*
By late August we were practically living together. I wondered if he’d get sick of my being around all the time, if the routine we’d settled into wasn’t a sign that the magic was already gone. It seemed a little early in the relationship for me to know he always started his laundry on Wednesday night and went grocery shopping on Sunday mornings. Were we already too domesticated? But if I ever suggested we take a night off he’d give me that adorable pout and any notion that I was overstaying my welcome was quickly put to rest.
And I loved it, but I wondered about Jim. In my experience—okay, my very limited experience—guys didn’t hang out with their girlfriends unless there was a reason: it was a mealtime, or it was late and he had to come home, or he wanted sex. Roy hadn’t wanted to just be with me like that since the summer after I left college, and even that only lasted until football season.
For those first couple of months Jim and I were seldom out of each other’s sight for long, like we were both afraid that the other would somehow vanish if left unattended. By increments, we learned to relax into the reality of what we had, and after a while there was something comfortable in waking up to find out he’d gone for a run or down to the park to shoot hoops—always leaving me a little note on the bathroom mirror, or on his nightstand, or next to the coffee pot. And he didn’t seem to panic if I left for a while to go sketch kids at the playground or do some self-indulgent shopping at Bath and Body Works. See you later had become something easy and casual.
It was one of those mornings when he’d gone to the park and I was doing last night’s dishes—homemade tacos; somehow we’d used every bowl in his kitchen—that a clear warm voice rang out above the noise of water running in the sink. “Hey, loser! What have I told you about leaving your door open?” The tall willowy girl in the doorway stopped abruptly with a little gasp, staring at me. “Um…hi. I’m Amy…Jim’s sister?” She tilted her head in a manner so reminiscent of Jim I would have recognized her immediately even if I’d never seen her picture.
Jim had mentioned her often enough that I knew she was twenty-five, had gotten a sociology degree from Penn State, and was working for a crisis shelter in Carbondale. Her short straight hair, light brown in the pictures I’d seen, was now dyed a bright pinkish-red and held back with a turquoise cotton headband; her eyes were clear blue, the irises strikingly ringed with black. She had a bohemian thing going on: long, loose patchwork skirt in blue and green, strappy leather sandals, white crepe peasant blouse with ties at the sleeves and neck.
“He went to the park.” I held out my hand. “I’m Pam.”
“Oh!” She smiled, relaxing visibly as she shook my hand. “Well, it’s good to meet you! Sorry to barge in. You shouldn’t leave the door unlocked,” she chided.
“I’ll…keep that in mind,” I said, twisting the towel in my hand, suddenly very self-conscious of my ragged appearance. I was a mess; I hadn’t showered yet and my hair was tied up in an unkempt ponytail.
“Jim’s always been careless about that, it’s kind of a little joke we have…” She looked me up and down briefly as she smiled, taking me in. Her eyebrow arched with almost imperceptible amusement as her gaze flicked over my cutoff sweats and Jim’s oversized Sixers t-shirt that I’d knotted around my waist.
“Listen, I was just on my way back home from seeing the folks, thought I’d stop by. I’m sorry if I freaked you out,” she apologized. She pulled her phone out of her bag, checked something, slipped it back in, and smiled as she looked up at me with those clear blue eyes. “So you’re Pam.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, uneasy despite her friendly expression. “Yep. Um…do you want some coffee or something? He should be back pretty soon.”
“Sure.” She followed me into the kitchen, pausing for a moment to stare at the stovepans soaking in the sink. “Oh my God, you’re not cleaning for him?” she chuckled.
“Well, originally I just wanted a bowl for cereal,” I admitted, smiling nervously. “It kind of got away from me.”
“You’ll spoil him,” she said warningly, taking a mug out of the cabinet and pouring herself a cup.
I shrugged, smiled. “That’s okay.”
Amy brought her coffee to the table and sat down across from me. “I’m glad to finally meet you,” she said, tapping her fingers on the rim of her mug. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Yikes. I’ll bet. “You and Jim are pretty close,” I said.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“I love him,” I blurted, and immediately felt the flush heat my cheeks. Smooth, Beesly.
