Jim turned his pillow over again, the cool spot eluding him. He thought about getting up and turning the air conditioner on, but he feared he might wake Pam, or worse wake Miranda, who was by no means a sound sleeper. So, he continued to stare at the ceiling.
The house was too small. There was no garage, barely a yard, not enough storage space, no place for either one of them to call their own. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t how he imagined it. And work…with Pam not there anymore it was becoming increasingly unbearable. He had no one to lean on for the eight hours a day that seemed like 12, no one to commiserate with or who could lighten his load with a smile.
And he was tired all the time. And he was going to be even more tired if he didn’t get to sleep instead of tossing and turning worrying about problems he wasn’t going to fix at one in the morning while his wife slept next to him and his daughter slept in her crib in the next room, likely to awaken and need attention at any moment. Foolish for young parents to waste their sleeping time worrying. Michael and Ryan and the whole lot of them were enough to deal with when he was fully rested.
He closed his eyes, but soon found himself staring at the ceiling again. How had it come to this? He used to assume that selling paper was just a temporary thing, that eventually he would somehow wind up doing something he liked. Then he had assumed that as long as had Pam he could suffer through work no matter how horrible it was. But the other night…Michael had randomly disappeared in the middle of the afternoon, and he had wound up having to deal with a very pissed Ryan. Jim thought Ryan should have been fired long ago, and was disappointed in David Wallace that he hadn’t been. But it wouldn’t be long now, the way things were going. Sales were down and Ryan seemed as if he thought he could make them rise again if he was just enough of a jackass.
When Jim had got home, he just needed to cool down and relax. But Miranda had been cranky all day, probably coming down with something again, and Pam had greeted him with an exasperated “You take her!” He did, but was irritated, and let a sarcastic remark slip later, and one thing led to another and it turned into a thoroughly tense and unpleasant evening. There were apologies and even make up sex, but he was left with a vague and unpleasant feeling that a little bit of damage had been done, that at least for a moment he had acted as if she and Miranda were a burden to him. The next morning, he thought he could sense a certain sadness in her. It scared him. As he drove to work, he had resolved that something was going to have to change.
He had accepted long ago that he would never be the beat reporter for the Phillies or the play-by-play man for the Sixers. Certainly a daughter and a mortgage had sealed that, and it was fine. He was content to work to live as long as he had Pam. But now, work was frustrating him to a point that he was turning into a jerk, and it wasn’t paying enough to have the life he imagined. Worse yet, given the mess that was Dunder Mifflin, he wondered if soon he might be leaving on someone else’s terms rather than his own. That day he updated his resume and started sending it out.
He didn’t, however, mention any of this to Pam. He would start to, but then he thought of asking her to move away from the place where everything was safe and familiar to her and deal with being a young mother somewhere new, and it seemed terribly unfair. She would, he assumed, think it was ridiculous. They had bought the house less than two years ago, and this is where all their friends were and somehow it seemed absurd to turn their lives upside down because he was having trouble hacking Dunder Mifflin after all these years.
But as he kept staring at the damn ceiling, he reminded himself that she was brave, braver than he was, and maybe she would relish something new. She wasn’t painting or drawing or anything, and he knew it was his fault. She had no space. She had to raise their daughter in a cramped townhouse because he wasn’t living up to his end. It was one thing to be a slacker when your slacking only affected yourself, but quite another when you had a wife and daughter who weren’t getting what they deserved.
He would, he decided, tell her tomorrow night. He should have told her from the beginning. His mind settled, he finally went to sleep.
-----------------
The following afternoon, Pam plopped on the couch, exhausted. Miranda, blessedly, was finally sleeping. Pam fretted over how to take advantage of the time. She considered getting out her art supplies. She hadn’t done anything in a while, not so much as a sketch, and felt Jim was somehow vaguely disappointed in her. It would be nice to have something to show him when he got home.
Then she thought about how Miranda would wake up any minute and she would have to put it all away again, because leaving her art stuff out when Miranda was awake and toddling around was an absolute invitation to disaster, a lesson she had learned from hard experience.
