Disclaimer: I still own nothing. Hats off to the original authors, but I’m owed nothing. Don’t sue.
I close my eyes and steady myself, standing with my back to the door. I’m not sure I trust myself to stand on my own just yet, so for now, I’m just gonna stay here. I close my eyes, and don’t open them until I realize I’ve been gnawing on my bottom lip so long it hurts.
I moan a little, half from pain and half because I know every single second of this evening is a second I'll never forget. And I find myself biting my lip again, only it hurts more this time because I’m smiling so hard it feels like my mouth’s going to jump right off my face.
I knock my head against the door, just to make sure I’m not dreaming.
That sure felt like a dream.
I turn around and lock my door. I’m still smiling as I make my way to the kitchen and flip the lights on.
The letter.
I reach for the envelope, but stop because I realize the flowers are pink (except for the one that was red to begin with).
Oh, Halpert. What’ve you done to these poor flowers?
I open the envelope and I’m a bit shocked when I see it’s just a letter, not a card. I wasn’t expecting a card, I mean. I just would’ve thought Jim Halpert – a man who took three years to muster up the courage to spill his love for me – would be a greeting-card man.
Wow. He’s used up a whole page.
I read it over, and over and over.
I trace my hand over his signature.
He’s so amazing. He’s…such a girl.
I reach into my purse and pull out my cell phone. I quickly type out a message and hit send.
Going soft on me, Halpert?
I love the flowers.
I laugh to myself as I fill a glass with ice and water, slowly making my way back to the island in my kitchen where I stand for a good few minutes, leaning and staring at the flowers.
My phone startles me as it buzzes across the counter, and I think for a moment I might be going crazy.
Beesley,
Not yet. And I’m glad. Your note: ‘If I didn’t want you to have it, I wouldn’t have given it to you…’ Is that what she said?
It doesn’t shock me one bit that he’s turned an incredibly romantic night into an office joke. I’m glad, though. I don’t want things to get too serious. I like the pink. Pink’s not scary, it doesn’t mean love or danger or fire and heat. It’s just…Nice. Calm, relaxed, not scary.
Maybe. I reply. Jim, I love the pink. I mean…I love you, but… I erase the last four words. I remind myself that, per his letter, pink does not equate love. Besides, I’m not ready to admit that yet. I have, and I will, and I do love him. I just can’t say that yet. The message ends up looking like this:
Maybe. Jim, I like the pink. Soft and sweet and subtle. Nice, right?
I don’t know why I’m so scared that if I admit out loud, or at all, it’ll come back to bite me in the ass. I don’t care. I’m just scared. A good part of me is hoping he’s scared, too.
I take my phone and my water to my living room, and plop down on the couch where I’ve spent so many nights alone, waiting for the chance to even speak to him. And in the last four hours, I’ve spoken, laughed, kissed, hugged, held hands, and flirted with him. Him. Jim Halpert.
Speak of the devil. I smile to myself as I read the next message.
Pink is nice. So is this. I missed you, Beesley.
I feel the enormous grin growing on my face. I pick up my phone, glass of water, and pillow from the couch and head to my bedroom. For the first time since I’ve moved in here, I feel like maybe I can finally sleep there. Maybe I won’t wake up with rings under my eyes, and a sinking feeling in my chest and stomach.
Maybe one day, I’ll wake up with him next to me. There’ll be no more sinking feelings, and there’d be a good reason why – if at all – we have dark circles under our eyes. There’d be Jim, and I. Not us against the world, or anything, because I have a feeling the world might root more for the two of us than any other combination in our lives.
Just us.
I turn on the lamp by my bed and lie down, snuggling under the covers. I stay sitting up, though, because though I’m here, in my bed and all, I don’t plan on sleeping just yet. I read his message again, and hit the reply button.
I missed you, too. Tonight was good, but I don’t think you’ve quite made up for your absence, yet.
Fancy, new, bold Beesly. I close my eyes, clutching my phone to my chest, and picture his reaction.
He laughs to himself, smiling as he reads and rereads it. He’s sitting in his bed, in the exact position I’m in, with just the soft glow of a lamp spilling onto his chest and stomach. He hits reply, and starts to send me a message.
My phone buzzes, and it kind of freaks me out. I’m still wearing a huge grin as I read and reply, though.
Hm. I don’t think so, either. Tomorrow, noon? Lunch, a movie, dinner, dessert?
This relationship is going to be so full of arrogance and ego, I wonder to myself how on earth we could possibly find the time to love each other. We’ll find time, I assure myself.
Agreed. I’m paying for the movie, though. No arguing, or I’ll change my mind.
I make sure to end the message with "goodnight," so he knows I’m serious. He replies, tells me that if I play my cards right, he just might let me pay for everything.
Goodnight, Pam. ‘xoxo’ sounds girly, but then again, so does ‘hugs and kisses!’. So…xoxo.
I set my phone on the night stand and pick up my water. I stare at the letter, now sitting beside my phone, as I take a sip. The cold water wakes me up a little, but I don’t regret it. It reminds me of Jim. It’s clear, crisp, obvious and wonderfully refreshing.
"Still wish I wasn’t out of tea…" I mumble to myself. How’d I let myself run out of tea?
Oh…I didn’t. It’s all at my desk. Damn it.
I place the water down, careful not to make any more ‘water rings’ than necessary. I pick up the letter and read it over once, twice, three more times before I’m finally able to fall asleep.
Beesley,
Don’t tell anyone, I’d hate for everyone at work to know how I’ve betrayed our beloved Dunder-Mifflin for boring, old college-ruled paper. Um. That’s so not my point.
Look at the carnations. I really had no idea what kind of flower you liked, and even if I had, this idea was too neat to pass up. They’re pink, now. When I gave them to you, they were white, right? Well, cool thing. If you drop food coloring in the water you house carnations (I really don’t think ‘house’ is the word to use there, but…I can’t think of anything else), they’ll take on the color of the water. Which means these’ll be pink, or red, if they live that long.
The idea’s cool, almost an art. Hey, maybe we have more in common than we thought.
Do you know the significance of the colors of flowers? Red, of course, is love. White is friendship. I imagine pink is sort of like a crush.
Um…Do you get why I turned the flowers red, or pink…or however they end up? The flowers transformed, and the red should continue to show, and deepen, and intensify in the flowers. That’s what I want for us, except I don’t think we should try to turn ourselves red by swimming in red-dyed water or anything. Might make for an awesome prank on Dwight, though.
Um. Anyway, I’m not just saying this to be cliché or make you think I’m a girl. I’m not actually saying any of this.
…I hope you’re still reading.
Read this: I want to love you. I have before, and it was the most amazing, intense feeling I’ve ever had. I mean…I guess it’s like…Even though you weren’t mine and it felt like you never would be, it was absolutely perfect. I can only imagine how it could be. Unlike these carnations, though, I don’t want us to wither and wilt into dead…nothingness… Not again.
Please, Pam.
-Jim Halpert
P.S. – If you’re lucky, I just might let you love me back.
P.P.S. – Unless you already do, which is cool. If that’s the case, though, you should totally tell me because I just might have a secret.
P.P.P.S. – No pressure, though. Seriously.
