Author's Chapter Notes:
O hai! Im in ur MTT, updatin mah story.
So yeah, it's been awhile. How are you all?
This takes place just a bit earlier than "Stress Relief," and the title is something Pam says in that very episode (something that inspired this). This one took a lot of thinking about, and it's out of my comfort zone as I usually don't like to tackle family issues. But this idea's been haunting me for a month, so I hope it's worth the wait (and worth reading). Oh, and not that you won't figure it out, but a note: I'm not sure what the general concensus is out in fan fiction world, but here in LC's corner of the universe Pam's parents are named Carl and Linda. Hope that's acceptable. ;)
Jim always felt uncomfortable with the post dinner ritual at the Beesly household.
Men didn’t help with the dishes. They just…didn’t. In his own childhood home this would have been unthinkable, to simply grab a beer or a cup of coffee and head back to the living room to watch television while the women (or woman, as his mother was the lone female in his house), cleaned up, but here it was protocol. The first few times he’d had dinner with Pam at her parents’ Jim had tried to squeeze in front of the sink as well, but Linda had simply taken the dishes from his hands, laughed and pushed him away, telling him not to worry about it. He always felt a pang of guilt as he followed after Carl, turning to shoot Pam an apologetic frown. Pam would simply smile and nod toward after her retreating father. Deep down Jim saw some connection between this type of tradition and Pam’s lopsided relationship with Roy, but that was amateur psychoanalysis he kept to himself.
Tonight Jim was seated at the kitchen table with his coffee (he felt a little better at least being in the same room as the cleaning) – Carl had excused himself upstairs as soon as the meal had finished, supposedly to find something he thought would be of interest to Pam. Jim blew across the top of his mug as Linda and Pam discussed the upcoming season of Dancing with the Stars and who was rumored to appear. They were interrupted when Carl’s voice came booming down the stairwell.
“Pam, come up here! I found those drawings!”
“Why don’t you bring them down here, Dad?” Pam called back, wiping a casserole dish dry. No answer came and an awkward minute of silence passed. “Dad?”
“Why don’t you just go up there, hon? I’ve got this under control,” Linda said, her voice a little higher than usual. Pam glanced at her mother quickly; Linda flashed her a tight-lipped smile before turning to load the dishwasher. First giving Jim a confused look, Pam then headed for the stairs.
Jim took a deep breath as quietly as he could. The after-dinner ritual was always uncomfortable.
But lately, so was everything else here.
****
Twenty minutes later, Jim was sitting with Linda in the tiny living room, watching a Jeopardy! rerun. On the loveseat across from him she seemed anxious, alternating between picking invisible lint from her sweater and repositioning items on the coffee table in front of her. She turned to Jim, squinting a little.
“Did you get a haircut, Jim?”
“Oh, ah, nope,” he answered, running his hand through his hair self-consciously, then putting on a grin. “I probably need one, though.”
“Oh no, not at all. I just…I thought you looked different.”
“Maybe a little heavier after dinner. I’m pretty sure I ate a metric ton of that casserole.”
Linda smiled and gestured toward the kitchen. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything else? Another coffee? Or we have dessert…I picked up a pie at Wegman’s.” She started to rise before he could answer.
“Really, I’m fine. Thank you though.”
“Oh. Okay.” Linda settled back into seat, seemingly disappointed, and Jim almost regretted not just taking her up on her offer. She looked so…ready to flee. Her gaze repeatedly strayed toward the stairs, and Jim wasn’t sure if she was eager to have Pam and Carl return, or if their return was what she was so desperate to get away from.
Finally footsteps echoed from the stairs and Carl rounded the corner and entered, followed by Pam. One glance at his fiancée – and her father, for that matter - told Jim that old Crayola drawings of unicorns and rainbows hadn’t been the only reason the two had stayed upstairs so long. Her stare was vacant, fixed on some point on the wall behind him. For his part, Carl stood staring at the rug under his feet as if it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen, hands shoved deep in his pockets. When Jim managed to catch Pam’s eye she blinked a few times, then pushed the most unconvincing smile he’d ever seen onto her lips.
“Are you ready to go?” she asked quietly. Jim almost sprang to his feet.
“Sure, yeah.”
