----------
It was close to nine by the time we were able to escape Toby’s going-away party. We didn’t talk much on the drive home, but the weight of what almost happened still hung in the air and neither of us knew how to address it.
He was definitely going to propose. The camera crew hadn’t given him away, but I knew him, and it was just the kind of perfect moment he’d been waiting for. The signs were all there, and the symbolism hadn’t escaped me either. The parking lot. Who’d have thought, indeed. It was brilliant: the scene of our most broken and shattered moment transformed into the springboard of our future. I fairly bounced with anticipation all afternoon.
It had been a perfect day. I suppose something was bound to go amiss.
But it was such a beautiful night. I was as content as I’d ever been as I leaned on Jim’s shoulder and he bent to kiss my head, gazing down at me in that way he does that makes my heart bloom up in my chest. Then when the fireworks started—fireworks!—it was all over him; in his eyes, the nervous smile, the husky catch in his voice…and then Andy took the microphone.
The stunned dismay on Jim’s face told me everything.
We went back to my place and got ready for bed in the same uneasy, strained silence that had settled over us in the car. I slipped under the sheets while he was in the bathroom, curled up on my side to stare at the tree outside my window, and thought about Pratt.
In a few months I’d have marketable skills. Entry-level, to be sure, but something that wasn’t Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam. I could start looking for a new job, something challenging, maybe even fun. Philadelphia or New York, the guy at the job fair said.
New York is where I’d rather stay! I get allergic smelling hay.
Or Philadelphia. I was pretty sure Jim would love to live in Philly. He was so closemouthed about what he wanted to do, though. His recent dedication to his job didn’t fool me; he was obviously just being practical because we were getting married.
Right?
Still, I couldn’t let him stay at Dunder Mifflin forever just for the sake of an income. He’d always been so supportive and encouraging with me and I wanted to give it back. Sports writer, Philadelphia. I hadn’t been able to get that out of my mind lately. Was it something he really wanted or just a fantasy?
He was in the bathroom for a long time, and by the time he climbed in beside me and gathered me into his arms I was already half asleep.
Were you going to? Ask me? Just…ask me.
He sighed against my neck, a sad, tired sound, but he didn’t say anything.
----------
When I woke up, Jim was gone. There was a note on the end table that he’d gone to play ball at the park and would be back by noon.
He’d made coffee. I poured a cup while I waited for my laptop to boot up, and pulled out the Pratt brochure I’d been leafing through for the past three months while I was applying and waiting to hear back. Even as I’d tried to convince myself I wouldn’t be crushed if they turned me down, I hadn’t been able to resist looking through their summer programs for classes I could take. Illustrator, Quark, Dreamweaver, an illustration portfolio course. I couldn’t wait. Three months in the city! I’d never spent more than two weeks away from Scranton in my life. I could be chic Big-City Pam, cut my hair in some kind of dramatic asymmetrical bob, start wearing stylish Carrie Bradshaw three-inch heels.
I turned the campus map over and drew a quick sketch of the new me and laughed. Maybe I didn’t want to change quite that much.
I had an email from Toby in my inbox.
Pam,
Congratulations again on getting into Pratt! I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more.
I looked into the company’s continuing-education program as you asked. DM will reimburse up to $2000 per calendar year, payable after your final grades are in (must be C or better). I left a note with Holly to give you the paperwork. As soon as you’re registered for your classes, send in the forms so they start a file for you at corporate HR. They can be pretty slow over there. And as soon as you’re finished with your classes, you should apply to the DM graphic design internship in NY! They run it every year in the fall from September to January. I don’t remember when the deadline is to apply, so you might have to wait until next year, but you’d be great.
Good luck! I’ll miss you. You always brightened my day. I hope we can stay in touch.
Best,
Toby
I got a sudden vision of fair-skinned Toby, sunburned on a beach in Costa Rica, and hoped he would find his smile down there. In a land far from Michael, maybe Toby could be happy.
The letter was sobering, though. Reimbursement…well, I had enough—almost enough—in my savings to cover tuition for three classes. I could skip the illustration class, I decided reluctantly, and pulled out a steno pad and pen to tally up how much money I’d need to make this happen.
That was when the euphoria of being accepted faded into the reality of finances.
The numbers just didn’t add up no matter how I rearranged them. Even if I landed that (relatively) cheap studio sublet listed on the Pratt off-campus housing page, I didn’t have nearly enough savings to be unemployed for three months; I was going to need a job, immediately. With flexible enough hours to accommodate my nighttime Adobe Illustrator class. And weekends off so I could see Jim.