Amy smiled. “Yeah, I know.”
Okay, that was unexpected.
She met my eyes for a long moment, fiddling with her spoon. “Look, you don’t have to…” She shook her head. “He’s happy.” She smiled and shrugged, and maybe there was something still reserved and assessing in her eyes, but I suddenly felt a lot less uneasy.
“Thanks,” I said simply.
She smiled again. She had a great smile. Perfect teeth just like Jim’s. “Did you do that?” she asked, pointing at a small sketch, hung on the fridge with a magnet, of the maple tree outside Jim’s bedroom window.
“Yeah.” I smiled. It was one of those random things I drew during Michael’s interminable meetings. He’d stolen it off my desk when I went to the restroom.
The front door banged open and Jim’s voice floated in. “Hey, that looks like my sister’s car out front,” he called.
“It is,” Amy sang back. “I’m interrogating your girlfriend.” She winked at me.
“Pam, don’t listen to anything she says,” he warned, pulling his sweatshirt over his head and kicking off his shoes as he made his way over to the table. “Lies, all lies.”
“Oh, well she was just telling me how crazy you are about me,” I shrugged.
He rolled his eyes at me and bent to hug Amy. She returned it for a second before drawing back and sniffing at his sweaty shirt, wrinkling her nose. “You’re stinky.”
“Nice. What’s with the hair?” Jim lifted an eyebrow at her.
“Aaah, it was getting too long,” she grinned.
“That was not what I meant.” He glanced over at me with a slightly worried smile, then back to Amy. “Been here long?”
“Nah, just a few minutes. I won’t stay, I know you guys probably have…plans…” She smirked, very Jim-like, and I couldn’t quite suppress a giggle when Jim’s cheeks colored a little. “Yes, big plans,” he confirmed, sinking into the chair between us. “I believe we were going to have a Coen brothers marathon.”
“Ooh!” She grinned. “O Brother Where art Thou?’”
“I believe that is in the stack, yes.” He glanced a question at me, assessing my yes go ahead expression quickly, and added, “Do you have to go, or do you wanna hang out? We’ve got Raising Arizona too.”
She tapped her lip thoughtfully. “And Fargo?”
“Of course.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching his hands back behind his head. “There will probably be Chinese food involved at some point,” he said idly.
The grin that crossed her face and lit up her eyes indicated that this was her Achilles’ heel. “Sold, to the tall goofy guy who needs a shower,” she agreed.
*********
We brought out the wine during Fargo and were opening the third bottle by the time our takeout arrived. By then we were all reciting the lines and giggling uncontrollably every time Frances McDormand spoke in that fantastic Minnesota accent. He’s fleein’ the interview!
We spread everything out on the coffee table and sat on the floor, passing the cartons around. “Thanks for having me, guys,” Amy said. “It’s so fun to do nothing.”
“You… are drunk,” Jim assessed, grinning. “I think you better plan on staying over.”
“I am not…well okay I am a little drunk.” She giggled. “It’s your fault, Jimmy.”
“Oh please,” he groaned.
“Do you still have that bottle of Petron we snagged from Will’s party last year?” she wondered. “Oh, my God, Pam, he was soooo drunk.”
Jim scowled at her. “Yeah, I still have it. I don’t really like the stuff.”
“Of course you still have it. He keeps everything,” she said to me confidentially.
“Jim’s sentimental,” I said, grinning. He rolled his eyes resignedly and tipped the bottle forward to pour more wine into my glass.
Amy giggled. “You have no idea. Once, when he was…oh, about eight I guess…he found this baby bird that fell out of its nest in our neighbor’s yard. They had this awful boy, Scott was his name, he was going to step on it and—”
“Amy,” Jim sighed.
She waved a hand at him. “Shut up, this story makes you look good. Jimmy whacked this mean kid right in the nose. I think it’s the only time you’ve ever hit anyone in your life,” she said to him, laughing, before turning back to me. “But he got that bird and we kept it in a box in the garage.”
“It died,” Jim said morosely.
