7:36 am

Before she gets into the car she says something like I'm not sure, maybe I've never been sure. Or if she doesn't say it, she thinks it. He asks her to stay, says he could leave the house for a few days to let her clear her head. But she can't stay here, surrounded by their things, in their home. The place where she isn't sure what parts of herself she's given up or what parts he's given to her.

When he asks her why he's always been the one sacrificing for us, she stops herself from saying that it doesn't always feel that way.

She drives.

8:22 am

"Pam... I know I'm not supposed to... I mean, I know you don't want me to call, but I just... I just wish I knew where you were. Call me, okay?"

She's in the parking lot of a grocery store, but she certainly doesn't need any groceries (that's not true, she tells herself, we ran out of milk yesterday). The one bag that she thought to pack is sitting in the passenger seat beside her, full of the things she shouldn't have been thinking about from a conversation she shouldn't have had. Maybe she should buckle the pathetic little bag into the seat, considering that it's all she's got at the moment.

She still had his number in her phone, from that night and that bar. That awkward hey we work together, so we should probably acknowledge each other in public moment that had ended with his hands underneath her shirt and her finding out that his sheets smelled like his t-shirts. And it hadn't been like she'd thought of using it a dozen times since (or even like she hadn't actually done so on occasion), but she hadn't deleted it.

When he answers he sounds like he's trying not to sound surprised. They had talked a week ago, but that conversation hadn't ended with any hint that she'd be calling him again. She just asks where to meet him and he says he'll come to her. He's close by, and so she turns off her car and waits with her leg hanging out of the open door, her three dollar sandal scraping against the blacktop.

When he pulls up alongside her he gets out and takes her bag, even though it's a completely unnecessary gesture, and as they drive off she strains her neck until she can't see her car sitting alone in that parking lot any longer. She hopes he doesn't find it there, but maybe it doesn't matter at this point if this is what she's doing.

"Look, I'm sorry about calling last week," he clears his throat, turning down the radio a little. "I mean, I'm not sorry because, well, I guess I'm just sorry that I was drunk when I did it. So... sorry."

He says it like he's never apologized to anyone before in his entire life, and it makes her wonder if maybe he actually hasn't. She thinks that he wanted to say he's not sorry because if he hadn't, she wouldn't be here right now.

"I just needed to get away," she says without looking at him, reaching out to turn the radio up again.

"Right," he nods. "It'll be fun. You'll have fun."

12:04 pm

The place is the definition of disgusting, the kind of environment that only college-age males can survive in for three solid months. It's just like she remembers it.

Ryan says "Just put your bag anywhere," and she almost asks if she can just keep it outside on the porch, because not really an inch of this place looks remotely clean. Seriously, it's bad - she's not usually such a priss.

"Here." He takes it from her before she has a chance to say no and tosses it onto the bed in the nearest room. "I have my own room," he shrugs. "I'm pretty much the only one here with a full-time job right now, so..."

The floor is sticky with beer and last night's red plastic cups are still in that bowling pin beer pong formation on the table, which is made from just a board of wood propped on top of two folding chairs.

"Thirsty?" he sticks his head in the fridge and pulls out two beers.

"So, what's with all the, uh -" she gestures towards the counter top.

"The oranges?"

"Yeah. What's that about?" There are literally bags of oranges lined up on the counter, like they're trying to run some kind of underground fruit-stand.

"Last year we had like no money so we spent what we had on beer and ramen," he laughs, downing a generous gulp of beer. "Two of the guys ended up going to the hospital in August because they got scurvy."

"Wait - scurvy?" She nearly spits out her drink, but saves herself with the back of her hand. "Isn't that, like, what pirates get?"

"Exactly. I don't think anyone has gotten scurvy since like, the fucking eighteen-hundreds, right? To be fair though, it wasn't full-on scurvy, it was like half scurvy. Anyway, the doctor said that all they would've had to do to prevent it would have been to eat one orange. One orange all summer. I still think he was just using it as an example, but they take shit like that pretty literally. Hence the oranges."

"And... these are supposed to last all summer?"

"Yeah, they haven't really gotten a grasp on the whole 'not buying mass amounts of perishable food' thing yet. I've pretty much given up on those guys."

