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Costa Rica Was Beautiful. You Should Go.
by Steph

Summary: It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Costa Rica was supposed to fix him.

Spoilers: Goodbye Toby - plus several of that episode's deleted scenes

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Costa Rica was supposed to be his reward. His reward for surviving with the same placid smile on his face. He was supposed to suffer through another twenty odd years at this horrible job, and put away enough money so his daughter would have a good college fund, and he wouldn’t have to worry about how he’d make ends meet in his golden years.

Costa Rica was supposed to be the light at the end of the dark, crappy tunnel that was his life.

He should have had months - no, years and years - to research, to consult with travel agents and financial planners. He should have had plenty of time to find the best deals, to plan out the rest of his life.

It shouldn’t have been like this. He shouldn’t have had this feeling of dread, this desperate need to flee. He made arrangements without thinking, paid too much while getting too little in return. There was part of him that didn’t care; all he knew was that he had to leave. Immediately.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Costa Rica wasn’t supposed to be his escape plan.

The day after his goodbye party, which left him feeling not the relief or giddiness he had hoped for, he sat in the airport feeling anxious.

He took out his camera, the one he really couldn’t afford. He played with the buttons until he found a picture of him and Pam.

He didn’t have anything sinister or perverted planned when he begged her for a picture; he just wanted a picture of her. A picture of a beautiful woman who had once been nice to him.

As proof of something.

With nothing to do until the plane arrived, he studied the picture. He looked ridiculous, grinning like the fool that he was. She looked upset and uncomfortable.

Of course she did.

He scrutinized the expression on her face. He had forced her to take this picture with him after months of acting like an idiot around her. Of smiling stupidly and blushing and stammering in front of her, of saying and doing stupid things and walking around pissed at her boyfriend.

After sexually harassing her in front of everyone.

It was a wonder she didn’t report him. Or kick him. Or have Jim kick him.

He would have deserved it.

Michael had always loved insulting Toby - calling him perv and creep. Weren’t these photos enough evidence that the insults were fitting?

Even a broken clock is right twice a day.

Toby deleted the photos quickly.

On the plane he was nauseous and it had nothing to do with turbulence.

--

In general, Toby hated coffeehouses. He liked plain coffee, mostly black, sometimes with a little cream if he were feeling particularly indulgent, but never the complicated, decadent concoctions offered. Plus there were always too many people in too small a space.

But he really needed to get out of his claustrophobic apartment so here he was with his laptop at a small corner table doing some much needed internet work. He drank a small cup of black coffee and picked at a dry muffin while trying to concentrate.

And then he heard someone call his name.

He looked up, already dreading seeing someone he knew.

Oscar.

He sighed, feeling something almost like relief, because it could have been a lot worse.

“What are you doing here?” Oscar asked.

Toby shrugged, tried to find the right kind of smile to put on his face. Found one that he hoped looked reasonably authentic and said, “Oh. Well. You know.”

There. That cleared things up perfectly.

“How was Costa Rica?”

“Costa Rica was beautiful. You should go.”

That sounded believable.

Oscar shook his head. “Not really my thing. Europe is the way to go.” He looked at Toby, as if waiting for some kind of agreement. Toby nodded, although he couldn’t remember much (or anything) about his Amsterdam trip so many years ago.

Oscar sat in the chair across from him. Told him about work and that Holly was nice and seemed to fit in fine although she wasn’t a big fan of things like The Finer Things Club that excluded people.

“She thought it would be better if we expanded membership to anyone who was interested. And then she suggested making the reading material more accessible to everyone.” Oscar rolled his eyes at that. “So rather than having to suffer through what some of these people might choose, Pam and I just decided to disband.”

Toby nodded again. He felt drained suddenly.

Oscar stood up, told Toby that it was good seeing him and that he found this really interesting author and he’d email Toby with the guy’s info. Toby stood up too, shook his hand and watched, mortified, as Oscar’s eyes went to his computer screen very briefly before going back to Toby’s face.

Oscar looked at him with just a little bit of pity. Toby pretended not to notice.

A few days later, he received an email from Oscar. He skimmed it quickly, noting the book recommendations with interest.

