The phone rang at like two o'clock in the morning. Pam was knocked out, just a bit above a soft snore, when the ringing kicked me out of my sleep. I tried to adjust my eyes, coming slowly out of that dream fog and wondering why I was dreaming about monkeys in the first place, when I heard the third round of rings from the phone. As I rubbed my eyes, I reached over and groggily yawned a, "Hello?"

"Jim, hey. It's Peter," the voice replied and it took me a minute to get myself together, to not fall right back to sleep, so I jerked my eyes open. Brain was starting to function slowly. Pam's Dad. Peter Beesly. Phone call.

"Hey, Peter," I acknowledged and then sat up, nudging Pam as I did. She jerked awake, and pushed back against her pillow, glaring at me. "What's wrong?"

"Um...is Pam awake?" He asked sheepishly, and I pointed at her as I answered him.

"Um, yeah, hold on. One sec."

She looked at me bewildered as I handed her the phone and whispered, "It's your dad."

She yanked it out my hand then, fear and confusion crossing her face. I was concerned. What are the reasons people call at two a.m.? Car accidents? Death in the family? Something bad was happening, and I was bracing myself as I watched her brow furrow and she nodded as he spoke.

"Yeah...No...definitely... Come here. We'll be up," she replied, and then she pressed the end button and stared blankly at the comforter.

"Pam?" My voice felt clogged, still with sleep, but I could see she was visibly shakened.

"My dad needs a place to stay for the night," was all she replied, before tossing back the covers and getting out of bed.

I watched her walk into the hall, towards to the linen closet. I too, decided sleep was irrelevant and got out of the bed to follow her. "What happened?"

She shook her head, trying to reach the good sheets from the closet. "He said he got into it with Mom again, and she threw him out, or whatever."

She was struggling trying to reach the tall shelf, so I swatted her hand away and retrieved the sheets for her. As I handed them to her, I watched her profile, her face visibly tense as she was processing all of this information in the middle of the night. "Are you alright? I mean, I can only imagine how this is making you feel."

She shook her head, as if she wanted to cry but wouldn't, couldn't and turned to me with the smallest and saddest smile I've seen. "Everyone experiences rough patches. I'm sure....we will. They'll get over it. I know they will."

And with that she headed off to the guest room to prepare for her father's arrival, as I stood in the hall not knowing what else I could say or do to make this better for her.

Peter has a lot of chest hair. So do I but I don't flaunt it the way he does and I'm in my own house. I was in the kitchen, toasting Pam an English Muffin and brewing coffee while she showered, and here comes Peter with all his hairy chested glory.

"Morning Jim," he chirped.

I turned to greet him, but was attacked by the sight of a nest of grey and dark hair. How does a man grow a toupee's worth of hair on his chest? My eyes widened when he sauntered up to the kitchen table, in nothing but his boxers and his tube socks. Wow. 

"Morning, Peter. Sleep well?"

"Like a baby," he replied, sitting at the table, his chest hair overlapping it.  "It's better than a Motel 6."

I awkwardly turned to him and plastered a smile on my face to hide the disgust. "Getcha anything?"

"Eggs. Coffee would be good," Peter coughed out, and turned his attention to my morning paper. The one I was about to read.

"We have eggs," I replied, wondering for a moment if he wanted me to make them or make them himself?

"I like them runny."

Aw, so he did expect me to make them.

"Can do," I just gritted my teeth and reached under the cabinet for a pan, whipping my tie over my shoulder so I wouldn't dip it into the eggs. The man was going through a hard time; surely I can make him some eggs.

"How many?" I asked as I began to crack one into a mixing bowl.

Peter didn't even lift his eyes off the Metro section as he muttered, "Six."

Because he wasn't looking up, I'm pretty sure he didn't catch me staring at him. He's about to devour a half of dozen of eggs. Seriously? Holy high cholesterol Batman!