"And where are these hypothetical guys?" she laughs, glancing around the empty condo.

"Probably at the beach?" He shrugs. "Most likely hitting on high school seniors if I had to guess."

"Lovely." She's not even sure why she's here really. She shouldn't be here, this is weird. She's too old for this and she's too... not single for this.

"You look like you're having fun already," he smirks at her like he thinks this is fucking hilarious. Sure, when he had first picked her up she had wanted nothing more than for him to keep up his bravado because maybe it made it easier for both of them, but she doesn't necessarily want to be patronized. She takes another long sip of her beer.

"So..." he taps his fingers along the neck of his beer bottle. Sure they had just spent three hours in a car together, but at least then there was music. Now they had to make actual conversation. "You want to hit the beach or something?"

"Okay, yeah," she answers too quickly. "I just need to change."

They both take a step towards the room and then stop because she's all the sudden uncomfortable.

"You go first," he laughs and goes to fish out another beer. It strikes her as almost unfair that he seems so okay with such a bizarre scenario. Like he's completely unfazed by her being here.

She tries to close the door behind her, wishing that the lock would actually lock. Ryan walking in on her changing is possibly the last thing she needs in the world right now.

"Howard! What the fuck, man? Where've you been?"

"Some of us have jobs, asshole," she can hear Ryan laughing through the door.

"Ah right, I forgot that you're Ryan Howard 'The Man,' and all."

"Fuck off. Just because you still live with your mother..."

"Hey, you can't beat the rent."

She turns her back to the door, slipping out of her tank top as quickly as she can and tying the straps behind her back. Pulling her hair up and away from her neck she starts to wonder if she should have maybe worn a one-piece. She's sitting on the farthest edge of the bed when there's a knock at the door, and when he walks into the room she's already on her feet.

"Sorry," he smirks at her, not wholly able to hide his disappointment that she's finished changing. "Ready?"

"Ready."

"Just give me one second," he says, but he's already peeling his shirt off and going through his bag before she even has the chance to turn away.

"Oh, uh, okay. That's... sure."

She doesn't exactly leave the room like she probably should, just stands there with her back to him, staring at her toes drumming against the floor. This is weird.

"Uh, Pam?"

"What?" She jumps a little when his hand brushes her back.

"Your bathing suit. It's twisted back here I think." His fingers run along the strap - not just along, but underneath and against her skin, where the twist is.

"Oh, right," she says. Her neck feels hot.

"Want me to...?"

"Okay," she nods, holding the fabric against her breasts as he undoes the knot in the back. She's biting her lip so hard she may end up leaving a mark.

"How's that?"

"Perfect. Thanks." She can still feel him there, standing behind her, unmoving. She steps away. "Beach?"

He follows her out of the room, to where Keith is loading his arms with beer bottles. "Need some help there?"

He looks up, over his shoulder. "Well, Pamela Beesly, as I live and breathe." She can't help laughing as he passes off the hoard of bottles to Ryan, freeing his arms up to swallow her in a bear hug. Because Keith is tall - huge, really. "Didn't know if I'd see you here again."

"Yeah, well," she shrugs, the weight of nearly three years and one engagement ring slowly lifting. "Sounds like I missed quite a time last year."

"The Summer of Scurvy, we call it," he boasts, as though contracting a wayward disease is something to be proud of.

"No one calls it that," Ryan intercedes, rolling his eyes.

"I call it that." Keith pounds Ryan in the shoulder and takes the majority of the bottles from him.

As the three of them walk into the sun she takes a beer from Ryan's hands, cracks it open, and relaxes back into the summer of 2006. Kind of like that Bryan Adams song, just 37 years ahead and way more awesome.

3:56 pm

The soles of her feet ache a little from the hot sand and she feels like she might have about half of the beach trapped in her hair. She lets it down as she walks back into the bedroom, shaking the last few hours of sand from it. The warmth of the sun combined with a number of beers has given her a decent buzz, enough so that she doesn't think twice about walking up behind him.

"Ooh, your shoulders," she winces a little in sympathy, pressing her fingertips into his skin, watching the white spots bloom and fade.

"Hey," he catches her wrist, turning to face her. "Not nice. You got a little sun on your cheeks too, you know."