And then he saw the P.S.:

Good luck with the job search.

Toby sent him an email thanking him for the recommendations; added a few of his own.

He didn’t mention the P.S.

He was too embarrassed.

--

Costa Rica was absolutely gorgeous. That picture he had been carrying around didn’t do the place justice. The water was so beautiful, so calm and peaceful.

He should have been relaxed.

He should have been enjoying himself.

Except he wasn’t.

He couldn’t eat.

He couldn’t sleep.

He was so exhausted and he still couldn’t sleep.

He thought leaving Dunder Mifflin, leaving Scranton would fix him. Make him happy.

Instead he walked on the beach, already sunburnt, and mentally listed everything he had done this last year that was inappropriate and ridiculous.

On his first full day in Costa Rica, a day that should have been spent exploring or surfing or taking pictures with that damn camera, he sat with his laptop and composed a long email to Pam, apologizing for the whole last year. Any time he had made her uncomfortable. Any time he had been creepy and unprofessional around her. He wrote that he understood it if she hated him.

He told her he would never email her again.

He closed his eyes and imagined her deleting his email without reading it or even worse huddling over her computer at work with Jim, the two of them laughing over pathetic, creepy Toby.

He deleted it without sending and turned off his laptop.

He thought he wouldn’t be miserable in Costa Rica.

He was wrong.

--

The bar he went to wasn’t Poor Richard’s. It was some little place close to his apartment, gloomy and dark.

He sat alone, nursing his drink. He had just been thinking about his first day at his new job when he felt someone sit next to him.

Now what, he thought wearily and raised his head.

Great. Another familiar face.

“What’s a guy like you doing in a shit hole like this?”

He smiled even though it wasn’t that funny. “Hey Meredith.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Costa Rica?”

“Nope. Not anymore.”

“But you did go, right? Was it nice?”

He took another gulp of his drink. “Costa Rica was beautiful. You should go.”

She snorted. “Right. You paying for this nice vacation of mine?”

He shook his head.

“Today was awful,” she said. “You’ll never guess what Michael had us doing.”

“No,” he said, his voice stronger than usual. “Let’s not talk about Michael. Please.”

“Fine,” she said. “Can we talk about Holly? Stupid bitch.”

His head began to hurt. “What did Holly do to you?”

Meredith drained the last of her drink and signaled for another. “It’s just how she is. Hate that bitch. Can’t you come back? Everyone liked you.”

He laughed. Now that was funny. “No one liked me.”

“Well you did get a little weird toward the end,” she said. “But before that everyone liked you fine. I mean except for...”

He stood up before she could mention Michael. “I need to get out of here.”

“No,” she said. “Sit down. Just until I finish my drink. I’m not supposed to drink alone.”

It’s not like he had anything better to do. He motioned for another drink, happy he was within walking distance from his apartment. “Fine.”

“And so what if you got a little weird? I’ve dated some real creeps in my life and you weren’t anywhere near that level.”

What a compliment.

“Sometimes I think no one at work likes me either,” Meredith said quietly. “Not really.”

He didn’t have anything to say to that.

“I wish I could just take off and leave,” Meredith said. “Start over.” Her voice sounded completely different, dreamy almost. “I can’t though. Because of Jake.” She laughed. “I may be a bad mother, but I can’t just leave my kid. I’m not that bad of a mother.”

“Right,” he said. He stood up again, muttering something about needing some air. As he made his way to the door, he could just barely hear her invitation for drinks next week with everyone for her birthday.

Outside everything was spinning. He braced his back against the outside wall of the bar, gasping for air, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

He was a horrible parent - even Meredith knew you didn’t just leave your kid.

But he had come back.

That had to count for something, right?

Right?

--

One of his earlier therapists - the one he saw sophomore year in college - suggested he start running. Thought it might clear his mind. Sometimes it worked and he loved the feeling of running a marathon - even if he didn’t excel, he liked the sense of accomplishment.