She guiltily looked at the mess that was her kitchen, but decided that it could be dealt with later. Sleep, she decided, was her best option. She plopped on the bed and closed her eyes, but her mind started racing. How did other moms do it? The ones who had three kids and still managed to have jobs and lives and hobbies and look perfect all the time. She had one sweet little girl and no job and still felt like she could barely get through the day. It took all she had to keep Miranda safe and sound and keep the house from looking like a total dump. As for honing her art skills or losing the ten pounds she still needed to lose to get back to where she was before Miranda--forget it.
Worse yet was that she sometimes felt like she didn‘t have anything left for Jim. She somehow felt like she must be a disappointment to him. How could this be what he really wanted? How could she be what he really wanted?
He seemed different lately, at least some of the time. More tired. Less happy. Worried. Stressed. She could tell that work wasn’t great, but as usual, he wasn’t quick to share what was going on, and deflected whatever gentle probing she did.
She stared at the ceiling. From the moment he had proposed, before that even, she had always been sure they would make it. But maybe the couples who didn’t make it started out like that too? And then day-by-day jobs and money and kids and demands and bosses just pulled them apart, until they had lost it.
No. She tried to shut those thoughts from her mind, as if even having them was something to be ashamed of, an act of ingratitude for her blessings. That wouldn’t be them. She couldn’t imagine life without him. And he still looked at her that same way, that way that reassured her that she was all he ever wanted. Maybe it was a little less often. But not much.
She wished he were home and looking at her that way right now. As tired as she was, sleep was not coming, and she suddenly felt like she wanted to cry.
Before she could, though, she heard her daughter, awake and loudly wondering how mommy could possibly have the unmitigated gall not to be in sight when she woke up.
“Coming, Ranny!” She rushed into her daughter’s room and found her standing in her crib, holding onto the rails, crying. She gathered her up and could feel her daughter relaxing, calming down, the tears abating. Most of the time, all Ranny needed was mommy and things were okay. As tiring as it could be, it was also somehow empowering. She walked around the house, stroking her wisps of red hair, singing softly to her daughter. After a few minutes, she put her down amidst her toys, and watched as her she settled into her favorite game, which was painstakingly spreading her toys out across the living room. Pam shoved her heavy thoughts out of her mind and sat on the floor as Ranny brought her one toy and then another, then demanded them back.
“You are such a little Indian giver.” Ranny beamed at her, very proud that she could take a stuffed lion out of mommy’s hand.
-----------------
The two Halpert girls were interrupted from their play by the front door opening unexpectedly. Jim had managed to sneak out a little early and showed up unexpectedly bearing Chinese takeout. Pam, grateful both to see him and not to have to cook, greeted him with a smile and a kiss that it seemed to Jim held a certain promise.
The three of them ate, Ranny showing she was her father’s daughter by packing away a prodigious amount of rice for a one-year old. After being released from her high chair, she toddled to her father and waited expectantly to be picked up. He obliged, and she clung to him.
“Velcro baby tonight, huh? Were you good for mommy today?”
“Yes, she made sure mommy didn’t get bored by making sure there were lots of toys to pick up,” said Pam on her daughter’s behalf.
They watched TV as the October twilight faded, Miranda happily climbing all over her daddy and babbling. Jim knew better than to even attempt to put her down. They made small talk, trading stories about the little events of their day. She told him of Ranny’s hi-jinks; he told her of Michael’s, which were just as childish but much less cute. Jim considered that maybe he needed to get Michael a stuffed lion for times when he was difficult. Even with the lightness of the conversation, however, Pam could sense that Jim had something on his mind. She resisted seeking any explanation; she had found from experience that trying to get him to open up usually had the opposite effect. Eventually, Miranda tired of her climbing and settled down on her daddy’s chest, her eyes heavy. In a few minutes the two of them were asleep on the couch.
Pam watched them contentedly for a little while, then, when she was sure Miranda was sound asleep, she gathered her up and took her into her crib. She didn’t stir. She walked back into the living room to find Jim awake and adorably rumpled.
“Hey,” he said sheepishly, his voice rough.
“Hey yourself. I knew you were getting older, but falling asleep at 7:30? Do I need to start looking for nursing homes?”