"That's just my natural rosy glow," she grins. "You getting sun burnt is just karma anyways."

"Oh really? How's that?"

"Uh, for nearly drowning me in the ocean?"

"Well, you weren't even going to go in otherwise. I think I did you a favor."

"Yeah, my hair thanks you," she rolls her eyes, trying to comb her fingers through a tangled section.

He's still holding her wrist with one hand when he swipes his thumb carefully across her cheek bone. "You've got some freckles, did you know that?"

"Only in the summer."

"I like it. It suits you."

"Mind if I shower first?"

"I insist."

He leans against the counter like he's challenging her, and for once she's got enough beers in her to be a little bit brave. She turns her back to him and unties his handy-work with one pull, glancing over her shoulder at him as she does it. He looks like maybe he's forgotten how to breathe. She wraps the towel around her before slipping out of her bottoms and disappearing into the bathroom.

The hot water burns her already pink skin, but she stands under the stream anyways, her hand clutching at the tile beside her as she attempts to cry as softly as possible. It seems like every time she gets in the shower lately she's reduced to tears, this time it's when she looks at her finger and notices that white strip of skin that is usually covered by her ring is just beginning to fade.

4:25 pm

The group of guys are stretched out around a folding table (shirtless and smoking cigarettes) when she steps out of the room, toweling off her hair.

"Pam, you want in?" Peter asks, pulling a chair out for her.

"We're playing Rummy," Ryan grins. He jumps up to get her a beer as she sits down.

"You know how to play?" Keith deals her in just as Ryan pops the cap off her beer. "It's easy."

"Yeah, do you know how to get schooled?" she grins, shuffling the cards in her hand.

"Oh, talking shit already, I see?" Ryan laughs.

"I don't talk shit, I talk facts," she shrugs.

When she wins her fourth hand she drains the end of her beer and kicks her feet up onto the table dramatically, nearly taking out a few bottles in the process.

"You are so cheating," Ryan's leaning way over in his chair, straining to see her cards.

"Or you guys are just so drunk," she laughs, pulling her hand away. "Or you suck at cards."

"No way, I'm fucking amazing at cards," Keith is saying, but his words are slurring and he's attempting to drink from an empty bottle.

"Me too," Ryan narrows his eyes at her. His arm is across the back of her chair and he leaves it there, his fingers tracing slow circles on her back.

"I should call Julie," Peter says, getting up from the table.

"Game over?" Keith frowns. "I'm in last place."

"Yeah, I'm too drunk for this shit," Peter mumbles, disappearing into one of the rooms, cell phone at his ear.

"So, that means I win!" Pam bounces in her chair a little. "And weren't there some terms thrown out about this? Something involving... tequila?"

"Alright, alright," Ryan stares at her for a moment before heading towards the kitchen. "Tequila shots it is."

"Now that's a bet I can get behind," Keith stumbles out of his chair, latching onto the kitchen counter to pull himself up.

They're both recovering from the first shot when she bounds over to watch them take the second. "It's like watching some horrible reality show," she giggles.

"You've never done it?"

"Not since college," she winces. "I don't have very fond memories of tequila."

"Try it," Ryan grins, sliding a shot in front of her. "I'll do it with you."

"No way! I won, remember?"

"Pansy."

She shoves his shoulder. "Am not! It looks awful."

"I'll show you a trick," he winks, his head disappearing behind the open door of the fridge. He pulls out a can of pineapple juice and slides it towards her. "Trust me."

It takes her three tries of bringing the shot glass to her lips before she finally tosses it back. The alcohol sets her mouth on fire and she can feel her eyes watering.

"Now drink," Ryan gestures towards the pineapple juice as he coughs into his hand. She listens, although she doubts her mouth will ever feel the same after this.

"Oh my god," she laughs, looking at the can in her hand like it's a little can of magic powers or something. "That totally works."

"Told you," Ryan smirks.

"The girls are coming over," Peter says, walking back into the room and throwing back a shot like its water.

"Can we play beer pong now? I need school Pam here at something."

"That's unfair, I've never played!"

"Don't worry about it," Ryan nudges her. "Beginner's luck at beer pong is a well-documented phenomenon."

"Alright, Howard, let's rack em."

