She thinks it’s too soon to be so excited about this. Too soon in the relationship, too soon after finding out; and she still needs to tell him. But she can’t help it. This is theirs.

            She sits him down after work and she bites her lip to keep the smile from overtaking her. He thinks she’s finally going to say it. She does, but it’s sideswiped by her other news. It’s her grin that kills him the most; that makes him angry inside.

            She didn’t know what made her think he’d be okay with it. They’d only been together officially for two weeks, though the physical part had started before then. She remembers that he handed her a rose on a night when she’d known not to hope for anything more, and asked her to be his girlfriend. Two weeks and four or so days later (she only says that when people ask, but she really knows the exact amount of time that’s passed, down to the minute) Jim’s gone and hasn’t told her where he is. Not even so much as called.

            Karen’s finally just settled in to her new place in the city. She is carrying a bag of groceries home when she gets off the elevator and He is there standing on her door step knocking. He spins around when he hears her voice and smiles warmly. It feels like maybe he’s back, but she is wary.

He doesn’t talk about what brought him there, but mumbles about mistakes and about being mislead into her freckled skin sometimes when she’s being very familiar and he’s feeling extra vulnerable. His mind occasionally wanders back to Pennsylvania and he catches himself wondering (forcing himself to wonder) what she expected him to say to that.

Pam keeps a little tally in the corner of her desk calendar, how many days he’s been gone without so much as a letter her way. Two weeks now.  On the other side of the calendar, she keeps a different tally. Five weeks.

Jim's still staying with her and she isn’t sure what’s going on; if they’re dating, if they’re “living together” in the way that they’d once talked about, or if he’s only there selfishly. Karen walks out of the bedroom and he’s on the sofa, wearing only his boxers, and staring out the window, like he used to do before. She asks him point blank what he’s doing. He looks up at her and says, “Don’t judge me,” and she starts to feel a little panicked. It reminds her of last May, his calm assessment of their “situation” and his pleading statements that he wasn’t a bad guy. She decided too late, twice, that she doesn’t actually want to know what it is he has to say.

He sees her eyes grow wide and angry. He didn’t think she’d even liked Pam, and now she’s reaming him out over responsibility and commitment. “You can’t tear into our lives just to make sure that you can fit comfortably!”

He calls Pam from the train station. It sounds like he’s been crying but she can’t tell if it’s for her own benefit. She hasn’t talked to him in three and a half weeks. They drive in silence to his apartment, and when he finally speaks, to ask her how she’s doing, she starts crying too hard to answer. Jim looks down at his feet guiltily and she excuses herself, the migraine already starting in the base of her skull.

Michael lets him come back to work, even though he’s missed too many days to count. Dwight is appalled and shuns him vocally. He’s too tired to care all that much. His apathy is what causes Dwight to give up, and he confronts him in the parking lot one day with a list of diseases that might make one lethargic and depressed. He tells Jim to get tested for lyme disease, and to make sure Pam does as well, since she’s been complaining of aching joints.

Roy finds out somehow, she thinks maybe from her brother. He starts calling her every other night, asking how she’s doing. After two weeks, she breaks down over the phone and tells him the whole story. He tells her he’ll be right over and holds her the whole night. She’s not too big yet, but he holds his palm over her lower belly and rubs like he used to do sometimes when they were both younger and she would complain of cramps.

She tells him about ten times that it’s not his; that he doesn’t have to. He thinks she might be worried that he’ll retaliate if he’s too involved, but he’s surer of the opposite. His anger rises from his helplessness, and when he’s making her macaroni from the box (which is all he knows how to do just yet, but fortunately all she really wants to eat) and she smiles at him and says thank you with her head cocked to the side a little bit, he doesn’t think he has it in him to be angry, even at Jim.

He sees Roy picking her up from work one day and it’s the first time he’s felt anything but numb in the six weeks since he’s been back. They make eye contact briefly, but Roy only looks sad and annoyed. He calls Karen that night, but she doesn’t pick up. Neither does Pam.

She decides to tell the office when her calendar tally hits thirteen. It’s not a lucky number, but putting it off is making her sick. She tells Angela first, and catches a flash of pity in her eyes, which is at least better than the judgment she was expecting. Angela offers to let Michael know for her, tells her she looks a little pale and should probably rest. She agrees and heads home, grateful that she will miss the chaos Michael will undoubtedly create.

