It was snowing again. No big surprise for January in New York City. Growing up in Pennsylvania, he was accustomed to long winters and heavy snowfalls. He used to love the snow, loved the way the whole world felt quiet and peaceful when covered by a blanket of white. Playing in the backyard with his brother and sister, all cares seemed to drift away. Well into his adult life, a pleasant snow excited him to near giddiness. Even when he still had to pull himself out of bed and hazard the roads to make it to work, there was just something so exhilarating about it.
Snow was just one of many things that seemed to lose its magic when he moved to the city. Even in Pennsylvania, small towns seemed to shut down when it snowed enough. Everyone headed home for movies in front of a fire or sledding in the backyard. Life slowed down. Snow was an excuse to spend a few extra hours with family, to leave work and errands for another time and just be for a while. People took a few deep breaths and enjoyed the gift of a time-out so graciously bestowed by Mother Nature.
But not here. The business of life carried on here no matter what the weather brought. Heaps of snow were scooped off the streets and deposited unceremoniously by the sidewalks, like an inconvenience and a hassle rather than an invitation to forget the usual worries of the day. Everyone went about his or her normal business, paying little attention to nature’s gift except to curse it. People still hurried from one place to another, tempers shorter than ever and patience far from anyone’s mind.
He himself had fallen into the same mindset somewhere along the road. The first snow that fell on the city in late November initially brought him hope. He looked out their bedroom window at the thin white powder gracing the streets and signs and suddenly felt lighter. The buildings glistened with the white flakes, and he remembered a little of his lost love for this place. Fall had been unkind, and the bleak grey weather seemed to carry indoors to their small midtown apartment. The onset of winter with its enchanting snows and the promise of long Saturdays ice skating in the park brought reprieve to his restless soul. This city felt magical again, almost like he was seeing it for the first time. He rolled over and kissed her awake that morning, pouring his newfound energy into a brief display of passion that hadn’t been seen within these walls in months.
But she didn’t seem impressed with him or with the snow which brought about his chipper mood. After all, it was just snow, and it only meant all chances for pleasant weather had officially faded until spring made its appearance once more. She told him as much and rolled away, burrowing deeper beneath the covers to hide from him and the encroaching weather. It didn’t take long before the general dislike for snow infected him as well, so as he clutched his rapidly cooling coffee, he cursed under his breath and gathered his coat a little tighter.
It was hard to pinpoint when exactly this new life of his lost its shiny appeal and happy glow. They moved in the spring, the trees blossoming and everything around them offering a chance for renewal. Things had been so hard then They watched baseball and meandered through Central Park, admiring the life pouring onto the busy streets. He felt really truly alive for the first time since…well, before. New York in the spring was everything he dreamed it would be, and the first month was marked with bouquets of fresh-cut flowers and noisy nights out with beer and baseball. Scranton seemed so very far away then, and New York felt so very real. They rarely confined themselves to the walls of their small apartment, preferring instead the blissful perfection of warm spring days and breezy nights.
Summer arrived right on schedule in mid-June and brought unprecedented heat waves. They spent long heady nights making love to each other with the windows open and the breeze blowing in, the heat of the day intensified by the passionate hours they spent in bed. There was something about the intensity of life here that ignited a new spark between them, and he had to say, he enjoyed it. On weekends they explored the city and sought relief from the sun’s burning rays in museums and theatres, and she always wore tank tops with skinny straps or adorably flirty dresses that showed off glistening olive skin. He felt intoxicated by her presence in summer’s warm haze, and every day was a new adventure. He didn’t think about Scranton except when forced, and he was usually able to talk Michael down without having to make the bothersome drive. He politely declined invitations to ridiculous events and stuck to the fancy cocktail parties hosted by David Wallace and other young executives. They were good friends with the Wallaces now, often visiting for dinner parties and poolside barbecues. She had made friends with people at her new job in advertising, and their social calendar was always kept full. It was a good life, despite the quiet tug telling him he didn’t quite belong. He had plenty of friends, standing basketball games and lunches, and frequent couples dinners to reassure him he was doing the right thing. He didn’t ever slow down long enough to consider that maybe none of this was right, that he had just become exceptionally good at playing a part never meant to be his.