"House rules?"

"Of course, man. Always House Rules."

"I don't like the sound of this."

"Don't worry about it." He puts his hand on her lower back, guiding her over to the table. "I'll be your partner."

By the time she actually manages to make a cup, the house is full of people and she and Ryan end up having to drink nearly all of Keith's beer.

"I thought you said I'd have beginner's luck," she groans, drinking the last of the stale beer.

"Yeah, I didn't count on you sucking that bad," he laughs and she smacks him on the arm (she's drunk enough to not really be sure how hard she actually hits him, but he doesn't really seem to mind). He leads her over to the kitchen where the counter is now littered with plastic cups and spilled liquor.

"Wait, which cup is mine? I don't want to get herpes," she giggles.

"Okay, first of all, no one here has herpes... I hope. But you're right, I wouldn't chance it, here-" He grabs a new cup for her and starts writing with a black sharpie, Pam: beer pong champ.

"Ass," she rolls her eyes, grabbing the cup from him. She crosses out champ and replaces it with enthusiast. "Now make me a drink."

"Taking charge, huh?" he laughs, grabbing the bottle of Jack Daniels and shaking it a little. "How much?"

She bites her lip, considering the question for a moment. "Don't tell me," she says finally. "I won't even look."

"That some sort of test?" he laughs, but she shields her eyes, turning away as he pours. Although she's vaguely aware that he might take that as an invitation to get her as drunk as he likes. "I'd rather not make my own decisions tonight," she adds. Okay, so that probably wasn't much better.

She puts her hand down on the counter without looking and ends up in a puddle of... something. Could be anything, really. She turns and wipes her hand on his shirt, laughing at the way his eyebrows jump when she does it.

"Oops," she shrugs with a smile. "You should probably be more careful."

"Thanks for the advice." When she takes the cup from his hand he kisses her. There's no big lead-up or dramatic pause or staring into her eyes, he just does it. Like it just occurred to him that very second that kissing her might be something he wants to do.

"Ryan - bring more cups, man! Craig sat on his, you fat fucker," someone calls from the next room. And then he's grabbing a stack of cups like everything is normal again.

"Pam! Be my partner!" Peter is waving her back to the table.

"But... I suck," she frowns.

"Nah, Howard is just a shitty teacher."

"Hey, I can't help the helpless," he grins at her.

"Hey!"

"Also, Ryan," Peter grins at him wickedly. "Did you see who just showed up?"

"You're shitting me." She notices that Ryan's face goes even paler than usual.

"What? Who's here?" she asks excitedly, following their gazes. "Old girlfriend? Old... boyfriend?"

Ryan pinches her arm and she jumps away with a laugh. "What? I had to ask."

"At least once every summer without fail, Ryan will get shitfaced and end up hooking up with this one really butter-faced girl," Rick explains, throwing his arm around her shoulders and pointing out the girl in the next room.

"Oh really?" she snickers. He looks embarrassed.

"He's exaggerating. It hasn't been every summer."

"Oh yeah? I can only think of maybe one summer you haven't..." Peter trails off when Ryan raises his eyebrows sharply in warning.

"You guys are awful," Pam rolls her eyes.

"Welcome to my life," Ryan shrugs. "Any chance you'll release Pam so that I can at least have cover? She's a fucking maniac, that girl."

"I'm not your cover," Pam laughs, crossing her arms in protest. "You're on your own, Howard."

"You're not as nice as you look, did you know that?" Ryan shakes his head at her with a sigh.

"Oh, shit," Pam jumps back as her half-empty cup hits the ground and spills across the floor. "I am so sorry. I'll clean it up, do you have paper towels?"

"Pam," Ryan's laughing, shaking his head.

"What? I will, I swear."

"Pam, please." Keith comes out of nowhere, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Does it look like we care about spills around here?"

"I'd still rather..."

"Pam," he says again, and then holds up a finger for her to give him a moment. He stumbles on his feet a little, but points at the table covered in half-filled plastic cups, and then takes his gigantic arm and wipes the entire mess off the table, scattering and spilling onto the floor.

"See?" he grins at her. Ryan's laughing so hard beside her that his eyes get a little watery.

"Fuck, man!" Peter wrings out the front of his shirt. "You could've at least warned me first!"

