~~~~~
The email is from his gmail account. It's time-stamped 6:13 a.m.
Hi -
Come over after work. Let's go someplace casual and go out for a drink. How does that sound?
I'll see you later.
Yours,
Jim
He signed all of her birthday cards and, depending on the kind of day they were having, some emails "love." She notices the "yours," and what it isn't. It either means nothing or everything. When she writes a short response, she spends five minutes contemplating the closing before deciding to steal his choice.
He comes in at 10:30, wearing jeans and a t-shirt printed with the name of a band she's never heard of. He hasn't shaved and he still looks tired, but somehow lighter, more comfortable. She can see it in his shoulders, always the easiest part of him to interpret. She's on the phone when he walks through the door, so he just taps on her desk and smiles as he passes. He's in Michael's office for twenty minutes. When the door opens and he steps out, she says, "Hey," at a volume that sounds too quiet but feels too loud.
"Hi." He comes over to her desk and leans on it, taking a few jellybeans. He smells warm and clean and his hair is a damp at the ends. "So tonight then..." He's being very quiet, speaking under Dwight, who is nattering on the phone. She waits for the whole office to turn and stare at them, for someone to notice a difference. She's felt weird all morning.
"Yeah. I'll change and come pick you up?"
"You're such a gentleman, Pam."
"Well, my mom taught me how to treat a lady." He smiles and lowers his head a little.
"I've got to go. I have some things to take care of."
"Okay."
His voice is quieter still. "You look beautiful this morning."
"Jim," it's a warning, a thank you, a space filler because she doesn't know what to say.
"Tonight."
"Tonight."
He takes a few more jellybeans and leaves. Pam stares at the spot he occupied until the phone rings again.
~~~~~
When he answers the door at 6:15, he's on the phone. He motions her inside as he says, "I can't do this right now" to the person on the other end. She follows him into the living room, where he gestures to the couch. She sits and he holds up an index finger, a pained expression on his face. "Actually, yeah, I do have more important things to do." Pam winces sympathetically and he covers his face with his hand, turns, and walks down the hall to his bedroom. Before the door closes, Pam hears an exasperated, "Karen..."
He's back in three minutes. He's flushed and he leans on the wall at the end of the hall. "I'm sorry that you had to hear that."
"It's totally okay."
"I couldn't just hang up on her and -" he trails off and looks away.
She blurts, "It took six months before Roy stopped calling me to yell at me. His mom used to call me, too."
"Ouch."
"He was drunk most of the time when he did it."
"That's -"
"It was awful." She stands up. "So I understand. And if you need some space -"
He holds up a hand, which eventually makes its way into his hair. "No, please - she's not - she's not allowed to do that."
"Okay." He moves away from the wall and they stand a couple of feet apart. "But, Jim, while we're - I'm still your friend. You can tell me what's going on. Please."
He looks down at his feet. "She called me a manipulative cocksucker." He shrugs.
Pam opens her mouth and closes it. She knows that Jim doesn't maliciously manipulate people, but she's fairly certain that he thinks he does. It's a direct hit, really, and she's kind of impressed with Karen's precision. She tries again, feeling a small stab of envy at the realization that Karen knows him well if she's figured out all of that. "Alright, Halpert, as your friend?"
"Yeah?"
"I think you need a drink. Let's go."
"Really?"
"We'll eat greasy food, get you loaded, and you can tell me what a bitch your ex-girlfriend is."
"She's not a bitch, she's right, she -"
"Jim."
"Yeah?"
"You're not a manipulative cocksucker."
This earns her a raised eyebrow and the very beginning of a smile. "Wow. I don't think I've ever heard you say - all that."
"You're not. You're human and you just dumped someone after not being very honest with her about - well, I don't know, because we've got a lot of catching up to do - and she's allowed to be angry. But you're also allowed to ignore her if you want to. For now."
He leaves his phone sitting on the endtable and she takes him to a bar and grill where they eat baskets of fries and chicken tenders and he drinks the better part of two pitchers of beer. They don't touch each other once. They play darts and he keeps winning until the second pitcher is half-empty and he starts talking about Karen. He doesn't cry and he doesn't get angry, he just tells her that Karen was a mistake, but he doesn't regret it. He's standing with his toes on the masking tape line on the floor, aiming tipsily, saying, "You know what I mean? You do something you probably shouldn't have but it doesn't matter? You're kind of happy you did it, anyway?"
"Yeah. I've done that." The last bits of dead skin from her blisters had fallen off the soles of her feet three days earlier.
He throws his dart and misses so wildly that Pam's not even sure what he was aiming for. He retrieves another from the table next to him, pausing to take a drink. "Like when I told you - like when I kissed you last year. That was really, really stupid. My timing sucked and I didn't have a plan, but I would do it again and again, just like that. All of it." Another throw and he hits the 20. "And I don't - I don't mean to say that I'm happy about how things have been," he points at himself and then at her, "but I don't think it could have gone any other way."
She brings him home at bar time and walks to his front door with him. "Are you okay? Do you need a hand?"
He makes a dismissive gesture that's a little too broad. "I'm not that drunk. I'm not even going to throw up."
"Glad to hear it."
"But I'm not going to kiss you, either."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Not now. I've been told," He leans against the doorframe and casts his eyes to one side in a fashion that strikes Pam as oddly feminine. He does this when he flirts and she loves that she knows that, "that I'm a lousy kisser when I'm drunk. Why subject you to that?"
She's sure that this has to be a lie, a tease, or a bit of cruelty leftover from an ex, but she wants to find out. "What if I kissed you instead?" She takes a small step toward him.
"Well, that would be taking advantage of me, and if you can live with yourself, then, go ahead." He's leaning into her as he says it, which is how they end up making out on his front step for ten minutes. Pam's using his intoxication as a way to press things forward a little bit. She doesn't want much, really, just to kiss him without hesitating or thinking too much about it, to pretend for a few minutes that he's her drunk, slightly silly boyfriend, some guy she got fixed up with, and that's all. But then he's got her against the front door, his hand is about an inch below her breast, and he really is fantastic at this, all insistence and sloppy charm, when she remembers the joy and surprise on his face two years ago as she showed him the box of paper doves.
She pulls her head back.
He looks as stunned as she feels. She thinks for a bare second of trying again to talk her way into his apartment, of ripping her nervousness off like a band-aid. "Like I said," his voice is too low, too soft. Pam feels some secret part of her writhe at the sound of it and she knows she couldn't handle it - him - tonight. "Shameful," it sounds like a come-on, but he lets her go and she steps away from the door.
"I'd do it again."
"And I'd let you." He unlocks the door. "Thank you so much."
"It was fun."
"Tomorrow night won't be." He sighs. "Karen's coming back and she has some stuff to pick up here. It's probably going to take a while."
"Call me if you need to. I'm home all day."
"I'll call you on Sunday."
"Good."
~~~~~
Author's Chapter Notes:
Hey, everyone, it's Friday! Time for a drink (or five)! Thanks to all of you who have reviewed and read. I'm inclined to be a bit coy about it, but let me just say that I really do love and appreciate your feedback.
Chapter End Notes:
Next time on Week Days - hangover cures. Oof.
