Her couch isn’t big enough for two. When they’re actually sitting up right, one person on each cushion, they can manage to hold hands while her head rests awkwardly on his shoulder. But trying to lay down is a different story. His legs hang over the arm of the couch and she has to curl herself carefully on top of his body so that her head is secured under his chin. It’s not perfect, but everything else in their lives is so close to it, they can make allowances for small couch.
And it’s in that position they find themselves on a quiet Sunday evening, murmurs of a Simpsons episode coming from the TV. Pam’s eyes are closed and she’s pretty sure his are, too, and she desperately wants to reach for the remote and remove any sound that’s not their breathing from the room. But what she wants more is to not disturb him, disturb this. She hears a small grunt that’s deep in the back of his throat and smiles.
“Pam?”
“Hmm?”
“There’s something I need to get off my chest.”
She tenses because she thought they’d had more than enough confessionals in month since the interview. Then with a quick snap she feels her hair freed from her barrette.
“There we go. That thing was digging into me, I may have permanent bruises.”
She lifts her head up to face him and rubs the sore spot on the back of her head. His eyes search her face, a smile of satisfaction growing on his own.
“What?” she asks.
He shakes his head innocently and brushes her bangs from her eyes. “Nothing. I just…this is a really good look for you. Why don’t you--”
“Wear it like this more often?” she finishes, nestling her head back under his chin. “I don’t know, it’s just easier.”
“Putting it back in a little clippy thing is easier than throwing some mousse in it and letting it dry?”
She scoffs. “Really, Jim? Mousse? How do you even know what mousse is?”
“Pam, please,” he gives her a playful squeeze. “I grew up in the 80’s, I used my fair share of hair products.”
“Fair enough. But yeah, I don’t know how it happened. You wear your hair a certain way, you get used to the look, suddenly it’s five years later and you can’t remember not wearing it that way.” She feels like she’s said more than what the conversation really called for and attempts a casual shrug.
“Well,” he says against her hair, giving the curls a soft kiss. “I’m just sayin’, it’s not like you’re committed to one hairstyle for the rest of your life.”
She pushes herself up with her hands so that her skeptical face hovers over his. “Not committed, huh? C’mere.” She jumps to her feet and pulls him up with a groan. She leads him to the bathroom and flicks on a light that stings their eyes.
She pulls open a drawer to the right of the sink and stands back, arms folded. “Look.”
Carefully arranged in neat rows are barrettes, all sizes, shapes, colors, and textures. Jim lets out a sound of surprise as he gets a better look.
“Beesly, this is like, a serious collection! I had no idea.”
She leans against the sink and watches him with amusement. “Yeah well, somewhere along the way it just became this…thing,” she flicks her wrist as if to throw the word away. “I sort of turned into Barrette Girl.”
He moves in front of her and wraps his arms around her waist. “Sounds like a superhero.”
“Well, you know, they do cause some bodily harm.” She leans forward and kisses his chest, lingering there until she feels her chin being lifted up to look at him. He smiles and turns her towards the mirror. It’d make a great picture; his arms wrapped protectively around her, his head bent low against her wild, unruly hair. There’s so much happiness reflected through the mirror, Pam hopes that’s how they look to the rest of the world.
Jim tries to fight a yawn and Pam catches it quickly, pressing her mouth against his.
“Bed?” she asks.
He nods, eyes marked with fatigue.
They crawl into bed, too tired to undress, and the sweet smell of cotton and aftershave lull her quickly to sleep.
xxx
She knows he’s gone before she even opens her eyes, the bed feeling noticeably absent without the warm body next to her. She moves wearily to the shower, turning the water as hot as she can stand it in order to wake up. She moves through her morning routine, quick breakfast and minimal makeup application, and finally pulls her hair from the towel atop her head. She opens her all too familiar drawer and the fluidity of her routine comes to a halt.
Gone. All of them. Replaced by can after can of mousse. She tears through all the other drawers and cabinets, but is met with nothing but the same sight of aluminum. In a last ditch effort, she goes to the original drawer and spots a yellow post-it stuck to one of the cans.
Time to let the hair down, Beesly.
You’ll thank me later.
Jim
Later that night, he runs fingers through smooth, untangled curls, while their bodies cling together with sweat and deep, full breaths. And she can tell from his eyes that she’s really all the thanks he needs.
Story Notes:
This is in response to the new challenge about how and why Pam let her hair down. Many thanks, as always, to my dear friend Cousin Mose for being a great beta and reminding me why I love fic.
Chapter End Notes:
Happy Sunday, everyone!
Wendy Blue is the author of 18 other stories.
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