"Whatever, Pete. That shirt sucks," Keith laughs and disappears into the party again.

"I like these rules," she smiles, kicking at one of the cups by her feet.

"Well, now we've got to set the game up again," Rick sighs, grabbing another stack of cups.

"Ryan, looks like your girlfriend's calling you," Pam winks at him, pointing in the direction of Miss "Butter-Face" herself.

"You're evil, you know that," he laughs. "If I'm not back in five minutes send a search party, okay?"

She and Peter are in a pretty neck and neck match with Rick and some random guy that keeps lifting up his shirt every time she has to shoot, as though this will prove to be some kind of distraction. Truthfully, Ryan is the one causing the distraction, the way he keeps finding her eyes from across the room where that girl has him backed practically into a corner, talking a mile a minute.

She misses her last shot, convinces Peter to drink her share of their loss, and makes her way across the room. When she reaches him he pulls her over by snagging one of the belt loops on her jeans with his finger. If eyes could shoot lasers, well... she'd probably be obliterated by this girl (who's face actually does turn out to be pretty unattractive this close). Ryan just winks and tightens his arm around her.

It's probably childish to enjoy someone being jealous of her, but then again, so is basically everything she's done since yesterday, so she plays along, kisses Ryan's neck, and asks if he wants to go get her another drink.

3:31 am

Once the party has basically dispersed they're sitting around in a circle, sort of on the floor and sort of on the furniture, and she's smoking a cigarette (which she hasn't done since college) with her legs propped on Ryan's lap.

"Sometimes I feel too old for this. You ever feel too old for something?" Ryan asks the room half-heartedly.

"Are you kidding me? You're a fetus compared to me," Pam laughs, hitting him on the shoulder.

"Are you kidding me? Jesus Pam, don't do that girl thing when you put yourself down even when you know its bullshit. It's unbecoming."

"Oh really? And how old do you think I am then."

"I'd say you look about... sixteen?"

"You're hilarious, you know that?" she rolls her eyes.

"So when are we gonna stop coming here?" Peter laughs as Keith throws him another beer.

"When we're dead?"

"Yeah, Ryan, we all figured you were gonna be the successful one... so you can buy the place and we'll just freeload, cool?" Peter snickers with Julie half asleep on his chest.

"And, how is that different from now?" Ryan laughs, running his hand along the underside of her calf.

"Seriously, what would our summers be like without this place? We've been coming here since... fuck, eleventh grade?"

"Well, we'd probably be grownups or something," Peter shrugs.

"Being grown up is overrated," Pam nods slowly, losing track of the conversation in the room and the one in her head. "And why does June have to be at the beginning of summer anyway? Why not the end? Or at least in the fucking... middle."

"I have no idea what that means," Ryan laughs. "How could June be in the middle?"

"I just... it just should be. I'm not making any sense am I?"

"What's so terrible about June? I like June. June is like... nice," Keith yawns.

"Not when you're supposed to get married in June," Peter says absently, eying Pam.

"You're married?" Julie lifts her head up a little.

"No, I'm supposed to... next weekend," she sighs. She's too drunk to lie.

"I heard I missed the big proposal at work. That's got to be the least romantic thing I can think of, ever," Ryan smirks.

"And you're kind of an ass to girls and even you think so." Pam nudges him in the ribs with her elbow.

"Hey-"

"Oh whatever, Ryan, you are," she rolls her eyes.

"He is."

"Oh, thanks guys."

"I think he's too nice."

"Why'd you say yes then?" Peter continues.

"I just said it. I had to. There were fireworks."

"Like, emotional fireworks?"

"No, like literal, actual fireworks... it was loud. I couldn't really even hear him."

"How is he?"

"A mess. He doesn't even know I'm here, he's already called four times. God, I'm such a bitch."

"You're not a bitch," Ryan squeezes her knee.

"That's sweet, but I am."

"All girls are bitches."

"Not Pam. She's like... nice."

"I'm not though. He's a good guy and I'm just, I don't know what's wrong with me."

"He's not perfect," Ryan says sharply.

"I should call him, I just, I don't know what I'm going to say."

"Just stay here, Pam," Keith holds his beer high over his head, like he's toasting her. "Remember two summers ago? It was the best."

