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Story Notes:

This is a three part story.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

The title of this story is from 'Stars', a song by Alison Krauss.

Author's Chapter Notes:

Pam calls off her wedding.

 

Chapter title is from the song 'Get Gone' by Fiona Apple.

Pam runs her tongue along her lower lip and tries to remember the way Jim tasted that night, like an alluring combination of cherries and desperation. Her stomach flutters yet her blood is boiling, her emotions warring between arousal and fury. She thinks the two sensations have a lot in common. They both stem from an ache deep within a part of her she didn't know she had. A part of herself was awakened with a soul-bearing confession, with a pleading kiss, with the devastating realization that he was never coming back.

The three weeks since Jim turned her world upside down and then cut and run have been a hazy blur. Pam has been on autopilot much of the time, giving the wedding planning reins to her mother, smiling wearily and saying things like, "I don't care about the silverware, Mom. You choose. I'm tired of choosing." She can't bear to make decisions now that she understands the crippling consequence of making one that someone doesn't agree with. They leave. No notice, no explanation. They just disappear.

She turns her attention back to the task at hand, chopping vegetables for a salad she's bringing to the barbecue tonight. She doesn't really want to go. She doesn't really want to do anything other than estimate exactly how many miles Stamford is from Scranton and what she would do with that knowledge once she gained it. Probably nothing. What would she say once she got there? Jim, sorry I made you leave the state. I've never had that effect on anyone before. No way.

Roy comes through the door whistling ‘Highway to Hell', which makes Pam cringe because she hates AC/DC. It makes her think of trailer parks and cigarettes and men who talk with toothpicks in their mouths. She's suddenly aware of the emptiness she feels as she watches him kick off his shoes right in the middle of the living room, like that's just where they belong, like it would take far too much effort to put them in the closet, on the shoe rack whose only function for all of eternity is to hold shoes.

"Hey, babe," he says, walking over and opening the fridge, pulling out Pam's expensive organic grapefruit juice. He gulps it down right out of the bottle and Pam is so irritated by his disrespect that she has to cover her mouth with her hand to keep from making a snide comment. She knows it's an irrational thing to be annoyed about, after all, they've kissed and traded germs probably a billion times, but it's the principle of the matter.

"Hey," she finally says when he puts the bottle back in the refrigerator. "Where's my stuff?" Since he came in empty-handed, she's ready for the excuse she knows will follow.

"Oh, shit! I'm sorry, babe. I guess I left the list in the truck."

"Bet you didn't forget the beer, though, did you?" The words drip from her mouth like acid, ready to burn. She's glad she said it; it's hot in their apartment and she pushes up her sleeves, finding herself eager for a fight.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Pam grasps the edge of the counter to steel herself. Will she always have to spell things out for him? After ten years together, shouldn't he have developed some kind of intuitiveness - the kind of simple mind reading that comes from a decade of emotional intimacy with someone? Does she really have to explain that she can't make a Greek salad without feta cheese and capers?

"It means what it means." She's being vague on purpose a little bit, but she wants to see how far she can push this - how long until he gets it.

"It means what it means," he mimics sarcastically. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"It means that I have wasted the past half hour chopping vegetables, Roy. It means that I can't bring a Greek salad to the barbeque tonight because it isn't a Greek salad without capers or feta cheese. It means that I asked you to pick up two items for me at the store and you couldn't even manage to take care of it. I even wrote it down for you! It means that you only do things that matter to you." Pam yanks off a paper towel from the holder and wipes her eyes. She doesn't mean to start crying, but she's so angry and frustrated and the thought forms in the back of her mind that this conversation would only happen with Jim if they were in a parallel universe.

"Whoa. All these tears over a salad?" Roy looks concerned. "Pam, are you about to start... you know?"

Pam launches the cutting board in his direction, sending cucumbers and peppers and onions into the air as she storms past him into their bedroom, locking the door behind her. After a few minutes, she hears the engine of Roy's truck rev, followed soon by the squeal of his tires as he drives off.

She opens the door and walks back into the kitchen, kneeling down to pick up the thrown vegetables from the floor, wondering if this is one of those ‘for better or worse' moments that she'll be committing herself to in nine days. She sighs heavily and wonders when it's ever a ‘for better or worse' moment for Roy. He's getting a hell of a bargain. He's getting a woman who does all of the cooking, except for hamburgers and hot dogs on game day. He's getting a woman who enjoys doing laundry and likes to keep a clean house. He's getting a women who doesn't mind if he stays out all night with his brother, drinking until neither of them can stand up, because if she gets too lonely, she can always call Jim on the phone and make him watch Lifetime specials with her so they can mock them. Except she can't do that anymore because Jim is no longer there to rescue her from her frustrations with Roy. Stamford might as well be on the moon. Pam's head is pounding and she can't decide whether the source of her anger is from Roy or Jim.