I mixed them up and began to scramble them; wishing Pam had gotten up a bit earlier because we were going to be late. But then I remembered she barely slept after Peter arrived. He told her about how her mom was becoming more impossible to be around everyday. That's not what someone wants to hear from one of their parents. Pam adored her father, doted on him. She was also pretty tight with her mom. So to see this strain was taking a toll on her. She spent the rest of the night staring up at the ceiling, probably trying to rationalize what was going on in her head.

After the eggs were scrambled and on a plate, I sat them in front of Peter, well not directly in front of him. That nest of hair would have been all in the eggs and that would have been a mess, and disgusting.

I sat down with my coffee; the room was filled with a pink elephant. Like why Peter was here staying with us and not his wife? I sipped my drink and nodded, hoping Pam would come in and save me from trying to force conversation. It's not that Peter and I don't get along, because we totally do, it's just...he was going through something that was hurting Pam and Pam's mom, and I didn't know what to say about that. I was trying to figure out what to say, what's going on, because I've been getting little pieces here and there for a few weeks since their fighting began, but I didn't want to overstep. I'm not the son-in-law...yet.

"Good eggs?"

Peter nodded, grunting and shoveling the eggs in his mouth. Nice form. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

I nodded, "Pam's running a bit late."

"Ah...she gets that from her-" he stopped abruptly, putting down his fork. "Hey...can I ask you a personal question? I hope this doesn't upset you in any way."

"Of course not, go ahead. Anything," I nodded, hoping that maybe I can get some insight to all this madness for Pam's sake.

Peter seemed to be formulating the question in his head before he looked at me, and asked, "What's with the creepy clown painting in the hall? I thought you were going to take it down?"

I blinked. Not what I was expecting. "Um...well...we've tried. It's not coming down without a fight."

Peter sighed and returned to his pile of eggs.

I was hoping when he called Pam and asked to use my shaving cream; it was because he was shaving his chest. No such luck.

He was still flaunting the bird's nest on his chest around when I was getting ready for bed the next night. He walked out of the room to use the guest bath when I was retrieving towels from the linen closet.

"Heading to bed, Jim?"

I nodded, holding up my towel and the tube of toothpaste. "Yep. You need anything?"

"Nope, I'm good," Peter shrugged and scratched the bird nest on his chest.

"Great! Night," I walked in the bedroom and shut the door, walking past Pam who was on the phone with her mother.

"No, Mom...he's just-...he's not saying anything, other than things haven't been going well between you...I don't-....he's just acting like he's not fazed by it, and that it's kind of all your fault...I'm not saying it's your fault, Mom...I don't-"

She sounded so desperate to fix her parents' marriage and I wanted to help her find a way if it took that look off of her face. I brushed my teeth and pretended not to listen, but it was hard not to hear her try not to cry on the phone with her mom. Peter wasn't saying much to anyone about anything. It made me think of my parents and how they argue often, and publicly, but that was a part of their charm.  Dad would rant and rave about Mom and she'd say something sarcastic and off putting, but they maintained and fiercely loved each other.

I wondered how Pam and I would work through difficult times. We've argued, bad ones too, but I can admit when I'm wrong, and I hate when we don't talk for more than an hour, so I'm up for apologizing sooner than later.

She hung up the phone and buried her face into her pillow, and I tried not to notice as I rinsed my mouth with mouthwash, spit and cut off the light. Lately, this tension was building in her, and I wondered if I could take any of it to make her feel even a fraction of hope that her parents could...or would work it out. I slid in bed, watching her back.

"Hey," I replied softly, spooning against her, wrapping my arms around her, thinking maybe she'd feel safe if she knew I was here and wasn't going anywhere, no matter how much she made me sleep on the couch. "You okay? What did your Mom say?"

"That my Dad's a pig and he's not trying to make things better. Nice, huh?" she muttered, not turning to me at all.

