because bottled water just sucks

It’s a Monday, when she finally decides that it’s time to move on. This is heartbreaking in itself because Mondays already have a sour stagnant feel about them. The feeling that something is roaring just beneath the surface is always sharper, and it makes her feel sick like she might throw up.

Suddenly everything becomes so clear.

Michael takes his “entourage” out for something that actually turns out to be work-related. Michael and Dwight are celebrating when they return, arms up like Olympic athletes. Andy is strutting and Jim looks (happy smug satisfied excited content) different. Michael loudly tells her about the “huge super wicked awesome sweet” sale they made and she raises an eyebrow. As he struts into his office, she stands and holds out her hand, ready for Jim’s high-five.

He doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, Dwight strikes a rock star pose before slapping her hand, with an exuberant “Yesssssss!”

Even eating lunch the next day, overhearing Karen recount every gruesome detail, is different (from how it should be.)

She almost stops thinking about Jim when she’s dragged to the back room for sparkling apple juice (because Toby doesn’t approve of champagne) after she happens to mention that she’s going to start working on her arts degree at the local college. She giggles, bumping him with her elbow, and too many memories rush back in.

On Thursday, she discreetly scans the classifieds online. When Dwight approaches to hand her his outgoing papers, she resists the urge to minimize the window. Her heart pounds as he glances at the monitor and fixes her with a strange look that falls nowhere on her scale of expressions, but tastes of disdain.

“Looking to abandon Dunder-Mifflin? I knew you were a traitor.”

And that’s enough to get his head up.

She stands, shrugging with a casual air and moves to file the stack; she hopes he doesn’t tell Michael.

By the time she’s seated again, Jim is hovering a step away from her desk with a tentative expression on his face. He shifts from one foot to the other eleven times before moving forward, gently putting both hands on the edge of the counter. He’s shy.

“Can we talk about this?”

She hopes the look she gives him isn’t too angry, but she’s tired and she just can’t handle talking about nothing with him anymore. (I’d brave the ice for a breath of fresh air.)

When she leaves, she slides a dish of black jellybeans across the counter (because Dwight likes them) with a wink and a slip of paper - the same stationary she’d used to request meetings in the conference room (she dropped one on Andy’s desk after the squirrel incident) or share a joke with a friend (guess what Jon Stewart said last night). It has her email address on it, along with a poorly rendered drawing of the reception area.

She wakes up on February 13th and feels like she’s finally herself. Her new neighbor invites her over for coffee (and tea, because Julie hates coffee). They talk and talk, and she feels grown-up (in the good way) because they’re just friends and they’re struggling and Julie confesses that she can’t ever see herself being happy.

Later, when Julie joins her at a café for lunch and they end up sharing apple pie, she feels like something heavy has finally fallen away from her chest. It’s strange and unfamiliar, but a sideways smile and some really nice décor go a long way, and a new start is always good.

It hurts at first, but when she finally fills out an application and hears Julie clapping as she slides it into the mailbox, she doesn’t miss him.

She just wants the hurting to be worth it.