“Yeah, but you tried so hard to keep it going. He fed it bologna and bread,” she told me.
“Bologna?” I couldn’t keep from smirking.
He spread his hands helplessly. “I was eight.”
“It died,” Amy sighed, reaching for the bottle and topping off her own glass. “Oh, he cried so hard.”
“Aw,” I sympathized.
Jim glared daggers at his sister. “You cried too.”
“I’m a girl.”
“What’s that got to do with it?” he exclaimed defensively.
“You’re a girl too,” she pointed at him, grinning, then looked back at me. “Such a sap. I bet he brought you flowers for, like, your one-month anniversary.”
I tried not to smile as I glanced over at him, but I couldn’t quite hold it back and that, plus the flush that colored Jim’s cheeks, brought a fresh spate of laughter from Amy. “It’s sweet,” I protested, reaching over to rub his thigh. “You’re sweet,” I murmured.
He captured my hand in his and gave me a tiny smile before turning a stern expression on his sister. “Are we done telling embarrassing stories or should we rehash your unfortunate ballet recital experience?”
“That will not be necessary.” She laughed again, and raised her glass. “In vino veritas!” She grinned, clinking her glass to Jim’s and successfully eliciting a reluctant smile.
“You’re definitely spending the night,” he said firmly.
“I think… you are right.” She leaned back against the couch. “You’re a good brother, Jimbo.”
“Yeah, I know.” He struggled to his feet and picked up his plate, piling mine and Amy’s on top. “Hey Pam, c’mere a minute would you?” he called from the kitchen.
Amy grinned apologetically. “Sorry, I should get lost…”
“No way.” If she was half as drunk as I was, that would be a bad idea. I put my glass on the coffee table—definitely done with that—and wandered into the kitchen.
Jim pulled me behind the wall so Amy wouldn’t see and kissed me for a long, breathless minute. “Sorry,” he murmured. “But—”
I shook my head. “It’s fine. You’re a good brother, Jimbo.” I wrapped my arms around him, smiling up into his face. He gave me an exasperated eye-roll and kissed me again. “I’m gonna go get her a blanket,” he whispered, “and you’re gonna get her to lie down, and I guarantee she will be asleep in five minutes. And we can go to my room.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“And then I’ll be asleep in five minutes,” I sighed.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” He winked. “I’ll keep you awake.”
“Not with your sister in the next room!” I whispered, mortified.
“Spoilsport.” He sighed, looped an arm around my shoulders as we went back to the living room. “I guess we could just watch The Hudsucker Proxy…” He trailed off as we came upon Amy, stretched out on her side on the couch, eyes closed. “Ooh,” he murmured. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said firmly, giving him a gentle shove. “Go. Be a good brother and get your sister a blanket.”
He sighed. “What I do for you ladies…”
Amy’s wine glass was perilously perched on the edge of the coffee table; I gathered it up with mine and Jim’s and took it to the kitchen. When I came back he was draping a blanket over her, smiling a little, and I heard her say in a loud stage-whisper, “She loves you. She told me.”
“I know,” he whispered back. “Go to sleep. We’re going to bed.”
He turned around and jumped a little when he saw me there. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I smiled.
His eyes flicked over my face quickly, determining if I’d heard, before he smiled mischievously. “So…”
I grinned as he grabbed my hand and pulled me to the bedroom. “I just told her that so she’d like me,” I confessed.
“Ouch.” He shut the door behind us and pulled his shirt off, flinging it to the floor. “So if you’re just using me for sex…”
I shook my head. “Don’t push it, Halpert.”
*
Author's Chapter Notes:
I will be sad if (when?) we find out Jim doesn't have a sister. In the meantime...
What may seem depressing or even tragic to one person may seem like an absolute scream to another person, especially if he has had between four and seven beers.
--Dave Barry
What may seem depressing or even tragic to one person may seem like an absolute scream to another person, especially if he has had between four and seven beers.
--Dave Barry
Chapter End Notes:
Yeah, I know. Superfluous fluff. Feel free to tell me so.
callisto is the author of 22 other stories.
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