burning. My heart is so filled with excitement and hesitancy and pleasure and lust and regret, and…he’s waiting, I can tell. Waiting for me. I try for some words, but there’s too much there. Too much I need to say that I know he doesn’t want to hear. That I don’t even want to say but I know I have to. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out, and we stand there, longer.
“Jim,” I manage finally, “I can’t. No, I’m sorry.” I’m shaking my head. “This is wrong.” I am flustered and confused, and I feel suddenly, overwhelmingly guilty. Guilty not just for what I’m doing to Roy, but what I’m doing to Jim. “I told you. This – this is not us. Not who we are. We are friends, I’m engaged to be married, and everyone knows, invitations are out, my mom bought her dress, my dad…” My voice trails off, and Jim’s eyes well up again and I look at my feet. Not again. Not again.
“Stop it, Pam. Just stop. Stop with the ‘I can’t’, because it’s ridiculous, and you know it’s ridiculous. Obviously you can because you just did.” He’s not crying, but his eyes glisten. I see more frustration now than earlier. He is sad, I see that; but he is angry, too. I think I might cry, and I stare with my eyes wide open – in an attempt to push the tears away – at my left hand where my thumb is unconsciously twisting the ring around and around and around on my fourth finger. He is still standing close to me, towering over me, and it makes me nervous. But I don’t budge.
“Jim – I – can we talk? I don’t just…”
“Pam,” he interrupts, irritated, “look at me.” I can feel him there, his body so close to mine, and I don’t think I can do it. His anger makes him a person I’ve never seen before. I can feel it hovering around both of us. I run the tips of my fingers underneath my eyes and clear away the mascara and tears. I look up, and right into his gaze. And at that moment, something changed. For a split second we’re somewhere else again, in a different time. I want to kiss him. I want to feel it again. Feel his body so close to mine, our eyes closed, foreheads touching and lips against each other, so much closeness that I could feel his love. I’m in love with you, he’d said before. I knew. Now, he stares intently at me. I wait for him to say something, because I can see it there, forming. I dare myself to keep looking at him, as much as I want to keep crying and run away and forget this happened. Maybe it would only take me a while to forget about this and marry Roy and move on with my life. His mouth opens again, and I stiffen. He puts his hands on the sides of my arms, and leans in, but this time, he bypasses my lips and puts the side of his face just next to mine and lets it linger, right there. I can feel his mouth next to my ear. He breathes for a moment and I close my eyes. “I did not misinterpret anything” he whispers. He stands back, and looks at me again, like it might be the last time he does, and turns to walk out of the office. I am frozen to his desk, tears running down my face again, and I don’t know what to do.
I stood there long enough to be sure that Jim would have long climbed into his Corolla and driven away. I suppose minutes passed, maybe hours. Then I went home. To my fiancée.
Author's Chapter Notes:
I already posted this at LJ and some of you may have read it already, but I thought I'd bring it on over here!
tabitha is the author of 2 other stories.
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