“I’m hungry.” She says it in a breathy way, after ten minutes of silence and it startles me a bit.

“Tea not holding you over?”

“Shocking, I know. Seriously, my stomach is growling.” She pats her stomach tenderly with a mischievous smirk. I give her one right back.

“What?”

“Can’t you hear it? Growl….growl…” she flails her fingers out and begins to giggle and she’s just so damn adorable I can hardly stand it.

“Alright, you famished thing, any suggestions?”

“Let’s see, there’s not much around here--WAIT THERE’S WENDY’S!” My reflexes seem to be in good shape because I make sharp right and swerve right into the Wendy’s drive-thru lane.

“Nice move, Halpert,” she says, clearly impressed.

“I do what I can.”

Hi, welcome to Wendy’s, can I take your order?

I turn to look at her. “What’ll it be?”

“Frosty.”

“Okay, can I get two Frosties please?”

“And an order of fries,” she whispers.

“And an order of fries,” I repeat with a laugh.

$3.18 at the window please, thank you.

I see her trying to dig out some loose change in her purse and I place a hand gently on hers.

“Put that away.”

“But—“

“Put it away,” I repeat with a knowing look.

She pauses for a minute before breaking into a slow grin.

“That’s what she said.”

“Good God, Beesly, what has Michael done to you?” I chuckle and shake my head until something dawns on me; a sad, yet odd realization.

She sees the concern in my face.

“What?”

“I’m—I’m kind of going to miss that.” It’s weird and a little horrifying that I’m actually going to miss Michael’s sad excuse for humor, but it’s true. And just like I knew she would, Pam understands and just nods her head.

“Yeah, I know.”

We retrieve our food and without giving her warning, I start driving away from the city, up towards the hills. There’s a great lookout point in Scranton near the ritzy houses and a few minutes later, we’re off-roading as I pull the car across dirt and pine needles. It’s a clear night, and though it’s a small town, the lights of the city illuminate for miles.

“Wow,” she whispers.

I hand her the Frosty and French fries. “Not bad, right?”

“Yeah, it’s like one of those places you go to—“ she stops her sentence there, and I can practically feel the heat radiating from her cheeks. I decide to spare her the embarrassment and change the subject.

“I’m not exactly sure why you wanted French fries with your—oh my God.”

“Wha?” she says, mid chew with her Frosty covered French fries.

“Are you—are you dipping your fries in the shake?”

“Only the best combination ever. Have you ever tried this?”

“No. I’m a normal person,” I shake my head in disgust, dipping a spoon into my own Frosty.

“What? No, come on, you have to try, you’ll be hooked.” She takes a long fry and swirls it in the Frosty, cups her hand underneath to catch any spills and holds it out to me. I know exactly what she’s suggesting I do, and I don’t know what makes my stomach turn more: the thought of Pam feeding me or actually eating this horrid concoction.

“The things I do for you…” I say, leaning over to retrieve the fry. I really want to say that it’s an accident that the very tips of her fingers get caught as I gingerly bite down, but hearing her breath hitch and watching her eyes flare with alarm makes me think that this is anything but innocent.

I lean back in my seat and rather than address what just happened, the knot in my throat, or the way that all breathing in the car seems to have stopped, I turn my focus towards deeming whether this thing is actually edible.

“Okay…yeah, this is pretty amazing.”

She lets out a sigh of relief and her smile returns. “See!”

“I want another one,” I try to reach over and steal another fry but she swats my hand away.

“No way, buddy. Should have ordered your own.”

“Pam, are you really going to deny me this?” Our eyes meet and the silence that follows confirms that we’re both thinking about something other than French fries mixed with Frosties.

“Yep.” She beams, and takes a triumphant bite and just like that, the moment passes.

I give a small laugh and look back out towards the city. I start to get strangely nostalgic as I think back to all my time spent here, from childhood to college to the beginnings of a career I never intended to make for myself. But life has a funny way of veering into unexpected directions; it’s already veered me into three years of pining over an unattainable woman. And I refuse to believe that this is all out of my control; transferring is a good thing, a way for me to take the reigns and actually make some sense of my life.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

“Comfort food. Go.” Her voice breaks me from my thoughts and she’s looking at me with the same interest she showed at the baseball field.

“Oh, mashed potatoes, definitely.”

“You’re so boring. Everyone’s comfort food is mashed potatoes.”

“Obviously, you have not had my mom’s mashed potatoes. They are anything but boring.”

“Oh really?” She looks at me with amusement but also a great deal of affection, a look I’ve often seen anytime I bring up my past or my family.

“Yes, really. A description wouldn’t even do them justice. You have to taste to believe it.”

“I’d like that.” What hurts is that she sounds so sincere. And just the thought of her meeting my family, sitting down to dinner, laughing and getting along with everyone like I know she would; it’s a little too painful and all of a sudden I can’t swallow my French fry.

I don’t say anything, mostly out of fear of saying something I’ll regret like “I’ll totally call her right now, she’d love to make you some, and maybe if you fall in love with her potatoes, you’ll fall in love with me.” Instead I sit quietly, finishing the rest of my Frosty and casting another glance over sleeping Scranton.

“Alright,” she says finally, her spoon rolling around in her now-empty cup. “I’m well fed. I’m ready to move on.”

“Where are we moving on to?”

“That’s always the question, isn’t it?” she teases.

“Okay, so maybe I didn’t have this planned all the way through. Sue me.”

“No, it’s fine,” she says eagerly. “I’m…this is great.”

It does my heart good to hear that, and the nauseous feeling that has been brewing inside me disappears.

“Well, we could…are you up for a movie?”

“Yeah, definitely. Where though?”

“Umm…” This is where it gets tricky. How the hell do I ask her to come over without sounding like a presumptuous asshole?

“I mean…we could…there’s my place I guess…Mark’s gone so…I mean not that that matters, it just…” Yep, there’s one way to do it. Babbling idiot is at least a little better.

“Sure,” she says quietly, fidgeting with her necklace: a clear sign that she’s just as nervous as I am, like it’s prom night all over again and I’m holding the keys to a hotel room.

But we’ve committed now, so I clear my throat and put the car into drive, heading towards my place and concentrating on not speeding out of control.

“Hey,” she says after a minute or two and I turn to see her looking at her watch. “It’s after midnight.” She smiles at me. “Happy Saturday.”

My grip on the steering wheel relaxes and I feel like I can breathe again.

“Happy Saturday.”


12:59