Author's Chapter Notes:
So I have a tendency to flip back and forth in perspective between Jim and Pam. This one is from Jim.
Takes place after The Secret. Enjoy!
Takes place after The Secret. Enjoy!
Monday
It’s Pam’s birthday today. I’m really glad it’s a weekday. The last two fell on the weekend, and I felt kind of weird calling over to her house to wish her a happy birthday—especially last year, when Roy answered. “Hallllpert,” he drawled. “You comin’ over for the game tomorrow?”
I’d completely forgotten that he’d mentioned having a few guys over for Monday night football. “Actually I don’t think I can make it,” I lied, “I just wanted to wish Pam a happy birthday? Is she home?”
“Oh, fuck,” he whispered. “Shit, I’m glad you called. Keep her on the phone for a while, wouldja? I gotta go…pick up her present.”
Asshole.
After that, I made sure to always call her on her cell.
I’m sure he’ll come up from the warehouse for her party this afternoon, but she already agreed to let me take her to lunch and my palms are sweaty at the thought of an hour alone with her.
I have to just tell her. Really tell her the truth this time. They’ve set the date, it’s inevitable now. What more do I have to lose? I’ve tried to respect the boundary, here, but fuck, I see it in her. I’m not just crazy or deluded; it’s not just wishful thinking. She looks at me. She’s quick to stop herself, but I’ve caught her. More than once. Many times.
Yes. Say it. Tell her the truth.
I try the words out, rolling them around on my tongue. “Pam, I love you.”
No. That’s not enough. That could mean anything and I could already hear her cheerful, oblivious reply. I love you too, Jim! You’re the best.
It has to be clear. Unequivocal. I try it again, a phrase with absolutely no room for ambiguity. “Pam. I’m in love with you.” I repeat it over and over, until I don’t stumble over the words.
Today. I’ll do it today.
* * *
I took her to Cugino’s for “old time’s sake” and tried not to feel too giddy at the expression on her face when I suggested it. Like it was a good memory, our first lunch there together. Like it meant something to her the way it did to me. It was there, in her face. In her eyes. In her warm little smile as we stepped inside and were led to the same booth we’d had the first time we came here. A memorable moment. “Thanks for getting me out of there today,” she said as she slid into the seat across from me.
I grinned. “You’ll need your strength for the party.”
She rolled her eyes. “Have you seen the card? Is it horrible?”
“Uh…no, it’s, um, it’s okay.” I picked up my menu to avoid her eyes. I’d managed to convince Michael to let me pick it out, and he’d snorted in disgust at the simply rendered trio of birds perched on a telephone wire and the equally simple message—Have a wonderful birthday and a year of wishes come true. “I haven’t seen what he wrote in it yet, though,” I admitted.
“Well, you know Michael. Something… inappropriate, I’m sure,” she chuckled, picking up her menu. “Anyway, this is probably the most fun I’ll have today.”
“Nothing planned for tonight?” I didn’t want to ask, but I couldn’t help myself. What’s douchebag doing for you? Something romantic and meaningful, I’m sure.
She shrugged. “Nah, I think Roy’s taking me out to dinner, but he’s been quiet about it, trying to surprise me I guess.” She smiled tightly. “Keeping it simple. Saving for the wedding, you know.” She glanced away from me at wedding and went back to staring at her menu.
There was a brief awkward silence, one that arose every time she mentioned the wedding these days. “Well,” I said finally, lightly. “I hope you like surprises.”
She looked up at me with the delighted expression of a little girl, her eyes so green, bright with anticipation. “What have you done?” she demanded.
I shrugged, smiled. “I’m flattered that you assume it’s me, but really…”
“Of course it’s you,” she said carelessly. “Who else?”
Right.
I cleared my throat. “It’s not…I just, um, I got you something?” For some reason it came out as a question.
“I think you just ruined the surprise,” she grinned.
“Yeah…” I chuckled nervously. I had no idea why I called it a surprise to begin with. “It’s, um, it’s in my car.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything.” She smiled warmly.
“Pam.” I gave her my fake-stern look. She said that every year, just one of those comments meant to be modest or self-deprecating or whatever, but it stung a little every time. Like I was just a casual office acquaintance. Like she had no expectations from me.
