Pam brushed one wild curl out of her face with a blue hand, singing along with the radio under her breath. Then, after momentarily examining her work in progress, she went back to her palette. Taking up a generous amount of yellow on her dirty brush, she applied it to the image in front of her.

She had woken, a little after six this morning, and felt a small balloon of…hope? In her chest. It was such a new experience for her, she quite know what to make of it at first. But quickly, she’d realized she needed to chase this feeling.

And so now, here she stood in the middle of her small living room, dirty feet crunching on the month-old newspaper she’d laid down to protect her ugly carpet. She dipped into her palette for more blue, mixing it with the yellow she’d just deposited on the canvas. Pam didn’t actually know what she was creating, was for the first time in her life just painting for the sake of painting. Not over-thinking the process, or even thinking the process for that matter.

“And don’t be afraid to let them show…” Pam sang to no one.

It was truly amazing she had been the mood to do anything today, let alone the very notion of prancing around her apartment in just an oversized Oxford shirt and doing her best Cyndi Lauper impersonation.

Last night had been one of the most enlightening moments of her life. She knew now that not marrying him was the right decision. She’d been so falsely positive about getting back together, but even Oscar, who’d been out of the country for three months had seen through her façade. How stupid she must look to everyone now, all her co-workers who gave her funny looks when she mentioned she was back with her ex. Even the way the documentary film crew had treated her in the interview she’d done last week, talking about how happy she was. Did everyone know she was full of it the entire time?

‘No, Jim didn’t,’ Pam thought. ‘He didn’t even notice we were back together. He was too busy being happy with someone else.’

Not that it mattered. Part of realizing she’d made the right decision in calling off her wedding was also acknowledging she had made the wrong choice in lying to Jim when he’d finally out his heart on the line and told her the truth. And realizing that now he was happy and she needed to move on. She was still in the process of convincing herself of that last thing.

She’d called him a couple times after she’d gotten home last night, but had gotten no response. After compressing the cynical anger she’d felt, knowing he had looked at his called ID and ignored her, she’d simply given up. Giving up was her routine these days anyway. Pushing away thoughts of him with her, Pam had slipped into a hot bath, glass of red wine in hand, and soaked for close to thirty minutes. ‘He made this bed, so let him lay in it’, she thought bitterly.

The weight in her chest, the inherent worry she felt for him hadn’t left her in the past sixteen hours, but Pam was determined to make it an abstract thought. The only problem was, she knew deep down it was no use. The same way she knew deep down that getting back together with Roy was going to end badly. It was inevitable, her heart had made the choice, even if her head was still convinced of another alternative, any other alternative.

Without realizing it, Pam had become more and more aggressive, now using harsh brush strokes against the defenseless canvas. Streaks of color, angry in their application, covered her piece. But there was something else driving her, pushing her to the finish line. It was a feeling she’d had only a few times in her life. Pam was mostly sad to realize the last time had been in a dark office, pressed backwards against a desk. Extracting the exact emotion she was pulling from that moment was too difficult just yet. Instead, she continued to layer colors, thick in their consistency, onto the stretched fabric.

A knock on her door pulled her out of the trance she had been in. Setting down her brush on the easel ledge, she turned down the volume on her small radio. She flounced over to the door, fully expecting to be met with the building super, who had told her he would be over to fix an outlet in her kitchen.

When Pam threw the door open, she was met with a sight she never would have guessed she’d see.

There stood Jim, in worn jeans and an old t-shirt, hands shoved in his pockets, purposely not making eye contact with her. She watched as his eyes took in her bare feet, up her legs, torso, and finally to her face. She could guess his look of shock was put to shame by her own. His left eye was swollen and purple.

“Oh, my God,” she cried, rushing toward him. She rose up on her toes, tenderly cupping his face to examine Roy’s handiwork. Jim closed his good eye, flinching ever so slightly at her touch. Immediately stepping back from him, Pam suddenly realized how little she was wearing, and absentmindedly tugged at the hem of her shirt. “Are.. Are you okay?” She asked belatedly.

“I’m lucky, my face is really hard,” he said completely deadpan. “One punch hurt the poor guys hand a little, I think. He said something about it not being over and went home, presumably to pass out.”

Pam bit her lower lip and nodded, looking down at the ground. Glancing back up, she saw he was looking at her carefully. “I’m sorry,” she offered, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.

“Oh, for what?” he asked, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Her jaw tightening, Pam rolled her eyes. “I called you,” she finally said, a tad defensive. Jim’s eye clouded briefly before letting the anger swim there again. Pam moved aside silently, allowing Jim access to her apartment. Wordlessly, he stepped into her living room, taking in the sight of the artistic mess she’d left. Ignoring the state of disaster, she asked the back of his head, “Was Karen with you when…?”

“No,” he answered, not taking his eyes off her work for a long period of time. When he ultimately did, his glare was accusatorial. “I haven’t seen her yet. Have any good cover story ideas?”

“It’s like two in the afternoon,” Pam pointed out.