He thought they’d be met with some resistance – Carl and Linda never let them leave without running through a list of “one lasts:” one last drink, one last chat, one last reason to keep them around a little longer. But tonight Linda simply nodded. “I’ll go get your leftovers,” she said as she hurried off. Carl heaved a deep sigh and raised his head, but only managed to meet Jim’s eyes.
“Thanks for coming,” he offered.
“Of course. Thanks for having us.”
Pam said nothing.
Linda returned, foil-covered casserole dish and pie box in hand. “You two take the pie.”
“We won’t eat a whole pie, Mom,” Pam said, working her locket around its chain.
“Well I won’t either.” Jim was struck by her pronoun choice: “I.” Singular. Linda shoved her offerings into Jim’s hands. “Neither will your father,” she quickly added. This wasn’t much better and all four of them knew it. “Just…take what you don’t eat to work. People always like that. When people bring in treats.”
She was clearly flustered. Pam and Carl remained silent.
“Don’t worry, the pie will get eaten. I promise,” Jim said, if only to end the awful silence.
Linda smiled gratefully at him, then stepped over to give each of them a quick hug. Carl just squeezed Pam’s shoulder. Barely responsive at best, Pam made her way out the front door first and walked quickly to Jim’s car.
Jim took the trip more slowly, enjoying a deep breath of frigid January air. He wasn’t in any great hurry to get in the car for the nearly two-hour drive. Once the leftovers were safely stowed on the backseat and the car was started, Jim reached over to take Pam’s hand that was resting on her knee. She squeezed back weakly. “You okay?” he asked gently.
“Uh huh,” was her automatic response. “I’ve actually got a headache, so I’m going to try and sleep it off while we drive. Is that okay?”
“Sure.”
She gave him another clearly unfelt smile and settled down in the passenger seat while Jim backed the car out of the driveway.
****
True to her word Pam slept the entire ride home. Well, Jim was fairly certain she was asleep, although it was entirely possible she just faked it for the sake of not having to talk about anything yet. And really, there wasn’t much left to say on the topic of Pam’s parents that hadn’t been said repeatedly over the last few months.
Jim knew they’d been fighting regularly. Granted, he’d never seen this firsthand – they didn’t fight in front of Pam and him whenever they came to visit. What they experienced was the byproduct of an unhappy house. There was tension to spare, awkward silences and forced smiles that overwhelmed you. Carl and Linda rarely spoke directly to each other anymore, at least in the presence of company; instead they employed intricate conversational choreography that allowed them to talk to each other through their visitors. Occasionally if he was paying close enough attention he’d see a look one would shoot the other – looks of warning, scorn and hurt. He knew Pam always caught these looks, and the effort she put into maintaining a sense of normalcy was exhausting. She’d told him it was the same when she was younger: she had almost never seen or heard her parents fight, but it was always clear when they were, even if they denied it when asked.
However, now they didn’t deny it, which made it obvious just how serious things had become. In fact, Linda called regularly under the guise of discussing possible wedding plans or something silly she’d seen on television, but it wasn’t more than ten minutes before Jim would hear Pam sigh and say something along the lines of “Oh Mom, again?” Where once the drive back from the Beeslys’ had been filled with Pam chattering away about anything but her parents, attempting to free herself from the strain of the evening, now she was quiet. Since Thanksgiving she’d been near silent on their drives to Scranton, and it usually took her a good hour after they were home to act like herself again.
Jim wasn’t sure how to handle this, how to help her. This type of dynamic was so foreign to him. He came from a family that made no secret about how they felt. His parents were no strangers to arguing – sometimes loudly and lustily – but once everything was out on the table, they were able to forgive, forget, and move on. As a child, when he heard his parents yelling at each other he felt certain divorce was right around the corner. However, by no later than the following morning the two were back to normal, exchanging snarky yet loving remarks and kissing each other goodbye. He hated the yelling then, and as a result had never been one to fight unless he was practically shoved into it, but he found now that he almost admired the way his parents could air their grievances and really be all right afterward. It certainly felt healthier than the technique employed at the Beesly household.
Once they arrived back home Jim took the leftovers to the kitchen. Pam trailed along behind him as if in a daze. After he shut the refrigerator door he turned to see Pam wiping crumbs from breakfast into the sink, over and over. He leaned against the counter and watched her, but she didn’t stop. “Hey,” he finally had to interrupt.
“Hey,” she returned softly.
“We got our Netflix today. You wanna watch?”