I wanted her to expect things from me.
“But since you did, you should go get it, and give it to me now.” She nodded and grinned and waggled her eyebrows at me, and I laughed because she’s so irresistible when she makes her faces. “I can’t,” I admitted. “It’s…well, you’ll see, but it’s kind of…big,” I admitted.
“That’s what she said."
"Pam," I groaned.
“Well now I have to know,” she insisted. “Can we go see it after we order? Please?”
“Sure.” I shrugged, resigned. I could never resist her.
“Goody.” She clapped her hands together and motioned for the waitress. “We’re gonna share the pepperoni and mushroom calzone,” she said decisively, then glanced at me in sudden uncertainty. “Is that okay?”
“Yep.” I couldn’t keep from smiling. It was more than okay. It was the same thing we’d ordered the first time we came here. She remembers.
I practiced the words again in my head, tried forming them on my lips. I’m in love with you, Pam. I think about you, all the time. I dream about you. I wonder what you’re doing every night. I—
“Jim?”
For a second I thought I’d actually spoken my thoughts aloud and I stared at her in terrified anticipation until her smile became a pout as she motioned toward the door. “Can we go see? Or are you just teasing me?”
“Oh. Yeah, let’s do it.” I took a sip of my Coke and grabbed my keys off the table. “We’ll be right back,” I told the waitress as she passed by, her eyebrows drawn together in a confused frown.
So a few months ago, Pam brought in a huge book of 20th-century art that she wanted to look through for inspiration; she wanted to start doing watercolors again. We leafed through it together at lunch, debating the merits of Matisse and Dali—or rather, I listened to Pam debate the merits of Matisse and Dali—when she paused for a long moment at Georgia O’Keeffe’s Oriental Poppies.
I was struck by it too. I’m the first to admit I’m no art expert, but something about this painting just leaped off the page. It was just a close-up of two vibrant orange poppy blossoms, but the highlights on the petals, the velvety darkness of their black centers, was nearly abstract in its simplicity. “Wow,” she’d breathed. “Maybe I’ll try this one.” She smiled wistfully. “I’d really love a print of this.”
I ordered it for her a week later, and got a good deal at the frame shop. It was still probably too expensive to be a gift from a friend but I couldn’t care; I just wanted to see her face when she saw it.
It was too big to wrap, so I’d covered it up with the blanket I kept in the back seat for winter emergencies. Pam rocked back and forth on her heels, keeping her back to the car like I’d told her while I pulled off the covering and propped it gently on the ground against the car door.
“Okay, you can turn around,” I said nervously, suddenly wondering if it was too much, too obvious.
She turned, and her mouth fell open. Her eyes flicked over to me for just an instant before she stepped forward to touch the frame. “Jim, it’s…” She couldn’t look away from it, and my heart warmed and swelled at how obviously moved she was. When she finally looked up at me her eyes were shining. “It’s… wonderful. Thank you.” She reached up and touched my face, staring at me for a long moment before she stretched up on her tiptoes and kissed my cheek, her expression so soft and full and warm I thought my heart might explode. “You’re so…” She shook her head and glanced back at the print. “Thank you,” she whispered again.
I love you. I’m in love with you.
She looked so happy and the words just died in my throat.
“Happy birthday,” I managed instead.
She wrapped her arms around me and pressed her face against my chest and I let myself put my arms around her, breathing in the clean floral scent of her hair. She hugged me tight and she was trembling a little, and when she drew away she took a shaky breath and pushed her hair behind her ear. “I should, um, can I use that blanket? So it doesn’t get nicked up?” she asked, and I could hear in her voice that she was near tears.
“Of course.” I put the print back in the backseat, tucking the blanket around it to protect it. As we strolled back into the restaurant she reached over and hooked her pinky through mine.
I love you. I’m in love with you.
Not today.
It’s not too late. I still have time.
* * *
Chapter End Notes:
Thanks for reading! I really appreciate all your comments.
Georgia O'Keeffe print: http://www.art.com/asp/sp-asp/_/pd--10050098/Oriental_Poppies_1928.htm
Georgia O'Keeffe print: http://www.art.com/asp/sp-asp/_/pd--10050098/Oriental_Poppies_1928.htm