By the time Roy gets back, the only thing left on the kitchen floor is the shine of the light on the white linoleum. Pam's sitting at the kitchen table, sketching intently. Roy sets a sack down on the counter top and clears his throat. Pam looks at her sketch before meeting Roy's gaze. She just drew the first thing she could think of. Cards. Three nines. A pile of poker chips.

"I got your stuff. I'm sorry I forgot it." Roy is sincere.

"I can't take the salad now, Roy. All the vegetables were on the floor; it isn't sanitary."

"It doesn't matter. We don't have to take anything." He steps behind her and rubs her shoulders, his silent way of really apologizing.

Pam shrugs him off. "We should get going."

Roy stops her as she turns the key to lock the front door, placing his hand on the small of her back, leaning down to whisper in her ear that he loves her. When he pulls back, he plants a kiss on the tip of her nose, the way he used to do when they were dating. For a moment, Pam feels her frustrations melt away and it feels just like it used to.

"Sorry I was short with you," she says as they pull into Kenny's driveway. "You were right, I am getting ready to start my period." The lie spills easily from her mouth and she finds she's actually grateful. ‘That time of the month' is an automatic ‘Get out of sex free' card with Roy.

"Well, it's going to be gone before our wedding night, right?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at her and Pam's skin crawls. She knows now that it will never be the way it was. And maybe the way that it was wasn't so great to begin with.

*

The barbeque isn't boring, but it isn't exciting either. It's a lot of Roy's relatives and Kenny's friends sitting around a bonfire, drinking beer and retelling all their best stories. Kenny's talking about the time he saw two people having sex in a car outside a Guns N Roses concert and Pam frowns. She's so sick of that story.

"Hey, babe," Roy says, nudging her slightly with his elbow. "Get me another beer, wouldja?"

Pam stands up to comply, silently seething. It wouldn't hurt Roy to walk his chubby ass over to the cooler. It wasn't that she didn't want to do it because she was so riveted by Kenny's hundredth description of that couple he saw, it was just the principle of the matter. Sometimes, if you want something, you should just go get it yourself.

When Pam opens the lid to the cooler, Kenny hollers, "Hey, get me one too," and then goes right back into his lewd depiction. Doesn't even say please. Treats her like hired help. Pam twists off the caps and tosses them down into the grass. Neither of them say thank you.

By the time she's settled back into her seat, Pam's fingers are shaking and she's envisioning her life as Roy Anderson's wife. They'll come to this barbeque all the time. Probably Roy will forget the ingredients of whatever she wanted to make to bring along, and instead they'll make up for the missing dish with an extra case of beer. She'll hear Kenny's Guns N Roses story over and over and over, and each time Roy thinks it gets funnier. They'll go home too late; Pam will have to drive because Roy's had too much to drink and by the time they get home, he's snoring loudly in the passenger seat and couldn't get an erection if he tried.

Pam wonders where the passion went. Was it ever there? Was this just a case of puppy love that has gone on too long? She feels like Roy doesn't even know her anymore. She's not the same girl she was on the Ferris Wheel all those years ago, when he drew her in with a crooked smile and a cheesy pick-up line. She's not blinded by Roy's dimpled grin anymore. It's not enough for her, the way it had been more than enough back then.

Pam wants the whole nine yards. Pam wants the late night talks (or even heated debates) about literature or art or music or politics. They're all assholes, Pam, so what does it matter? Roy always says when Pam wants to discuss any of those things. Pam wants to see a possessive gaze when they're at a party, the kind of look that says ‘You just wait until we get home...' the kind of look that would leave her weak in the knees and watching the clock. Pam wants tiny, thoughtful gestures that she doesn't have to beg for. She wants to feel that kind of love, that kind of selfless love more than anything and it's when she's sitting in that frayed lawn chair that she realizes that none of those things are ever going to come from Roy.

You've got to take a chance on something, sometime, Pam.

And it's not because she thinks she might be in love with Jim. She tells herself that Jim has nothing to do with this decision, but she does hear his words loud and clear. Pam's going to take a chance on this because she can't bear for this to be her future, to constantly having to swallow her disappointment, to constantly aching at night for something more. For so long, Pam has operated under the impression that she was bound to this fate, bound to this life and it was easier to accept it than deal with the loneliness. Now she's finding that loneliness sounds much more appealing. She's willing to face loneliness and fear of the unknown and whatever else comes her way because this is the first time she's ever made a decision purely for herself. She feels like she's flying.

"I'm calling off the wedding, Roy." Her voice is calm and she's proud of herself for sounding resolute.

"Shh, Pam - Kenny's getting to the good part." Roy didn't hear a word she said; he was focused on the part of the story where the people in the car realize they have an audience.