Maybe it was a late September meeting in Scranton that started it all. Before that he’d kept his limited dealings with Michael and Dwight at Chili’s or Cugino’s, and in four months, he hadn’t once set foot in his former office. It was starting to look a bit suspicious, however, and he wanted things to be as normal and smooth as they possibly could be. Dealing with Michael Scott was trouble enough without complicating things, so he made sure to stop by the office as a sort of preemptive strike against ensuing craziness. He thought he was doing a good thing, being responsible and professional and on top of the situation, but the moment he walked inside, he felt his confidence disappear.
It was the first time he’d seen her or heard her voice in four months. Of course, that wasn’t entirely his fault. He made sure to say a proper goodbye this time, knowing he’d hurt her with his abrupt departure to Stamford. He even called her after the interview, just after he’d shaken Wallace’s hand and sealed the deal. He hoped she would appreciate the gesture of friendship and accept his olive branch. She seemed strangely disappointed - surprised, even - though she told him again and again she fully expected him to get the job. It was more than a little bewildering, but he was happy, and he knew he needed to just let it go. Maybe a part of him had hoped she would beg him to stay, declare her love and plead with him not to go, but she said nothing more than a quiet “good luck” when he left that day. Maybe he wanted more than that, but it was all she was willing to offer. On his last day at the Scranton branch, he left her with a hug and a piece of paper with his new address in the city and all the other vital information. He asked her to come visit, promised to show her around and take her to all the best art museums.
She never came, and she never called. After a few weeks he stopped looking for e-mails in his inbox and focused on flowers and baseball and parties. He thought he’d done a pretty good job forgetting about her, but as soon as he saw her again, he felt a strange ache in his stomach. They tossed each other sad, uncomfortable glances the entire three hours he was there, and she barely said a word more than necessary to him. He still felt obliged to keep up the pretense of friendship and attempted to ask her about her life, about her art, about her mom and her sister, but she seemed intent on keeping their conversation to a minimum. She was putting her foot down, quietly but clearly telling him where they stood. He left with stinging pride and hurt feelings, and when he got back to New York City, it suddenly felt cold. Autumn’s dreariness descended upon him, and it hadn’t relented since.
At first, he refused to attribute it to seeing her again. He blamed it on anything and everything except her. The shiny newness of New York life was wearing off, and he was beginning to see its many cracks and imperfections. Their apartment was tremendously expensive and unbelievably small. He could be across the kitchen in two easy strides, and the living room wasn’t much better. They felt constantly cramped, always running into each other or the furniture as they rushed to get ready for work or parties. She insisted on decorating in some kind of modern nonsense that made his head hurt with the drabness of it all. All black and white with a few accents of red here and there, all geometric and sharp and angular. He felt like everything in this apartment would cut him if he wasn’t careful, and she was no exception. How could he feel happy or content sitting in the most monochromatic rooms in history?
They fought one day about it, and he said things he shouldn’t have said and ended up ducking when she threw a black and white painted vase at his head. It broke against the wall and shattered at his feet, and all he could think about was how perfectly the broken shards seemed to fit with their decorating scheme. Of course, he ended up saying that out loud, and he slept on the immensely uncomfortable black leather sofa that night.
The tiny spare bedroom, meant for the occasional overnight guest, became their compromise. He could decorate however he wanted, and they didn’t have to be confined to the same small spaces together all the time. He filled it with colour and sports and other boyish things, but he also found himself storing small mementos of his past. Soon the room became his safe haven, and as autumn dragged on, he retreated there more and more.