He had hoped he would feel the same way surfing. His second full day in Costa Rica he surfed in the beautiful water and even though he was clumsy at the beginning and felt very self-conscious covered in sunblock (the only thing worse than a sunburn was a sunburn on top of a sunburn), he slowly began to figure it out.

And for a moment, if he wasn’t exactly happy, he was almost calm.

That night he checked his messages and listened to a new one from his ex.

She said that she just wanted to make sure he got there okay and she hoped he would be happier there than he was in Scranton.

She could afford to be generous with the pleasantries, what with her having a new husband she loved more than the last one, a daughter who lived with her full-time and a baby on the way.

Having won at life, she was now at the point where she didn’t see Toby as the enemy; now she pitied him more than she hated him.

“Someone else wants to talk to you,” his ex said concluding the message. There was a moment of silence before he heard his daughter on the phone.

It was difficult to hear her - the connection wasn’t great and Sasha, on the phone, tended to speak a lot more quietly than in person (His ex had once said sarcastically, “Gee, I wonder where she gets her mumbling from.”). But he pressed his phone to his ear and desperately tried to understand what she was saying.

He thought he heard the words “bucket” and once “summer,” but the words were faint and out-of-context and he wasn’t completely sure.

And then he heard her say two words, perfectly loud and clear.

“Bye Daddy.”

He had fought so hard during the custody battle, had been just devastated with the results. Had forced himself to be okay with weekends and alternate holidays even though it had killed him inside.

And now he had fled the country, left his little girl.

What the hell was he doing?

Was he really okay knowing that she was living with her mother and stepfather, and she would probably only be seeing him a few times a year?

What was wrong with him?

What was he doing?

And everything suddenly became clear.

He knew what he had to do.

He had to go home.

--

He woke up feeling okay the morning of Meredith’s birthday party at Poor Richard’s and decided to attend. Maybe apologize to a certain happy couple.

He thought he’d be able to do this.

And if people asked about him returning from Costa Rica he would respond honestly.

Tell them he missed Sasha too much.

But he doubted people would ask. He was the kind of person people didn’t pay much attention to.

Even his goodbye party hadn’t really been about him.

He steeled himself and walked into the bar. He could see everyone in the distance; could see Pam and Jim, talking and goofing around together.

And he felt...

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Not anger or depression or, now looking only at Pam, any kind of lust or inappropriateness.

He just felt numb. Completely and utterly numb.

It was a little refreshing.

But if he was feeling nothing then that meant he couldn’t really have been in love with her, right?

And if he hadn’t been in love with her, then why had he acted the way he did?

He turned around and left without anyone noticing he had even been there.

--

He flew out of Costa Rica and back into Scranton. He had been there less than a week.

He sold the fancy, expensive camera.

He sold Michael’s watch, which, oddly enough, had been giving him a rash.

He rented the first apartment he could find and started scanning the want ads.

His Costa Rica condo was sold and he wondered if he would ever go back.

If it weren’t for his still peeling skin and the sand in his shoes, he could pretend he hadn’t been there at all.

Sasha was his first overnight guest at his new place and she seemed confused by him leaving and then coming back.

The new apartment confused her a little too, because the bathroom was in the wrong place and her new bedroom didn’t have a window like the old one.

But they watched a movie and ate caramel corn together and when he hugged her goodnight (maybe a little tighter than usual) she said that she was glad he was back.

And he knew he had made the right decision.

--

One of his last therapists had advised that if he were feeling down he should do something charitable.

It was Thanksgiving and Sasha was spending it with her mom, stepdad and baby brother, and he was spending it with absolutely no one so he decided to do something charitable and volunteer at the soup kitchen.

He worked next to an idealistic college junior named Kim who in between serving turkey and mashed potatoes to the homeless told him her ideas on saving the world, starting with Scranton.

It was actually kind of interesting.

“Oh God,” Kim muttered to Toby. “It’s that creepy guy again.”

Toby looked and frowned when he realized the creepy guy standing in front of them was someone he knew.

“Hey,” Creed said, his eyes lighting up in recognition. “I know you.”

“Yep. Hey Creed.”

“I sold you some weed once.”

Kim looked up at that, her eyes huge. She looked from Creed to Toby with interest.