Impossible.
I could already imagine the interviews. “Excuse me, do you need somebody to answer your phones for three months? I can work until ten and after four, Monday through Thursday. But not Wednesday nights.”
Yeah, that’s gonna happen.
My head started to ache.
Maybe I could wait tables. Those are flexible hours, and I did it for a while after high school. It would certainly involve weekends, though, and how would I get through this if I never got to see Jim?
I can’t do this.
The front door opened and Jim came in, whistling. “Honey, I’m home,” he sang, grinning at me as he toed off his sneakers in the entranceway. “You should be proud, Beesly. Your man just kicked the ass of a kid who said, and I quote, that he was going to ‘run circles’ around me. Killed him with my jump shot.” He dropped his gym bag next to his shoes and wandered over to where I sat at the table, bending to kiss the top of my head before straightening up and pulling his gray hoodie up over his head.
“That’s nice.”
He took one look at my face and frowned. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head miserably. “I can’t do this.”
For a second he looked really alarmed, and then he glanced down at my Pratt brochure and the printouts of class schedules scattered over the table, and visibly relaxed. “Oh,” he breathed, moving to grab a beer from the fridge. “Of course you can,” he said soothingly. “You got in, didn’t you? Don’t start second-guessing yourself now.”
He sat down across from me and for a split second his encouraging expression inexplicably struck me as condescending. Am I always a child that needs to be comforted?
“That’s not it,” I said shortly.
His smile died at my tone. “Okay,” he said cautiously.
I sighed. It wasn’t like any of this was his fault. Frustrated, I gestured down at my impossible budget, shoving the sheet at him. “I can’t afford it.”
His eyebrows drew together as he stared down at my calculations of bills versus income. “I thought Dunder Mifflin was paying for it.”
“Two thousand dollars. Tuition will be about twenty-three hundred if I take the three classes I need as prereqs to even get the simplest entry-level job. And that doesn’t count supplies, or housing, or food, or anything else.” Tears stung my eyes and I blinked them back furiously. “And I found out they won’t give me the money upfront anyway; they’ll reimburse me when I get my final grades. It’s impossible.”
“Oh.” He chewed on his lip, his eyes fixed on the paper. “Well…I have some savings, and we could take out a loan,” he suggested.
We? I cut him off. “I can’t take your money.”
For the first time I realized how badly I wanted that damned ring on my finger. I couldn’t take money from my boyfriend. My fiancé…that was different. That defined we on an entirely different level. And maybe it was just semantics; we were a team, we’d always been a team—but it mattered to me.
He looked up, eyes flashing. “Why not?”
“Because it’s your money,” I said impatiently.
“Are you kidding me?” He sat up straight, his eyes blazing green as he pushed the paper back at me, angrier than I’d ever seen him. “That’s…ridiculous. I just want to help you. Jesus, Pam!”
“It’s not your place,” I snapped.
Which was without question the cruelest, most thoughtless, most untrue thing I’d ever said, ever, to anyone.
“Not my place,” he repeated. He stared at me, a muscle in his jaw working furiously. Yet his anger seemed to dissipate as quickly as it had flared, and when he dropped his eyes and licked his lips he only looked wounded and heartbroken.
He pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. “Don’t you know that everything I have is yours?” he said quietly.
I stared at him, stricken.
He walked out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom. A few seconds later I heard the shower and then I did start to cry. Stupid. Stupid! He’d do anything for you, absolutely anything, and that’s what you say to him? He was only trying to help…Christ, he was always trying to help… and I was throwing it in his face?
When I heard the water shut off I went to the bedroom to wait for him. It seemed an eternity before he came out, and he looked a little startled to see me sitting on the bed, but his eyes quickly slid away from mine as he silently padded to the dresser for a pair of underwear. Because I may have said I wouldn’t live with him until I was engaged, but that didn’t mean half his stuff wasn’t here.
“Jim,” I began.
“I should probably go…home…for a while,” he cut me off. “Do some laundry and shit.” He dropped the towel from around his waist and yanked on his boxer briefs, keeping his back to me.
Something about the way he’d said home really stung.
“Jim, I’m sorry,” I tried again. “I know you’re just—”
“No, it’s cool, whatever,” he interrupted. “You’re right. I guess it’s not my place to help you.” He pulled on the khaki trousers he’d been wearing last night and walked over to the closet for a clean shirt, reaching in blindly and snatching a green buttondown off the hanger.