He looked at her with a smile that slowly took on a certain wickedness. “No. No you don’t.” And with that, he stood up, walked over to her and, somewhat to her surprise, kissed her fervently.
“Wow, that nap did wonders for you.”
He responded with another kiss. He meant business, in the best possible way, and she was content to let him take charge. She liked aggressive Jim, and sometimes wished he came around more often. She quickly found herself naked on her back in their bed, him staring down at her with a look that at least for the moment vaporized every shred of doubt and self-consciousness. She loved that look, was grateful for it. For a moment, she felt contentment, a calm knowledge that it would all be okay, that they would be okay. And then he was inside her, and almost before she was ready for it, she found herself stifling a scream.
They reclined on their elbows, facing each other. He traced his fingers over her shoulder and down her arms. She looked at him almost shyly, and was surprised to find his expression serious, nervous. It was a dramatic change from a few minutes ago.
“Hey. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He paused. “I’m okay. You?”
“Very much so.” She moved closer to him and ran her hand along his chest. She started to ask him if he needed to talk, but stopped herself. It felt like he would get there.
“I umm…I need to ask you something.”
She was glad that it was going to come out, but suddenly felt her stomach tighten. She consciously tried to look at him with reassurance, tried to tell him with her eyes that he could tell her anything.
“Okay. Anything, Jim.”
“Work…Dunder Mifflin…It’s…I don’t know. It’s worse. I’m not sure I can…”
She sensed his difficulty, and gently took his hand.
“Pam, I feel like I need to get out of there. I’ve been looking for something else…I know I should have told you sooner, but I wanted to…well, I don’t know. I should have told you sooner.”
She squeezed his hand, relieved. “Jim, it’s okay. You think I would blame you for wanting to leave that place?” She tried to sound calm, good humored.
He still spoke as if emotion might overcome him. “There’s nothing in Scrnaton, really. We would have to…” He paused and took a breath. “I need to know how you feel about going somewhere else.”
She was silent, not quite sure how to react. She would go anywhere with him, and she wanted him to know that, but there were places she would rather go than others. She hoped he wasn’t about to say New York, or the West coast, or Australia. She held his hand, stroked his chest. “Jim. I want you to be happy. I want us to be happy. Wherever we need to go for that…so where are we going?
He finally relaxed, and looked at her with gratitude. “I’m not quite sure. I’ve um…I’ve got a couple of interviews. There’s a possibility near Philly, another one near Baltimore. Not too far. Your folks would still be pretty close.
She felt relief, and a little annoyance that he had gone so far as to schedule interviews before he could bring himself to talk to her. It would be so much easier if he kept her posted on what was going on with him from day-to-day rather than storing it up for these dramatic confessions. Why did opening up to her seem like such agony to him? But she made a conscious to decision to let it go for now. She kissed him, and thought she heard something. They looked at each other and waited, expectantly. Sure enough, a small cry, then a louder one, was heard from the next bedroom.
“Sounds like someone else has an opinion on the matter,” Pam said, smiling.
“I got her,” said Jim as he got up and quickly threw on shorts and a t-shirt.”
“Bring her in here.”
Jim returned a moment later with his daughter clinging to him. When she saw her mommy, she practically leapt out of his arms. “Wow, guess I’ve lost some popularity in the last few hours.”
After a brief game of climb on mommy and daddy, they let her fall back asleep in her favorite spot, right between them. Then Jim gently returned her to her crib, and got back in bed. Exhausted, and with some of the weight he had been carrying around lifted, he quickly feel asleep.
As she listened to his rhythmic breathing, Pam again stared at the ceiling, her mind racing. She thought of moving, of missing Scranton, of missing their friends, of homesickness. But she thought also of the three of them, together, in a new place, creating a new home that was all theirs, free from the weight of the past and what had become a strained present. She thought of Jim maybe taking a step forward, maybe finding a place where he would be better appreciated.
Suddenly, surprising herself, she gently got up and found Jim’s oversized t-shirt in the dark, throwing it on as she crept into the living room. She got out her sketchpad and pencils and started drawing.