"I'm sorry, Pam," I sighed. My hand drifted to her stomach, pushing her shirt up a bit, just feel her warm skin. I lightly caressed it with my thumb.

She sighed heavily. "They both are just so angry with each other."

"I know. Peter's not saying much about it though."

"He never does, and maybe that's the problem," Pam sighed, finally turning over on her back. She looked up at the ceiling. "Why isn't he fighting harder to fix it?"

I didn't know how to answer that for her, so I didn't. I watched her fret for a moment, and then she turned to me, whispering, "What if they can't fix it?"

Her eyes began to tear up.  I couldn't answer her. I had no answer. So I kissed her instead. And she melted into me, and kissed back, her hands diving into my hair and her lips searching mine. She needed me, she needed me and I didn't know if I could help her with this.

And suddenly she pulled back, licking her lips and smiling sadly. "I can't...have sex with you while my father's in the other room."

I shook my head to get out the lust fog clouding it, and agreed. "No...That's definitely creepy. Creepier than the fact we sleep in my parents' old room. So, I understand."

I kissed her again for good measure, "Good night."

"Goodnight."

The next day Pam was a bit despondent, as we were watching Cloris Leachmen basically eat Jack Black's face. I was intrigued, disgusted but intrigued at that guy's acting ability. When I turned to comment to Pam, I saw her not even watching the movie (which, might be a good thing, because that scene was burned into my memory).  She was toying with her ring, and in deep thought. This thing with her parents was definitely taking a toll.

Her father was talkative at breakfast...I tried to assure her.

Well, talkative as in...

"I love Captain Crunch."

I looked up from my paper. "Oh yeah, me too. But it has to have Crunchberries."

"Definitely got to have the Cruncberries. Pam's still eating that cardboard crap that passes for cereal," he chuckled.

"I don't get how she eats that," I laughed, glad to have a normal conversation with the guy for once. "Grape Nuts. It has neither the grape or nut flavor to it."

"It's cardboard, that's why. She's always eaten such bland cereals. I never got that. I'd buy Lucky Charms and she literally scoffed at them."

"Well that's not right. But you're a good father. You tried."

He smiled. "I certainly did. She's a good girl though. And you're a great guy to love her despite her flaws. Which....accounts for something. So thank you Jim, for the Capt'n. I would have starved this morning if not for you."

I smirked and lifted up my cup of coffee. "You're certainly welcome, Peter. I mean, she loves me and I don't like oatmeal. We both have our flaws."

"See...I knew we had a lot in common, young man," he nodded, toasting my cup.

When Pam asked me to talk to her Dad, I did. I didn't even need her flirtatious compliments to boost my ego...though that helped a bit. So right after she batted her beautiful eyes and asked me to talk to her dad, to get him to open up to his future son in law, I did so in a very interesting phone call. The phone call I almost regretted making.

"Peter! Hey, how's it going?!"

"Hey, Jim. You're at work right?"

"Yeah, I am...I just...wanted to make sure you're okay. I know a lot's been going on, and I didn't know....how to approach it but...you guys are family so..."

"I know. You're a good man, son. So I'll let you, because Pam trusts you and hell...I do too."

"Thanks, I--" I licked my lips, trying to figure out how the hell I'm barely thirty, only been engaged, and about to lecture a fifty five year old man on love and life and marriage.

The man cleared his throat before proceeding, "I've been feeling like things haven't been working for awhile with Pam's mom. I love Joyce, I just...it's lacking, you know."

Well I didn't know that exactly, but he was talking, so... I tried to empathize. "I can understand, feeling that way. You guys have been married for so long."

"Yeah, we have and there's been good and bad times, but lately, she's been...I just...nothing I do ever pleases her it seems. It's like... I know she's a good woman, and she gave me Pam, and you see how awesome she turned out. It's just...what do I do, ya know?"