“No,” Toby hissed. “We used to work together.”

Creed grinned. “I didn’t say we didn’t, my friend.” He looked at Kim. “Hey there, sweetheart.”

Kim looked away, uncomfortable.

Toby took Creed’s plate and quickly filled it wanting him to move along.

“Come find me,” Creed stage whispered. “I have something very important to tell you.”

Somewhat curious, Toby sat across from him minutes later.

“It’s about Michael Scott,” Creed said. “I don’t know if you remember him.”

“Yeah,” Toby said, feeling slightly ill watching Creed shovel in food. “I remember him.”

“He killed someone.”

“What?” Toby asked. Now he knew from years of experience to take everything Creed said with a grain of salt, but still he wasn’t sure what to make of this. “Who?”

Creed finished his yams before saying, “He killed someone at work. I saw it with my own eyes. There was blood everywhere.”

“What? Wait. What are you talking about?”

Creed leaned in and said, whispering, “He killed the guy - I don’t remember his name or what he did exactly. You know who I mean, right?”

“No.”

“Quiet guy. Sat in back with that Indian girl who never shuts up.”

Toby smiled in spite of himself. “Michael killed him?”

“Saw it with my own eyes.”

“How about that?” Toby said. He stood up. His ten-minute break was up. “Happy Thanksgiving, Creed.”

--

Two days later, after a phone conversation with Sasha where she told him how much she loved her new baby brother and how she couldn’t wait for Toby to meet him, he felt so down that he decided to do another charitable deed.

He drove a few hours and went to visit Ryan.

Toby had always liked Ryan - even when others hadn’t. And now seeing him like this - looking less like a smug boss and more like a terrified kid - made Toby forget everything he had planned to say.

“I’m sorry,” Toby said quietly.

Ryan nodded, looking away. Then he stared directly at Toby and said, his voice cracking slightly, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Toby nodded.

He knew how Ryan felt.

--

His new job was okay. HR was HR. Not much more you could say about it.

But the boss didn’t hate him and the problems he had to solve weren’t quite as bizarre.

He didn’t want what had happened at Dunder Mifflin to happen here so he stayed professional. He stayed quiet, aloof almost around his friendly, normal coworkers. He didn’t join them at the bar or on bowling nights. It was better this way, he rationalized to himself as he sat alone yet another weekend night.

He couldn’t risk losing it again.

Because he was so private, so uninvolved with out-of-office events, his coworkers became even more curious about him.

Many of them had theories about Toby.

He was just shy and needed a little more coaxing to join them.

He was in the closet and was hiding his life partner from everyone.

He hated them all.

He had a secret double life. During the day, he was reserved and quiet, but at night he was some kind of undercover stud. Toby, one of the salesmen guessed, probably bedded a different hot chick every night.

That rumor was almost funny.

If they only knew how pathetic his private life really was.

If they only knew how long it had been for him.

--

He had debated about going to the wedding for the longest time.

The invitation had surprised him.

He wasn’t sure why he had been invited exactly.

And, remembering how he had reacted at Meredith’s birthday, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to see everyone again.

But he was just too curious and responded yes he would be attending the
Schrute-Martin nuptials.

The ceremony was bizarre to say the least. It was outside and there were farm animals and Bible readings and cats dressed in clothes and it was quite possibly the weirdest wedding he had ever been to.

He stood in the back and watched his former coworkers. Spotted Michael. Spotted Jim and Pam, laughing and talking together.

He was once again relieved that he felt absolutely nothing.

Perfect.

The reception itself was in some big hall of some sort and he steeled himself for whatever unfortunate seating arrangement he would be faced with. He found his name on a card.

Table Seven.

The table closest to the exit door. Everyone else from Dunder Mifflin was at Tables Two and Three.

Hmm.

He wondered if Michael had ordered Dwight to put Toby at the hall’s equivalent of Siberia. He wondered, suddenly feeling very depressed, if Jim had requested it.

He wondered if Pam had requested it. Wanted Toby as far away from her as possible so he wouldn’t bother or harass her in any way.

He wouldn’t blame her.