Eventually the social events wore old as well. The exciting life of the in-crowd seemed charmed from the outside, but once he knew everyone and all their stories, he started to find their long events unbearable. Inevitably someone was involved with someone or something they shouldn’t be, and there were dirty looks and too many martinis and dull jokes he heard again and again and again until he thought he might lose his mind. So he started daydreaming about pranks in the office and Michael’s terrible team-building exercises. People in Scranton might not be fancy or rich but at least they were genuine. He sometimes wished he could be at a hole-in-the-wall bar in Scranton instead of a classy, sophisticated nightclub in the city. He wished for curly hair and pale freckles to replace dark shiny locks and an olive complexion. He wanted his old apartment back, with its lame movie posters and worn furniture and tattered books. Anything would be better than this frigid, impersonal space he now called home.
The fighting escalated after a particularly insufferable cocktail party at one of her co-worker’s apartment. He noted the couple’s décor appeared eerily reminiscent of their own, and he wondered if he’d been to a single apartment in New York City that didn’t look ready for a Metropolitan Home photo shoot. He wanted a bottle – or hell, even a can – of good beer and a night in front of the television, but she dragged him here instead, where he could only drink red wine or cocktails in a range of fluorescent colours. He was starving – she took too long getting ready for them to get any dinner before they arrived – but food was being passed around on fancy trays and he kept missing his turn. The whole combination made him irritable, and then he got cornered by that guy. She was supposed to save him from that particular fate, but she seemed all too pleased to see him squirm as he listened to the other man talk about his latest golf game and the performance of his company’s stock.
By the time they finally made it across town to their own apartment, it was nearly two AM. His stomach was growling and she was drunk on bright blue martinis. It was all a very bad combination and he should have kept his mouth shut, but instead, he asked her why she just let Golf Guy waste twenty minutes of his life.
“He’s not that bad,” she answered, kicking off her shoes and leaving them laying haphazardly on the floor.
He stared down at the strappy black stilettos and found himself thinking that she would never feel the need to wear something so expensive on her feet. “He was that bad,” he countered. “You know I hate that guy.”
“You’re a grown up,” she shot back. “You don’t need me to rescue you from unpleasant conversations.”
“Well, obviously. If you rescued me from unpleasant conversations we wouldn’t be at those stupid parties at all. It’s all unpleasant conversation.”
Not the right thing to say.
“You know, you’re really an asshole sometimes,” she shook her head in disgust.
And you’re really a pretentious snob sometimes, he wanted to say, but thankfully, his self-preservation instincts were still somewhat intact. “Just because we get an invitation doesn’t mean we have to go. People understand when you don’t show up at every single social function ever created.”
“And what would you rather us do? Lay on the couch and watch another of your stupid movies?” she countered, the alcohol dulling her ability to come up with those biting remarks she was usually so skilled with.
“Yeah, actually.”
“Grow up.”
“Ironic for you to say, since all of these parties are like high school all over again,” he rolled his eyes. “Oh my God, did you see what she was wearing?” he mimicked in a high-pitched voice, only wishing he was making that part of the night up. Sophisticated New Yorkers really weren’t all that different than stuck up high school kids, trying to appear better than all their peers and make sure their own agendas were always satisfied.
“What is wrong with you?” she asked, her dull irritation starting to fuel into something a little more dangerous. “I thought you liked going to parties and having a life.”
“A life? Is that what you call it?” he asked incredulously. “It’s more like a bunch of still frames from the Society page.”
She promptly picked up one of the expensive shoes off the floor and threw it, watching as it hit him squarely on the chest. She had developed a propensity for throwing things lately, and it usually meant he was sleeping on the couch. “I’m going to bed,” she announced curtly, turning on her heel and disappearing down the hallway.
It was strange because he’d never been much of a fighter before. Yes, he could be an asshole and say some really insensitive things, but most of the time, it seemed easier to just let things go. He’d done it with all his girlfriends. It was usually easier to give in to what they wanted than fight about it and end up giving in eventually anyway. Unless it was something he really felt strongly about, he wasn’t going to argue. So where they went out to dinner, what movie they watched, and how they spent the weekend were never really issues for him.