“Um, sure.”
He reached out to push her hair from her face. She still didn’t look up. “Do you want to talk?”
Pam shrugged. “What’s there to say?”
“I don’t know.” Jim continued to watch her, restraining himself from grabbing her hand and stopping the robotic sweeping. “Did your dad really have drawings of yours upstairs?” He tried to keep his tone light.
“Yeah. Nothing important. Just some stuff from middle school.”
“Oh. Cool. Any hint of your later artistic brilliance?”
She didn’t smile, only shook her head. Thinking she would say nothing further and feeling as if he was stifling her, Jim turned to leave. Just as he reached the doorway he heard her take a deep breath. “Um.” He immediately turned back around. “He asked if we would mind him coming to stay with us, maybe later this week. For a couple of days. If things get bad again.”
Her voice was devoid of all emotion. He pursed his lips. Neither of them said a thing. The clock above Jim’s head ticked away the seconds.
Finally, Pam dragged her eyes away from the counter to meet his. “I told him we’d talk about it,” she continued, “and call him tomorrow to let him know.”
Jim nodded. “Okay.”
As she moved to the refrigerator, grabbing two beers and heading toward the living room, he silently thanked the powers that be that she hadn’t posed the question just then.
Because he would forever be ashamed that the only answer that came to mind was an emphatic No.
****
Pam was, thankfully, a heavy sleeper, so she wasn’t bothered by Jim’s tossing and turning most of the night. Sleep was elusive; he’d doze for a half hour or so, then wake suddenly. He gave up on the hopeless endeavor at seven o’clock. As Pam snored softly he threw on an Eagles sweatshirt and some warm-up pants, shoved his Phillies cap over his bedhead and his iPod in his pocket. He leaned over to give Pam a kiss on the forehead, then headed out the front door. Linden Avenue was silent, as was to be expected at such an early hour on a Sunday. Jim popped in his earbuds and started off at an easy jog. He’d never been much for early morning runs, but once in awhile it seemed to be the only way to soothe his mind when it raced uncontrollably. Times like now.
The issue of Carl coming to stay hadn’t been discussed any further the night before. Despite that, Jim couldn’t keep the question from his mind, and try as he might his first response was the only one he would have honestly been able to provide. He knew it was wrong, especially since Pam had held off from simply giving her father an affirmative answer on her own. She’d wanted to discuss it with Jim, which was a compassionate, respectful, amazing thing to do. What was wrong with him? This was his future wife, asking for a favor for her father. It would only be a few days. They had the space. It was hardly an inconvenience.
Right?
Wrong, his mind answered with conviction. It IS an inconvenience. I don’t want him to come here and stay.
And to his further embarrassment, his rationale’s first reason – the one he’d thought of before all the other more rational, less selfish ones? His pace picked up as he blushed just thinking about it.
Sex.
“Douchebag,” he muttered as he ran.
Granted they’d been having sex for almost two years at this point, but they were still in their honeymoon period in the house. It added a whole new thrill knowing that they were making love in a space that was theirs. It was overwhelming seeing her wearing a tank top his boxers in their kitchen, and they’d eaten quite a few meals later than planned. Similarly she’d teased a towel off his hips more than once as they got ready in their bathroom. Jim couldn’t imagine being comfortable enough to have sex with Pam in their bedroom while her father slept right down the hall. And what about on the couch? Or in the shower? Okay, so they’d only tried the shower thing once or twice and it was cramped and awkward, but still. There would be no further attempts while Carl stayed with them.
And how could anyone guarantee that it would only be a few days? How many horror stories had Jim heard of family houseguests that only intended on staying “a few days?” He’d grown up in Pennsylvania, home of the man who’d coined the phrase about fish and houseguests, and it was a warning Jim knew to be true. Carl was a great guy and Jim enjoyed the time he spent with him, but having him actually at their house? As a part-time resident? How long would it remain so pleasant? And Jim knew once Carl was there, neither he nor Pam would be able to ask him to leave – they just couldn’t.
Jim knew what the strongest reason was to oppose Carl’s staying with them, even if it wasn’t the first that came to mind. There was no doubt that the strain of having her father there – living proof of her parents’ rapidly disintegrating marriage in her home – would cause Pam nothing but upset. She would be miserable, with no escape from the stress. Jim already felt awful that he could do nothing to ease her pain, to make this better. He did his best to distract her, find ways to keep her mind off things, but every time the phone rang his heart sank with the nervous, sad expression that immediately took up residence on her face. Jim could do without the sex, albeit unhappily, but seeing Pam miserable day in and day out? That would be unbearable.