“She goes to the gym on Saturday mornings and works out until after lunch,” Jim sighed.

“Of course she does, she’s perfect,” Pam shot out under her breath.

“Excuse me?” Jim asked, dumbfounded. He started to fidget, and at length crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring Pam’s stance.

Pam felt her instincts kick in. The instinct she’d been listening to her whole life, which told her to play it off, deny she’d said anything. But, as of last night, Pam was done being a pushover, and for once, Jim was going to hear what was on her mind.

“I said ‘she’s perfect’. She goes to the gym all day to work off the non-existent fat on her body, and I’m standing here in a filthy apartment with paint in my hair.” Pam tucked her bangs behind her ears. “You definitely made the right choice, didn’t you?”

Jim stared at her for a long moment as if she had lobsters crawling out of her ears. She was bating him, and she knew it wasn’t’ fair, but she currently also didn’t care. Turning back to her canvas, he said slowly, “She’s not perfect.” Pam cursed herself for allowing her heartbeat to quicken at this miniscule admission. When he turned to face her again, she held fast to his gaze, not letting it break. “Um,” he said, clearing his throat. “I was just wondering if this was a one time thing,” he gestured to his face, “or if I can expect it to be a weekly occurrence in my life now, getting punched by your boyfriend.” He was back to being the smarmy guy who had walked into the room a few minutes ago now. Pam felt better. This guy was easier to be harsh on.

“Ex,” Pam answered needlessly. She didn’t miss the surprise on Jim’s face. He recovered quickly.

“Yeah, for how long this time?”

Pam physically reeled back from this, incredulous that he’d said it. Letting go of a bitter chuckle, Pam clenched her fists at her side. “If you came over to lay some sort of guilt trip on me for actually acknowledging the truth to him after lying for the last ten months-”

“Which is what exactly?” He cut in quickly.

Without even pausing, Pam went on. “Then go ahead. Yes, it’s my fault, because instead of marrying someone I didn’t love, I stopped it.” She practically spit the words at him. “And I did try to warn you that he might blame the whole thing on you,” she added. “You were too busy being a corporate suit to answer your phone when the little people call though.”

Jim actually looked like she’d slapped him across the face. “Wow,” he choked softly. She’d seen this look that night, when she’d told him she couldn’t….

Jim had turned back to her oil, staring at it again, probably because it was the only thing in the apartment to look at that wasn’t her.

“What did you tell him?” he asked softly without turning toward her.

“I don’t think that matters,” Pam deflected. She rubbed her hand across her forehead, feeling the beginnings of a migraine.

“Don’t you think I should get some say in whether or not it matters?” Jim turned to her, and the expression on his face made her heart hurt. There was such a strange combination of trepidation and…desperation there. She thought for one brief moment that he really did want to hear that she loved him and that was the reason he looked like half a raccoon right now.

“I…I told Roy that…” she exhaled loudly. “I told him that we kissed on Casino Night, and that I-”

She was stopped by a knock on the door. Feeling like she was on The Dean Martin Show, she walked over and opened the door, revealing Stan the super.

“Stan the man,” Pam cooed, smiling at him. She often flirted with the older man. It meant her stuff got fixed faster than others.

“Pamela,” he greeted her with a grin. Taking in Jim, he asked, “New boyfriend?” with a twinkle in his eye.

Before Jim had a chance to answer, his cell phone rang. Digging into his pocket, he pulled it out. He grimaced slightly at the caller ID.

“Hey,” he said quietly, wandering toward her bathroom.

“He’s chatty,” Stan deadpanned, walking to the kitchen. Pam looked after Jim for a moment before following Stan. “Did he get into a bar fight?”

“No, he got into the middle of a ten-year relationship,” Pam answered, instantly feeling bad about the comment.

“I’ve been with my wife for twenty-nine years, and let me tell you, there’s really not that much difference.”

Pam left the kitchen and wandered back over to her painting, taking in her work of art. There was something here, she could feel it, she just couldn’t see it. All the blue and yellow she’d used had blended in the center of the canvas, resulting in a green mass, almost teal in its intensity.

“Just a loose wire, kid,” Stan said, entering from the next room. She thanked him as he left, toolbox in hand. She loved that he could perform any task in roughly three minutes and still had time to finesse his stand-up routine.

Jim entered from the bathroom, his cell phone put away now.

“Karen?” Pam asked needlessly, not taking her eyes off of the painting.

“Yeah,” Jim answered grimly. He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, strain in his features.

“Yeah,” Pam repeated sadly. She didn’t need to ask to know he was two seconds from leaving her, leaving all this still unanswered. And really, maybe it was better this way. Maybe he was better not knowing. It would make it easier to lie to Karen as soon as he left here anyway.

He noticed she was studying the oil in front of her and he looked at it one last time.

“Do you see anything?” She asked, tilting her head in her quest to make something of it.

He took a deep breath and strode to the door. Pausing with his hand on the knob, he gave her the answer.

“It’s a teapot.”

And then he was gone.

Maybe she really had given him the truth after all.