"I'm going to take Julie to bed," Peter says suddenly, exchanging a look with Ryan.

Pam can't help it, but just the mention of sleep makes her yawn loudly. It's nearly four am.

"Oh, did you want to...?" Ryan gestures towards the room.

"Yeah," she nods, falling against him as he helps her stand. When she gets into the room she bounces on the bed for a moment, marveling at her own feet and wondering why ordinary things are so fascinating after you've been drinking for nearly ten hours.

"I can sleep out on the couch," he says from the door, his hands shoved in his pockets.

She looks up at him and laughs, her balance wavering slightly. "You're kidding, right?"

"I was just offering," he shrugs. "Trying to be a gentleman for once?"

"I think we're pretty far past that," she says, grabbing at his shirt and pulling him back towards the bed after he closes the door. "It's not like this hasn't happened before, Ryan."

"Well, yeah," he grins, kissing his way across the span of her shoulder. "But it's been awhile, so I wasn't... sure."

"Didn't want to be presumptuous, huh?"

"Worked for me last time." She gasps a little as his fingers press impatiently against her jeans and she turns her head to find his mouth. She moves her hands underneath his t-shirt, fingers spreading out along his abdomen, his chest. If she stops to think she might not be able to re-convince herself that this is really 2006, and that she has no responsibility to anyone.

"Does he know? About last time?"

"No, not exactly." She'd really rather not talk about it, because he's kissing her neck and talking is really the last thing on her mind. And talking about him is just... she just wants to forget.

"And you're not getting married."

"I don't know," she sighs as his hands slip underneath her shirt. "I'm too drunk to talk about this right now."

He mouths okay against hers, one hand pulling the fabric of her shirt up over her head, the other fumbling with the clasp of her bra. She puts her hand on his chest and breaks away from him.

"What is it?" he breathes, his eyes finding hers in the dark.

"Wait," is all she can think to say. Her head is spinning, either out of guilt or the possible need to throw up. It's a little late for second thoughts, this thing has been decided since she called him this morning. It isn't like she came here just to drink beer and eat oranges, she's known it since she heard his voice weeks ago. Weeks before now, back when it was 2009 and everything still felt mostly okay.

"We can stop, Pam."

"It has to be just this."

"This is all I want," he says, kissing her neck again, and helping her onto the bed. "You're beautiful."

She keeps saying things to herself, making promises to a person who isn't even there. Useless, fading promises like if I just keep my clothes on, and then as long as I've still got my underwear. And then it's I just won't let him go... there, but then he is and she isn't stopping him like she's telling herself she wants to.

When he's hovering over her in the dark, his fingers sliding inside her, saying do you want me to fuck you, all she can do is bite down on her lip and nod, hoping that either he'll forgive her, or that he'll never have to find out. She lifts her hips, pushing him farther inside, her hand clenched around the headboard behind her, with his gripping her thigh, her breast. She fists her other hand in his hair, guiding his pace with each flex of her fingers.

When she comes it's 2006, and it's Roy she almost feels bad about not missing.

5:04 am

"Asleep?" Ryan pokes her closed eyelid, gently. She smacks his arm away anyway. "Hey," he rubs his forearm, as though she hurt him. "We did have a deal, you know."

"Not getting any sleep gets less and less appealing as I get more and more sober," she groans, burying her face into his shoulder.

"Well, you did promise, so..."

"Okay, fine," she sits up on her elbows. And he's grinning, the fucker. "Is there an actual reason why we have to stay up until it's light out? I don't think I've stayed up all night since college."

"Well," he says slowly, carefully. "Tomorrow you're leaving."

She sighs heavily, lying her head back against the pillow to stare at the blank ceiling above her. "I could stay."

"You could," he says, pushing a stray twist of hair from her forehead. "But you won't."

She doesn't look at him. He's right, of course. She can't stay, not even for another day. Because here a day turns into a week turns into a summer, and she's been there before. Been here. It's just that this time they're both in on it, it would seem.

"You don't have to."

"Leave?"

"Marry him."

Except that she does, and maybe she's known that this whole time. That has never been the question. She closes her eyes again. "I'm going to sleep."