Jim slowed to a stop when he reached the quarry. He wiped the sweat that ran down his face despite the near-freezing temperature. He cupped his hands and blew on them for warmth, then leaned against the railing as he stared into the chasm ahead of him. He was starting to get cold, as his perspiration dried, but he resolved to just stay a bit longer. Dawn was only an hour away, bringing with it a day that was already slated to be harder than any he’d faced in a long time.
****
That night they sat folding laundry on the couch as Pineapple Express played. Neither was paying much attention and Jim debated just turning it off, but when they bothered watching for a few minutes here or there it was entertaining, and he secretly hoped it would help keep the mood light once they started talking about what they’d been avoiding. He knew he had to bring it up, tell the lie about how it was fine if Carl came, and move on. Because as much as he didn’t want to say yes, he knew - out of respect for Pam – he’d agree to it.
Carefully avoiding eye contact, he focused instead on the towel in his hands. “So have you called your dad yet?”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Pam shake her head. “We haven’t talked about it yet, so no.”
“Okay. Well…do you want to talk about it now?”
Pam shrugged. “I guess.” She set the t-shirt in her hands atop the pile of folded clothes, then fell back against the couch. “Do you…do you want him to stay here?” she asked, her voice small.
“It’s up to you. Whatever you want. Your call.”
Pam stared at the television for a moment, then looked back at Jim. “I don’t think I want him to,” she admitted.
Jim tried not to breathe a sigh of relief, but in his mind he saw a vision of himself jumping up and down in joy, spinning Pam around and yelling Thank God, me neither!
Something about this seemed off, though.
“How come?” he asked, still not giving her more than a fleeting glance.
“It’s just…I don’t want it to look like I’m siding with one of them or the other. And letting Dad stay here sort of feels like I am. Or like I’m agreeing that yes, being with Mom is unbearable.”
“I don’t think that’s what it means. And I don’t think your mom will see it that way.”
“I don’t either. She told me today she won’t. And besides…you know, I always listen to her. I take her calls anytime, and listen to whatever she says about Dad. I don’t really agree or disagree, I just listen, but…yeah.” Pam sat back up. “But I don’t know…there’s this part of me that just…this is our home. And it’s happy. And I guess there’s a really selfish part of me that doesn’t want that kind of…I don’t know, unhappiness, to be here. Invade here. This is…” Pam cocked her head and Jim finally looked into her eyes. “This is our sanctuary, you know?”
Jim smiled. “Yeah. I know.”
Pam smiled back. “I want it to stay that way. I feel like this is our time.”
“Me too.”
“So should I tell him no?”
And with that question, Jim realized he no longer had to give his okay, he wanted to.
He suddenly remembered the loving way Pam had recounted her parents welcoming her to come home after everything with Roy ended. He knew how much it meant to her to be accepted, even when so many people thought she was making a huge mistake. Jim knew this hadn’t crossed her mind yet, but that it would, and when it did she would feel guilty, and regret the decision she’d made. And by then who knew if Carl would be hurt, or what sort of chain of events her refusal might trigger. Jim knew he could do this one thing to save her from that. It was unavoidable pain now or unavoidable pain later – he wanted to just rip off the bandage now, when things were manageable. It was the least he could do in a situation where he could do so precious little for her.
And it eased some of his shame knowing she felt the same way about this whole situation that he did. She was just as sure that it would be difficult and painful having her father there. And knowing she had doubts too made him certain that, even with everything going on, things would be okay eventually. Well, for them - they’d be okay. It reminded him of the quote about faith untested not being faith at all. The same could be said for relationships.
“You know the rest of time is our time, right?” he told her, squeezing her hand. “This will just be a few days. I think it’ll be okay. This is absolutely up to you, but it’s fine by me, all right?”
Pam thought a moment. “You know I’ll need to lean on you through this? And that’s okay?”
Jim squeezed her hand again. “Pam, that’s always okay.”
She nodded slowly. “Okay.” She leaned over and gave him a soft kiss. “I think you’re right.” She rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. “Thanks,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome,” he whispered back, handing her the phone.
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