But no when he found Dwight to congratulate him, he casually asked why he was at Table Seven. Dwight said simply that because Toby no longer worked for the company, Angela didn’t feel it was appropriate for him to be sitting with everyone else. Angela, Dwight replied with a smile that was almost a smirk, liked order.

Toby knew this to be true and went to find his table.

Table Seven wasn’t even completely full. He was joined by a former Sunday School teacher of Angela’s who must have been somewhere around 100 years old and two gangly, sullen teenagers dressed completely in black who muttered to themselves about their distaste for “English” weddings. Toby learned they were second cousins of Dwight’s going through their Rumspringa.

Interesting.

The teacher, who it seemed was very hard of hearing, screamed at Toby asking him how well he knew the bride and groom.

“Pretty well,” he said. “I’ve been slapped by the bride and once spent a good half an hour explaining to the groom where the clitoris was.”

No. Of course he didn’t say that.

He told her that he used to work with them.

And then had to repeat it a couple of times.

He knew he could go mingle with his former coworkers. But there was a part of him that enjoyed just watching the spectacle without being noticed.

It was not unlike sitting in the annex.

He was just finishing up his wedding cake when someone sat next to him.

“Why are you sitting at the Loser Table?”

“Hey Kelly,” he said, smiling.

She looked at the teacher, now snoring softly, at the two teenagers gaping at her and her low cut pink dress. “Why don’t you come sit with us?”

“I don’t want to cross Angela,” he said. Then “Is Darryl here too?”

Toby had always been friendly with Darryl. When Toby had stood at his car, after being escorted by the security guard, ready to leave Dunder Mifflin for the last time, Darryl had come by, slapped him on the back and told him to have a great trip.

A small thing, but a nice one nonetheless.

Kelly looked surprised. “We totally broke up like months ago. You didn’t hear?”

“No.”

“Whatever,” she said. “He was such a jerk. I could do so much better.”

“Sure.”

She smiled. “How was Puerto Rico?”

“Costa Rica,” he corrected. “Costa Rica was beautiful. You should go.”

“Isn’t it like total third world there? I only like going places where there are really nice hotels and spas where you could get massages and really awesome restaurants and you can get room service.”

He sipped his punch, not really paying attention to her talking about this totally awesome hotel she went to once. But what she said next got his attention.

“Want to go make out in a closet? For old times sake?”

He choked just a little bit.

“We’ve never made out in a closet,” he said. “Or anywhere for that matter.”

She giggled. “I know. So do you?”

She was joking. He knew that.

Well he wasn’t completely humorless.

He could call her bluff.

“Sure, Kelly. Let’s go.”

She smacked his arm. “I was joking, Toby.”

“I know,” he said. He smiled slightly. “So was I.”

“Want to dance?” she asked.

He stood up. “Alright.”

Then he would leave.

As they danced, she talked. And talked. About everything that happened in her life, but more importantly everything that had happened in her favorite and not so favorite celebrities’ lives.

And her chatter was so familiar that he began to feel almost nostalgic. And he looked at her and said, “I missed you.”

Which surprised him a little. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was true.

“Really?” she asked, pleased. “Do you miss me the most of everyone?”

He wasn’t sure, but it was a possibility so he said, “Yes.”

“I missed you too.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

He had not been expecting that.

“Kelly,” he said, but was cut off when she kissed him again.

And it was weird, but very, very nice at the same time.

She tasted sweet. Like cake.

“Toby,” she said. “Do you want to make out with me in a closet?”

Stepping away slightly from her, he shook his head. “I’ve heard this joke already.”

She tilted her head. “I’m so not joking this time.”

He frowned, because the joke was getting less and less funny.

Kelly smiled, leaned into him again and whispered, “So totally not joking. Let’s go find a closet.”

The closet they found was small and airless, but her pale pink dress felt silky under his fingertips and her hands were cool when she lightly touched his cheek, the back of his neck, his mouth.

It felt wonderful.

A little surreal.

But wonderful.

This was okay, he told himself. He wasn’t her HR rep; he wasn’t even her coworker. And she had instigated this, he told himself as he bent to kiss her again. He wasn’t being a creep or a perv.