Pam feels like she's been punched in the gut. This is it. This is the straw that broke the camel's back and if she had any doubts about her decision, they evaporated the instant the words came out of Roy's mouth.

"Roy, I need you to listen to me. Look at me."

Roy turns to look at her. "What's the big deal?"

Pam's fingers are still trembling so she clasps them together. "I can't--" Wait. She thinks about the last time she said ‘I can't' and what a poor choice of words that turned out to be. Pam can. Pam can marry Roy. There's nothing stopping her. Just like she could have told Jim the truth, that she thought something was there between them, too. Can't isn't right. So she tries again.

"I don't want to marry you."

She's surprised at the silence and wonders if maybe she said it a little too loudly. Everyone is staring at them; she's got an unintended audience made up of Roy's family and friends. Maybe this wasn't her brightest idea.

"Don't be ridiculous, Pam." Roy's smiling, saving face. He waves her off. "Don't worry about it," he says to everyone. "Pam's been feeling stressed lately with the planning and all, and it's that time of the month. Hormones."

Pam gets up and runs to the truck, unable to suffer the inequity of having to watch the men exchange knowing glances at Roy's explanation. It's not hormones. The only hormone Pam is reeling from is adrenaline, and it's still coursing through her veins. She's still going to do this.

Roy comes over a few minutes later carrying their cooler. "You win, Pam," he says, defeated. "Party's over, we're going home." Like Pam was making things up to find an excuse to go home. Like Pam was even capable of that kind of manipulation.

"Why do you want to marry me?" she asks. Her voice is timid and small. She needs to know.

Roy stammers and stutters, his big hand moving over the ignition of the truck, struggling to slide the key in. "Because I love you," he finally articulates. The car starts and they drive away.

"But why? Why do you love me?"

Pam can see that Roy's uncomfortable. His eyes are wide as saucers and Pam knows his brain is working double-time, trying to find the answer he thinks she wants to hear. The only thing Pam wants to hear is honesty.

He doesn't say anything the rest of the way home. When they pull into their spot at the apartment complex, he puts a hand on her knee. "Because you're my girl, all right?" Pam is still. It is such a sophomoric thing to say, something that probably would have left her drooling in high school. Now it's just...

"Not good enough, Roy. That's not enough for me anymore."

"What's wrong with you tonight?"

Pam wonders if they should go inside, if this is really a conversation she wants people to overhear but the stars are shining, calling to her, and she feels closer to them than she ever has before. She thinks maybe she's drawing bravery from the light that has travelled millions and millions of light-years just to reach her eyes. She sees a falling star and her breath catches in her throat. It is like some cosmic force knew she would need something to stare up at to keep from taking it all back.

"I'm sorry, Roy. I'm not in love with you anymore." She lets out a deep breath and feels free, like she's just unloaded a burden she's carried for far too long. It wasn't as scary as she thought it would be, to own up to it. To call a spade a spade, she thinks. But then spades remind her of cards, which remind her of Jim and the night she realized she could have a different life and she can't deal with that right now, so she pushes those thoughts away.

"Wait, you're serious? Pam, you can't call off a wedding a week befo--"

"Roy, listen." She reaches out to grab his hand. She cares about him, she really does, so she knows she has to tread carefully here, although it would be so easy to be cruel. Part of her wants to, wants to retaliate against him for each time he made her feel small and unimportant, for each dream of hers that he held in his big, strong hands and crushed. But she could never hurt him that way.

"I want more than you can give me." Roy looks down at her and shakes his head, his eyes full of confusion.

"I'll get a second job," he says instantly, running his finger over her knuckles.

"No, Roy. I don't mean like that. I want more than you can give me here." She pats the area of her chest where her heart is pounding underneath. Suddenly she knows this is the only way, that it's unfair to ask Roy to change for her (and she knows she doesn't want him to). They both deserve to find someone who will love them just as they are.

Roy's tears glisten in the moonlight and he doesn't try to talk his way out of this one and Pam doesn't think she can take seeing Roy, her man of steel, this way. She unlocks the door and goes inside. Roy follows her, in a daze.

"Is there someone else?" he whispers and she knows the truth would break him.

"No, Roy. We just don't fit anymore." Can't he see it? Doesn't he feel it, too?

"Then we can work it out, Pammy. I'll do whatever you want. I'll quit going to Poor Richard's on Fridays and I'll take you on all the dates you want." He's pleading now, making his case. Pam's amazed at her determination. Normally this is the point in an argument where she caves.

"That won't make it better, Roy." It's the truth. Pam knows it would be like slapping a band-aid on something that required surgery. Three weeks of good behavior would fall prey to old habits that are too hard to break. She knows him.

"Please don't do this," he begs, his vulnerability permeating the room.

Pam wraps her arms around him to comfort him, to help him through this, and she knows it's already been done.
Chapter End Notes:
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