I stood up and moved to stand in front of him. He was having a hard time with the buttons; his hands were shaking a little. I put my hands over his to still him, and looked up into his face until he finally met my eyes. “I’m sorry,” I said again, softly. “Of course it’s your place. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He licked his lips, one of his nervous habits, and swallowed noisily and nodded almost imperceptibly, his gaze dropping to my hands as I began unbuttoning his shirt. “Don’t go,” I whispered. “Please. I’m so sorry. I need you.” I pushed the shirt off his shoulders and kissed his chest, running my hands down his sides to his belt.
“Pam…” It came out a husky groan. He stood motionless as I unbuckled him and unzipped his fly and pushed his Dockers to the floor, but when I started to slide down to my knees he stopped me, picking me up under my arms and hauling me back up to kiss me fiercely, all tongue and teeth and desperate desire as he walked me backward to the bed. He pushed me down more roughly than he’d ever done and in seconds he was on top of me, inside me, moving fast and hard and deep, so deep, until I was panting and clawing at his back and crying out his name as he exploded into me with a shuddering gasp.
Then the only sound was that of our breathing, harsh and rasping, slowing gradually on its way back to normal. Jim rolled off of me and for a horrified moment I thought he was going to get up and leave anyway, but he turned onto his side and spooned up behind me, still breathing hard against my neck.
“Sorry,” he muttered finally.
I flapped a hand. “No need.”
We were quiet for a while. I was drained and drowsy. Jim pulled the sheet up over us.
“Last night,” he said finally.
“Hmm?”
“I was going to propose," he said softly.
“I know.”
“Andy…”
“I know.”
He sighed. “Will you marry me?”
I turned over so I could look at his face. He lifted himself up on his elbow and gazed down at me intently. No jesting this time.
“Yes,” I said decisively.
His eyes narrowed playfully. “Even without the fireworks and the carnival rides?”
I grinned. “Especially without the fireworks and the carnival rides.”
He pressed his lips together, his expression somewhere between amusement and indignance. “Are you making fun of me, Beesly?”
I nodded solemnly. “A little.”
“So mean,” he murmured, shaking his head in mock-disapproval as he settled back down, slipping his arm under my shoulders to draw me against him.
I pressed my palm against his chest, over his heart. “I never needed any of that, Jim.”
He stared at me for a minute and then sighed. “I wanted it for you.”
“You’re very sweet. Ring, please.” I grinned up at him.
He laughed, a deep rumble in his chest, and slithered out from under me to stride naked over to where his pants lay in a heap on the floor. “This is so not how I pictured this happening.”
“Since when does anything ever happen the way we plan it?” I mused, gazing at the long muscles of his thighs as he knelt to fish in his trouser pockets.
“Good point.” He straightened up and bounded back over to the bed, sliding under the blanket and grinning at me mischievously as he held out the small black velvet box. “Now before I give you this, I think you should know that I expect you to let me help you. Not just moral support but actual, tangible, tax-deductible help.”
“Tax deductible?” I frowned.
He shrugged. “Isn’t tuition tax deductible?”
“Maybe. I think so. I’ll look into it.” I wrinkled my nose at him. “Quit stalling, Halpert.”
“I am not stalling. I just don’t want there to be any confusion about this.” He looked stern.
“Jim, I promise I will gladly spend all of your money when I am your wife,” I vowed solemnly. “Now don’t you think it’s time you quit teasing me?”
He smiled. “Never,” he promised, and flipped open the box.
-------
Story Notes:
This came about when I started thinking about a) how Jim's stymied proposal will be resolved, and b)all the details they skim over in television, like how Pam is going to pay for school.
Title is a Rush song. Also, a noun.
Title is a Rush song. Also, a noun.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Standard disclaimers apply. I don't own these characters.
-
And if love remains
though everything is lost
We will pay the price,
but we will not count the cost
--Neil Peart, "Bravado"
-
And if love remains
though everything is lost
We will pay the price,
but we will not count the cost
--Neil Peart, "Bravado"
Chapter End Notes:
I'm wondering how many of you got the "Green Acres" reference. :) To those who didn't, it must seem like Pam has a really weird inner monologue sometimes.
Thanks for reading!
Thanks for reading!
callisto is the author of 22 other stories.
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