It's exactly nine days after Jim made his big confession, and Pam is sitting in her bedroom, phone clutched tightly in her hand. Her fingers brush carefully over the dials, and she traces his number lightly with her thumb. It's second nature now, after days of agonizing, trying to work up the courage to call. She doesn't even know what to say anymore, anyway; she had the whole speech ready for Monday, but he hadn't been there, and it tore her up when Michael announced Jim's transfer. The rest of the week had been hell, of course, because she kept doubting herself and what had happened, replaying the scenes over and over in her mind as she grew increasingly nervous about what she was going to do.
When she'd prepared her speech, she still hadn't made up her mind about marrying Roy. She picked words that evaded mostly that part-- gave the opportunity to change her mind. In retrospect, it seems stupid. Of course he'd ask her; she couldn't get off that easily, and she's afraid she can't use her engagement as a shield anymore. The reasons for her to be with Roy are crumbling, and she's sure her only excuse now is fear.
It's not that she's never considered a relationship with Jim-- she has. Every small, secret moment between them, she's wondered 'what-if'. But it's always been just that; she could always brush it off as too fanciful, impractical; unreachable. She's never really felt good enough for him. Jim got pretty girls like Katy, and could spoil them with his attention and wit. It wasn't that she didn't sense his attraction to her-- she did. But she'd convinced herself it was just the leftovers of a "crush" that would never become anything more than that. Girls like her were lucky to get guys like Roy: dependable, handsome and easy. And they were mostly happy together. It was enough.
When she asked "what are you doing?", her question was real. She thinks back over his expression, the way he'd looked at her as if she should already know. At the time, she didn't get it. She didn't really grasp what he was offering, what he was doing. Fucking stupid, she thinks now, but she still can't shake the feeling that it's too late, anyway-- that she's not worth the wait or the trouble.
She puts the phone back on her night-stand, taking a deep breath. Maybe she'll try again tomorrow.
Story Notes:
I posted this originally as 'The 13th Call She Could Have Made', a drabble I'd found on my computer. Turns out, I had another whole chapter written, and I liked it so I've decided to continue it.
