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She’s marrying Jim in a week.
She never just says ‘we’re engaged.’ It’s always ‘we’re getting married.’ It’s like she has to convince people that this time is for real. This time she isn’t going to jerk the rug out from under everyone at the last second and snigger as she runs out the church doors.
Not that she made it as far as the church last time. Oh God, no.
Sometimes, right after she called it off, she’d lie in bed and wonder how else she could have done it. As ever, hindsight was 20-20 and in the small hours of the morning when nothing crept into her pale yellow bedroom but the glow of the street lights and her own self doubt she pictured Jim at the back of the church, pain and hope and love and everything she ever wanted shining in his eyes.
Or she threw caution to the wind and drove to Connecticut in a rented car with nothing but a tooth brush and her heart and found herself on his door step sporting a nervous smile and the painting clothes she didn’t have time to change out of, lest she chicken out and decide How I Met Your Mother sounded more rational.
Or there’s an explosive argument about a sketch hidden in her drawer in the bathroom under a box of Tampax and Roy throws her out. Or she throws him out because he takes a drunken swing at her. She knows that people wonder whether or not he’s ever hit her and it bruises her ego a little bit. She hopes people know her well enough to know she’s at least that strong. Strong enough to put her foot down when she really needs to. History hasn’t been kind to her image as independent and empowered, but she hopes people at least give her that much credit.
Unfortunately for the lonely, 3am version of Pam each of these little fantasies inevitably morphed into some sort of mental beating about how she not only could have done things differently, but should have. Different. Sooner. Just… right.
And yet here she is at the final fitting for her wedding dress, staring at herself in a three way mirror (no one is supposed to see THAT much of themselves…) with her mom and her sister and Jim’s mom. Jim’s mom who gave her this Look at Thanksgiving last year. This Look that said everything Jim never could about just how broken he was while he was gone and yet didn’t prevent her from opening her house and inviting Pam into the family. For crap’s sake, she’s wearing Jim’s mother’s mother’s engagement ring. Well, part of it anyway, he had the diamonds reset for her because gold isn’t really her color.
She takes a sip of the complementary sparkling wine (because can you REALLY call Andre champagne?) and glances at Mrs. Halpert (Ha! That’s her soon! Ha!) and thinks that her and Jim must be cut from the same mold because really? How could everybody have forgiven her so fast? Maybe it’s a Halpert thing. Does that mean their kids will have the forgiveness gene?
Huh. Just, whoa. Yes, she’s thought about the future, house, kids, random assortment of small rodents before she finally caves on the dog front, but never before has it just… slipped in there. She snorts a little into her glass.
“Pam, honey, what is it? I thought you wanted it to get bigger like this…” her mom fluffs up the skirt of her gown.
“No, it’s just… wow that’s what she said…” she whispers the last bit and takes another sip.
“Who said what now?”
“Oh, it’s nothing… I just… thinking… um, Jim said something funny this morning and I just remembered it.” Pam pulls at a loose thread on the bottom edge of her bodice and glances over at her sister. Emily’s downing what has to be her third glass. “Hey Em, you can slow down, you’re not going to have to return this one for me.”
“No, it’s not that. I just got the joke.” She smiles and winks at Pam and maybe sways a little but Pam can’t really tell. “Perv.”
*********************************************************
“My sister called me a perv today. Drunk. My drunk sister called me a perv while I was wearing my wedding dress.”
One of Jim’s favorite things about Pam is how she never says hello when she answers his calls. Like seriously never. One time she picked up one of his calls and promptly stated ‘I just ate lunch with our nation’s mascot. I spent the whole time worrying I was going to get eagle feathers in my burrito and wondering if I could somehow be imprisoned for accidentally eating them.’ It had taken a good couple minutes for him to collect himself and ask what the hell she was talking about (for some reason Pratt had invited a large bird wrangler to come demonstrate in the Student Center. Right near the on-campus Mexican take-out restaurant).
“You sister was drunk? I thought you guys went to the bridal shop before lunch?”
“Oh we did. We got there at, like 10. But they give you these glasses of ‘champagne’… shit you can’t see air quotes… anyway these glasses of ‘air quote champagne’ and half a cookie and say ‘go nuts!’ I think they do it to lubricate you into spending more on your dress. Or so they can force you to buy it when you inevitably spill something.”
“Please don’t ever say lubricate again.”
“I’ll put it on the list, right below girth.”
“Ooo and panties! I hate that one.”
“Nice addition. I’ve been meaning to put that one on there since high school.”
“I really like that ‘panties’ makes you think of high school.”
“I wrote a musical in high school.”
“Dear, sweet lord why am I just hearing about this now?”
“Hold on. Previous statement redacted. One time in gym class my senior year me and my badminton partner turned our epic struggle for victory in an extremely heated battle against our most worthy opponents into a ten minute rock epic entitled Badminton, but we replaced the ‘I’ with an exclamation point, so it was more like Badm!nton! Aaaaand shit. You can’t see jazz hands.”
“I wish you’d drink ‘air quote champagne’ more often.”
“I could be really mean and tell you it makes me super horny as well as super honest, but I’m too nice for that.”
“Just… evil. You’re lucky I agreed to marry you before you pulled that little stunt.”
“YOU agreed to marry ME?”
“Beesly, you’re lucky I was willing to take you. No one wants to marry a washed up arena-rock has been who hasn’t written a decent song since 1998.”
“Bon Jovie still gets play…”
“And with that, I’m going to let you get back to your pre-Wedding Day Of Fun.”
“Wish me luck. We’re picking out chair covers. And matching drop clothes for the floors so when everyone’s minds explode at the sight of our dance moves we don’t have to pay extra to get the floors cleaned.”
“You see this is why I’m marrying you. No one else would think to save a buck that way.”
“I’ll see you when I get home tonight.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
********************************************************
He’s getting married in a week. Exactly 7 days from today he’s going to be standing in Pam’s uncle’s backyard in front of their families and friends and –oh, what’s wrong with them?- coworkers, and he’s going to show everyone just how much he loves this girl. Not that they all didn’t already know. But it’ll be official. And legal. And, God he hates to think of it this way, a hell of a lot harder for her to run away from. Because no matter how long it’s been and how many times she tells him she loves him there’s still that tiny irrational part of his brain that says ‘what if she leaves?’ It’s the same part that tells him every time his mom leaves him a voicemail it’s because someone’s died.
Each time he comes home and she’s still on the couch looking through their wedding plans with a genuine smile on her face the fear gets a little smaller, a little weaker, a little less likely to rear its Connecticut shaped head. He threw it at her once while they were fighting (about whether or not tomatoes belong on grilled cheese) and he’s regretted it ever since. Not just because it was a complete non sequitor and led to a whole mess of other arguments and revelations, but because for a second he thinks it made Pam doubt how much he loves her. Like maybe one day his fear that she would leave would make him preempt the whole thing.
He really doesn’t like to admit it but the fact that she got tipsy at the fitting makes him nervous. Her sister getting drunk and calling her a perv makes him feel a little better because he’s pretty sure he knows what she would have said to make Emily say that and really? How could he doubt her if she’s making That’s What She Said jokes in her wedding dress?
Jim feels his fist unclench from around his cell phone. Woops. He really wishes he was less nervous and doubtful. It’s not like him to question all of this. So he runs upstairs to throw on a pair of shorts and some tennies because Mark is going to be here any minute for their game and he really doesn’t want to think about this anymore.
Because he’s marrying Pam in a week.
Story Notes:
Just something that was knocking around in my head. I guess it comes after my first fic, but doesn't have to.
Chapter End Notes:
So the eagle thing actually happened to me once in college. No one believed me.
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