He calls again, this time she’s sleeping and Roy doesn’t want it to wake her up. His hello is terse and hostile. Jim stumbles for a moment, clearly not expecting an answer, least of all from him. He finally settles on sounding annoyed, telling Roy that he has no right, but it’s obvious to both of them the sentiment is half-hearted, and so far from true. He ignores Jim, instead tells him that he was supposed to be the good guy, he was supposed to take care of her. The other line clicks and goes silent. He thinks he struck a nerve.

This is the fifth night this week that Roy’s come over to her apartment and cooked dinner for her (he’s taking classes and expanding beyond food from boxes). He usually stays a bit and watches TV with her, when something rubs her wrong and she tears up, he’ll wordlessly hand her a tissue and fiddle with his fingers in his lap. Watching the smooth twisting motions stirs the first hint of arousal in her in a long time.

His hand grazes over the small bump that is starting to form and he smiles because even though it’s not theirs, it’s them. He sees her looking at him out of the corner of his eye and he knows that look. Her hand closes around his wrist and pushes him lower until his fingers are brushing against her. Her eyes slip closed and she arches into his touch. When his fingers push inside of her, it’s so familiar and so different at the same time.

She asks him to stay and he nods reluctantly. “But I’m not really ready for…” he whispers it like he’s ashamed and she starts to cry because it’s not about that. That night, he makes her spaghetti and meatballs and jokes about having a special sauce, even though he just learned this recipe two days ago and she falls asleep against his shoulder.

He lets his screensaver come up sometimes just so that he can see her reflection in the dark screen of his computer.

He worries that the stress of seeing Jim everyday will affect her and the baby. He tells her that his sister-in-law is looking for a receptionist at her salon, but she refuses. She tells him “that’s something a boyfriend would do,” and doesn’t take his calls for three days. He is more hurt than he lets on.

She agrees to talk to him in the parking lot after work, tries to look angry, with her hands on her hips and her belly protruding out in front of her just enough that everyone now knows, but the hurt shows through. Jim shuffles his feet and apologizes, it’s the first time she believes that he truly is sorry. He asks her if she wants to go for coffee and she shakes her head, spinning on her heels and walking away before he can see her cry again. She’s sorry, too, but not as much as she was.

He takes her to her appointment for the first ultrasound. The tiny heartbeat pulses on the screen and it is the first time that he ever lets himself admit that he wishes it were his. She smiles at him and grips his fingers tight; she laughs almost like normal and the thought is gone.

He brings her a rose one morning and leaves it on her desk before she arrives. He catches her eye in the screensaver three times that day and when she finally comes over to ask him what he wants, he’s got the whole speech planned out.

She knows that it’s all bullshit.

Roy is in the middle of making her lasagna when she asks if his sister-in-law is still looking for a receptionist. When he tells her that she hired someone a few weeks ago, she starts to cry. Later that night, he replays the conversation in his head and can’t decide if maybe he missed a subtlety in her question.

She is only a few weeks away when it feels like suddenly everything has come crashing down on her. Roy presented her with a cradle he made especially to fit between her bed and wall and she cries for three hours. He asks her if she wants him to move in temporarily while she’s getting ready. She tells him that no, her mother can help her, but really she wants to tell him that it doesn’t need to be temporary.

He mails her a box of small yellow clothing because he is too embarrassed to give it to her at work. She mails him a thank you card with a picture of a snail and a flower on the front. Roy signed it, too.

He drives her to the hospital but forgets her overnight bag and has to go back once he’s dropped her off. When he returns, he finds that she’s convinced herself that she wants Jim there. She asks Roy to call him. He tells her that no one answered because it hurts him to think of having to explain the details of the actual exchange.

She watches him hold her daughter, dwarfed by his large arms and chest, but he is so gentle, brushing his fingers over the brown wisps of hair atop her head. She is glad that it is him. Wishes that it always was.

She complains about her wide fingernails, says that they look like a man’s and that no boy would want to hold her hand. He apologizes and tells her that she must have gotten that from him. She wonders if he’s joking before reminding him that she has nothing of his; Roy seems to consider himself. “Oh, I forgot,” and she has never loved him more.

Pam overhears the exchange from the other room and she has never loved him more.