"Okay," he says lightly, without protest. But then he's moving next to her, his fingers tracing lines on her skin, down her skin. His tongue moving against her in slow, teasing strokes, and her hips twitch involuntarily. She lets him, she gives in. It's not quite light enough outside for this to be real, for it to be this year, so there's still time.

7:15 am

It's light out when her cell phone starts vibrating across the bed table. Ryan groans in his sleep beside her, his arms still firmly around her waist, and she tries not to move him as she reaches out for the phone. It's him, obviously, and suddenly the room and the bed and the person sleeping next to her look much different in the daylight. Her head hurts.

She nudges Ryan and he rolls over in his sleep, leaving room for her to slip out of the bed. Tiptoeing is unnecessary, but she still does it, it's just one of those things. She dresses quickly, quietly, trying her best to avoid looking at him for even a second. When she steps out of the bedroom, bag in hand, Peter is sitting at the table, very much awake.

"Hey," she says, sort of startled and practically whispering.

He looks at her - at the bag, really - and nods. "Want me to drive you to the bus station?"

They don't talk so much on the way, she knows what he wants to say anyway, so, what's the point? She brushes a few straw grains of sand from her bare calf.

"You could stay, you know," he says finally. But they're already at the bus stop, it's too late and there was never any point anyway. "I know he won't admit it, but he wants you to."

"I know I shouldn't have come probably."

"No, Pam," he puts his hand on her arm. "It was great. Come back any time."

"Thanks." She hugs him, one of those awkward, over the console, car hugs. It's easier than thinking about how this is probably the last time.

The bus is only about half-full, she takes a seat by a window and leans her head against it, feeling the buzz of the engine in her ears. It makes her think of two years ago, of being on a bus, driving away from a beach. Of Jim sitting three rows in front of her and trying his best not to look back, of Karen sleeping on his shoulder.

Or of how she was sitting all alone, finally coming off the adrenaline rush and into the sinking humiliation of reality, until Ryan sat down.

"Weird night, huh?"

"Good night."

"So, you really did the coal... thing?"

"Yeah."

"Did it hurt?"

"Not as much as I thought it would."

"Do I do that?"

"Do what?"

"Treat you like you don't exist."

"Sometimes."

"Because, for the record, I'm very aware that you exist."

"Ryan, I -"

"It's okay, I know you weren't talking to me back there. I just wanted to say that you could, you know."

"Could what?"

"Be Michael's boss."

"So could you."

"You ever think about quitting?"

"Pretty much every day."

"Me too."

Her phone hums against her leg, it's from Ryan. She clicks on view message, unsure of what she's hoping to see. Maybe a goodbye, maybe a please don't marry him, for me.

next summer?, is what it says. All it says. She clicks her phone shut, and closes her eyes.

11:21 am

Her car is still sitting there, in that lonely edge of parking lot no one ever seems to notice. Once she's inside it's yesterday, like nothing happened, like everything is still here, right under her. She makes a call.

She gets his voicemail and listens up through "Hey, this is Ryan. Leave a -" before hanging up. This is stupid. She's being ridiculous and she should just go home.

His car is still in the driveway when she pulls up and before she even turns the engine off he's waiting at the door, his hands shoved in his pockets. She could've stopped at a truck stop to take a shower, to wash yesterday off her so that he'd never know, so that she could tell him she had spend the night at her Mom's. She hadn't.

When she reaches him he doesn't hesitate to put his arms around her and she ends up apologizing into his shoulder. "I don't know what I was thinking," she says.

"I thought you were leaving me. I thought I was going to have to cancel... everything."

His arms tighten around her, his nose buried in her hair. Inside she's equal parts hoping he'll ask and accuse her, and praying he won't say anything at all. Either way, she gives him a few more moments to decide.

"I'm sorry," she says again, when anything at all never comes. "You didn't look at my dress, did you?"

"No," he manages a laugh. "Thankfully."

She takes his hand, leading him inside, and spends the rest of the day working on seating charts for the reception, writing place cards. She sits Ryan next to Kelly, and when Jim kisses her, if he notices, he doesn't mention the bruise blooming at the base of her throat.

Because it's 2009. And 2009 is supposed to be the year that she doesn't call off any weddings.

**