Until now. Now they fought about anything and everything. And not just little arguments, but big blow-outs with screaming voices and broken dishes. By early December, they spent half their time not speaking to each other and the other half fighting about something. They still slept in the same bed most nights, but the distance between them was physical as well as emotional, and he couldn’t remember the last time they made love. Not that it was really “making love” anyway. Even before the fighting started, sex between them had seemed to lose its meaning, becoming more of a performance than a real act of intimacy. For a while he initiated things just to keep the status quo, just to pretend he didn’t feel himself drifting away, just so she wouldn’t start to doubt him. The whole time he wondered if she was buying it, if he was convincing enough. When the yelling and name-calling began and sex abruptly ended, he felt only relief, a burden lifted. It had been months now, and he didn’t even miss it.
Sometimes he wondered what she would think of all this. She seemed so genuinely happy for him when he announced he got the job, like she was so thrilled his dreams were coming true. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? This wasn’t his dream at all. New York City had never been part of his overall plan. Actually, he didn’t have an overall plan. That was how he got himself into this mess in the first place. He wasn’t happy in Scranton anymore, so he did what he was supposed to do and took the fancy new job in the fancy big city with the fancy beautiful girlfriend. None of it had been his dream, but he thought if he went along with it, he would find happiness and fulfillment.
But he didn’t like the fancy new job. What started as a fast-paced high-level position with big important meetings and expense accounts quickly morphed into the same conversations repeated over and over again, the same dramas played out on the same stages day after day after day. It was every bit as boring as selling paper, just relocated to a more crowded city with more traffic jams and more irritable people. And now he had to wear perfect tailored suits every day. He worked from early in the morning until late at night, and by the time he got home, there was barely time for dinner and the tail-end of Sports Center before he went to bed. What part of this was supposed to be fulfilling? As soon as the excitement of a new job wore off, he found himself in the exact same rut as before, hating his job but not knowing what else he could possibly do. And now she wasn’t even here to save him from dying of boredom.
He thought about it more than he wanted to admit. Sometimes he looked up and just imagined her desk right there, her beautiful face offering him one of those perfect little smiles. He drifted into daydreams while he was supposed to be making calls or reviewing reports, remembering instead the cute little things she did, the ever-present yogurt cartons, the post-it note drawings, the instant messages and pranks and giggles.
Eventually he was just angry. She took a chance on Beach Day, and he admired her boldness that day. She did something everyone else was terrified of doing, and then she poured her heart out in front of the whole office, including his girlfriend. It took guts, and he always knew she had them in there somewhere. He was so proud of her in that moment, even if she did make things a little difficult in his relationship. It just wasn’t quite enough. He spent years of his life pining for her. He relocated to try to forget about her. He laid awake endless nights trying not to think about the unbearable pain of unrequited love. He told her he loved her, and “I miss you,” as nice as it was to hear, was not the one thing he needed her to say. If he was really honest with himself, the job interview in New York was as much a desperate attempt to get her attention as it was a last-ditch effort to please his girlfriend. Part of him expected her to make the grand gesture, to stop him from going. He thought it could be her wake-up call, just like her upcoming wedding was his. Her one last chance to tell him how she felt and turn everything around.
And she did nothing. And now he was miserable. He wondered if she guessed that, if she knew this wasn’t him long before he realised it. It seemed right that she would – she still knew him better than anyone, even after all this time and heartache. She probably knew all along he wasn’t cut out to be this person with the swelling social calendar and the tailored suits. She knew he was the ham and cheese guy, the guy who never wore a jacket with his suit, the guy who preferred to let his hair grow out instead of cutting it in perfect style every few weeks. She just knew him.
It was snowing again. No big surprise for January in New York City. Maybe the big surprise was how much it made him miss her.
Story Notes:
I've been working on this story for a while and finally got the nerve up to post it! This is a look at what might have happened if Jim had taken the job at Corporate. These won't be the characters you know and love...it's a dark story, and they will behave accordingly!
Author's Chapter Notes:
I don't own The Office or any of the characters you recognise. It all belongs to people far more talented than me!
Special thanks to Elly for always being there to brainstorm, edit, and answer my questions!
Special thanks to Elly for always being there to brainstorm, edit, and answer my questions!
Chapter End Notes:
Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!