She didn’t seem to think so either if her mouth on his jaw was any indication.

He still wasn’t sure quite why this was happening exactly, but he knew he didn’t want it to stop.

He whispered that she looked beautiful. She grinned at this and pulled him even closer.

She gasped his name loudly, sounding both a little surprised and very pleased, as he kissed her neck and then kissed a little bit lower.

He murmured “Shh, shh” into her skin, even as he continued kissing her.

They should be a little quieter.

Because they were, oddly enough, making out in a closet at someone’s wedding.

But even as he shushed her, he had to admit that there was a part of him that didn’t really want her to lower her voice.

It was nice to know that every once in awhile he was able to do something right.

--

But even with that pleasurable memory, there were still some days that were really awful for him. Days where it took every ounce of resolve and effort to get out of bed and go to work and listen to other people’s conflicts. Days where he wondered why his life was this way.

Days where his inner voice sounded a lot like Michael.

Then there were the occasional okay days. Like the day he stood with his ex and her husband and the three of them watched Sasha win first prize in the elementary school-wide spelling bee. And his ex had turned to him and said, “She gets that from you, you know.”

That had been an okay day.

But most days were somewhere in between.

Certainly not great, but not horrible either.

There were a lot of days where he just felt numb. Just sort of there.

He wondered if this was what the rest of his life would be like.

He thought he might be okay with that.

--

He wished this had happened on an okay day - a day when he had had Sasha or had done a well-received presentation at work. Or a numb day - a day where he was just there.

He might have handled himself better.

But it had been a horrible day.

He had just been at his new therapist’s and they were discussing changing antidepressants for him - a different prescription or dosage or something - something that would magically make him happy.

“That’s not quite how it works,” the therapist had said.

“I know.” Toby replied, tired. “I’ve been on them before.”

Driving home, feeling defeated, he remembered he had planned to go to the supermarket. He was out of...well...

Everything.

It wasn’t his usual market, but he was exhausted and suddenly starving so he wove through the aisles filling his cart with the most random things when he turned a corner and nearly bumped into Jim.

Oh.

Well.

Jim looked up and gave him a friendly if slightly guarded smile. “Hi Toby.”

Smile, Toby, he told himself. Dammit, smile.

He smiled. “Hi Jim.”

“How’s the new job?”

And it was weird how slow he was in coming up with answers. “Good,” he said. “Nobody hates me.”

Yet.

“And how’s Miss Sash?”

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “Fine. She has a brother now. Not my kid. Obviously. Her mom’s. And Peter’s. The boy is Peter Junior, but they’re calling him PJ for now.”

Like Jim needed to know all that.

“What was Costa Rica like?”

It was horrible, Jim. Not the cure-all he had hoped for.

Costa Rica was like a happy family - mother, father and daughter living together in one house. Costa Rica was like a beautiful woman smiling at you from her desk at reception.

Costa Rica was yet another thing he yearned for, but had screwed up.

“Costa Rica was beautiful. You should go.”

This time it didn’t even sound like he was trying.

Jim gave him an odd look so Toby quickly asked how Jim was.

And Jim started talking about how he got promoted and provided some updates on Ryan (not realizing that Toby was still in contact with him) and how weird that situation was. And then Jim stopped suddenly. He looked away from Toby and said, “I don’t know if you know this or not, but the big news is that Pam and I are engaged. The wedding’s in a few months.”

Numbness again.

Thank goodness.

Followed by an incredible wave of sadness and envy because everyone was happy but him. Odd man out.

“Do you want to come?” Jim asked sounding uncomfortable. “Pam wanted to invite you, but I wasn’t sure if you---”

If what Jim? Toby thought to himself. If I’d make an ass of myself on your big day?

It was a reasonable concern to have.

“If you’d even want to come.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I want to come. And congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Jim said, seeming to relax a little. “We’ll mail the invitation tonight.”

“Okay,” Toby said. “You don’t have my new address.”

“We’ll find you. There can’t be too many Flendersons around in Scranton, right?”