No, I didn't know. And he's talking in circles. I guess because I've never been divorced before, I can't relate. I hope to never have to relate to that situation. "Well, Peter, I won't pretend to understand what you're going through but when you love someone, it's hard to deal with the bad times. Like my parents argue constantly but they love each other. I can think of at least ten times my mom was probably going to throttle my poor dad, but in the end, I don't think they were made for anyone else. I can't imagine you and Joyce not being able to look back on all the wonderful things you did experience together and not see something to work for."

"Maybe... or maybe not. People fall in love; they can fall out of love just as quickly."

"I don't...think so. I mean, I don't even think I could fall out of love for Pam. And I'm not saying that because she's your daughter, but because she is it for me. I mean, I can't even imagine not feeling that way for her. And don't get me wrong, we've made a lot of mistakes, probably will make hundred more, but I do know what love is, and it doesn't just disappear, even after years. I don't...I can't believe that."

"Well, Jim, my boy, you're young-"

"With all due respect Peter, I am young, but...I won't even love anyone as much as I love your daughter. I just...won't."

I was fully aware I was rambling, and somehow turned the conversation to Pam and I, but that was the only thing I knew to compare with a deep love. I did love her, have always loved her, and would always love her. "I remember when Pam and I weren't even talking. You know, when she wasn't with Roy and I had moved away. I thought maybe time would take whatever I was feeling for her and dull or get rid of it all together. It didn't. The moment I saw her again, Peter...the moment my eyes landed on her, I still felt it.  I will always love her, there's nothing that can change that, I mean, if anything time made me love her more. And years can pass, I can honestly say...I'll still light up whenever she walks into a room. And...I don't know...but maybe you and Joyce just need to remember feeling that way, for one another."

He was silent for a moment, sighing heavily before he spoke. "Jim, I must say, as a father, that's the best thing I can ever hear a man say about my daughter."

I let out a deep exhale too. "Thanks, Peter."

"One day, you'll learn I'd rather you call me Dad. It'll be soon, I hope."

"I hope so too," I chuckled into the phone. "I'm a slow learner."

"You seem pretty quick witted to me," he said. "I heard what you said Jim. I just...there are things you don't realize, and things I have to think about, too. This is harder than you know. This isn't how I wanted things to be between Joyce and I."

"I understand, Peter-oops, Dad," I laughed. "Sir."

"I'm going...I'll talk to you later. Bye Jim."

I was a voyeur. Peeking out of conference blinds, trying to evoke the power to read lips or minds as Pam spoke with her father out in the parking lot. I couldn't understand what they were saying, but I could tell it wasn't going well. She tends to hand gesture a lot when she's trying to understand a point or to give one. Peter tends to hug when he can't make a good point, or when he knows there's nothing else he can say or do. I am so screwed.

She looked so fragile when she came off that elevator, after talking to her father. I fucked up. I knew that the moment she walked into the breakroom, asking me what I said to her dad. I probably fucked up royally. She was going to throw her ring in my face and never talk to me again. Oh god.

"So what'd he say? Was it my fault?" I said as I approached her. She stood there for a moment, her face red from crying.

"Yea," she nodded, tears brimmed her eyes. "He said that you told him how much you love me. About how you feel whenever I walk into a room. How you never doubted for a second I'm the woman you wanted to spend the rest of your life with....I guess he'd never felt that for my mom, even at their best."

My breath was literally sucked out of me. I did say all those things, but to help Joyce and Peter (Mom and Dad-whichever!), because not only did I not want to see them divorce, but because it was devastating to Pam. And in a way, declaring my undying love for her, my unwavering passion for her, I kind of did mess things up for them, but I will never take back saying any of those things to Peter. Because I did love her, unapologetically, eternally. I wanted to marry her, make babies with her, grow old with her, argue with her...

"Are you okay?" was all I could ask.

She nodded, her chin quivering, and I just wanted to hold her.  "Yea."

So I did hold her. And kissed her temple. I wrapped my arms tightly around her and just...held her. I will never let go. Ever.