This was true. After his wife decided she’d rather be a Becker than a Flenderson, he and Sasha were the only ones.

“Yeah,” Toby said.

Jim grinned at him. “Great. The place we found for the wedding is really nice. It’s this little hotel, but sort of retro and fun. Not stuffy or anything. And there’s a garden in the back - just beautiful.”

Toby nodded. “Good.”

He needed to get out of here soon.

“I don’t know the exact layout of the place. I don’t know what the closet situation is.”

Toby didn’t get what he was talking about at first. “The closet situation?”

“Yeah,” Jim said, his grin now almost playful, his voice almost teasing. “I don’t know what the closet situation is so you and Kelly might be better off just getting a room. I know what weddings do to you two.”

Toby felt his face heat up. Jim, who had everything, was making fun of him. He mumbled a quick goodbye and moved his shopping cart out of the way when it lightly bumped into Jim’s cart.

“Sorry,” Toby said. “Sorry.”

He didn’t know how many times he repeated the apology. Definitely more than twice. Maybe five times. Maybe twenty. He couldn’t stop himself.

Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

It just kept coming out of his mouth in that pitiful, mumbly voice.

Jim finally touched his arm. “It’s just a shopping cart.”

Jim and Pam were going to laugh about this tonight. He would tell her about who he had run into at the market and they would have a good laugh about how Toby had finally lost what few marbles he had.

Had Michael ever called Toby crazy?

Toby couldn’t remember.

“No,” Toby said, jerking his arm away. “I don’t mean the shopping cart.”

“I know,” Jim said softly.

He was beginning to feel a little lightheaded. And very embarrassed.

“I should go,” Toby said. “Congratulations again. Tell Pam that. And tell her I’m sorry as well. For everything.”

He stood in what seemed like the slowest line in history and watched the cashier finally ring up items of his he didn’t even remember choosing.

Cherries. A tube of polenta. Marshmallow Fluff. Matzoh.

Matzoh?

What the fuck did he want matzoh for?

He had always hated the stuff. As did Sasha.

“I don’t want this,” he said, handing the cashier the box. Behind him, someone sighed loudly.

Toby forced himself not to say sorry.

He was getting really sick of the word.

After dinner he sat in front of the TV flipping channels when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“I’m sorry. For what I said about you and Kelly.”

Jim. “How did you get this number?”

“I was right. You are the only Flenderson in the phone book.”

“Oh,” Toby said. He realized he should probably say more.

But he didn’t know what.

The idea that Jim was apologizing to him was ridiculous.

“Kelly kept pushing us to invite you to the wedding,” Jim said. “When we asked her why, she told us, in very enthusiastic and complimentary terms, what happened at the other wedding. I was just trying to be funny, but it really wasn’t my place to joke about your private business.”

“Alright,” Toby said, because he didn’t know what else to say. Then he sighed. “I’m so sorry, Jim.”

“I know you are.”

“I screwed up. It was all this crap at work and my sister and my ex and...” Why was he trying to justify this? “Sorry.”

He closed his eyes wondering why he wasn’t suddenly feeling better.

“Toby?” Jim asked.

“What?”

“It’s okay. I mean it was weird when whatever was going on with you was going on, but I know you’re sorry.”

“I thought Costa Rica would fix everything,” Toby said.

Which he regretted immediately.

“Well, maybe--”

“Forget I said that,” Toby said quickly. “I’ll look out for the invitation. And congratulations again to both of you. And please tell Pam how sorry I am.”

He hung up the phone and hoped, apologies out of the way, that he would feel better soon.

He went into his bedroom and slowly opened his third drawer. In a folder was that old, wrinkled picture of the Costa Rica beach he had carried around for years.

Sitting on his bed, he stared at it for a few seconds.

Someday he might be better. Happier. And if he started saving now, maybe he’d be able to try again. Once he had retired, once Sasha was a lot older. After she graduated college.

Maybe he could try again.

He looked again at the picture. Traced the water with his finger with some longing as he remembered that brief, fleeting feeling of calm.

Maybe.

Costa Rica was beautiful.

Maybe he should go.

The End


Steph is the author of 37 other stories.
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