I run my hands through my mussed hair. "Yeah, that's about right."
Mark smiles a bit, glances nervously over his shoulder. "Look, uh--you should leave. Jim's not . . . Pam, look--"
I can only imagine how I look at this moment, with my frizzed hair and wrinkled dress and bare feet on a cool May night. But I'm lost, and I'm here, and I need to see him. "No, Mark, please, I know I had two chances but--"
"Two chances? You broke him down twice? God, Pam, no wonder he came in, did this weird grunt thing that kind of sounded like your name--well, in Russian--and ran upstairs. Next you're going to tell me he kissed you and you still said no."
"Chance number two," I whisper, holding up two meek fingers and finding my toes very interesting.
"Shiiiiiiiiit."
"Yeah, I know. Look, I just want to . . . please, I won't be long. I won't hurt him any more."
Mark sighs as he steps aside. "I honestly don't think that's possible, Pam."
"Fuck off, Mark."
I almost turn around and walk back out at his tone, but if I leave, where else do I go?
"Uh, hey, Jim."
His eyes squeeze together, blocking me out. I wonder how he's feeling, what my voice does to him, but then I don't want to know. "Jeez, Halpert, now you're hallucinating. Snap out of it, man."
He's lying face down on the bed, arms wrapped around a pillow. I walk closer, reach out, brush his back with my fingertips. He stiffens. "Jim, it's me. Can we talk?"
He seems almost cautious, dreadful, as he opens his eyes. Like he still thinks I'm a figment of imagination, or an apparition. At this point I'm not sure I'm not. I feel pretty translucent.
I pull out his desk chair as he eyes me warily. "Pam," he says, pushing himself into a sitting position slowly. "I'm not sure this is a--"
"Shut up. I--your knuckles." He draws back from my outstretched hand.
"Yeah, they uh . . . came into contact with um, the wall. And the headboard. And my car. And probably some things I don't remember."
I wince, standing. "Maybe I should go."
"No, Pam--stay," he says almost desperately, and there's no way I can deny him.
I eye the desk chair, and assess other seating in the room. "Okay, but can I just . . ." I gesture at his chest and don't wait for an answer because the pull is too strong, and before I know it I'm curled on his lap, arms around his neck, tightly, my face buried in the sweater he never changed out of. He's taken by surprise, and his arms curl around me carefully. Like I'm about to break, when he's the fragile one in the room and I'm squeezing him to burst.
"Jim, you're my best friend," I mumble into his shoulder, and I'm almost positive I feel him shiver from the heat of my breath. "Girls, we go to our best friends when we need help. Can you be my best friend?"
"Always, Pam," he says hoarsely, hands brushing my lower back.
"Jim, today another one of my best friends in the entire world told me he's in love with me, and he kissed me. What should I do?"
"Well, Pam," he starts, and I almost chuckle because it's obvious how hard he's trying to be subjective. "How do you feel about him?"
"I don't know. He's my best friend. And, and, well, you know about the dreams. And the fantasies." I hear him draw a sharp breath. "But Roy, Jim! What if the last ten years of my life were a waste? What do I do then?"
"Sometimes," he pauses to clear his throat, "sometimes, who you're with is just a stepping stone to prepare you for who you're really supposed to be . . . with. So, Pam, you just have to decide: are you in love with Roy?"
No hesitation. Don't think, answer. "No."
"Are you in love with m--this other guy?"
"I don't know. I--I think so. I think I am, Jim."
His arms tighten more, and it's almost uncomfortable now, but I've wanted for so long now to just be held and it's perfect and he could break a rib and I wouldn't mind. "So what are you going to do?"
"I'm so scared. Things are changing so quickly. I took off my ring in the car. It felt like it weighed like, a million pounds. It wasn't right. I feel better now." His hair tickles my fingertips. "Jim."
"Yeah?"
"I'm going to call off the wedding."
"Now?"
"Tomorrow. Can I stay here?"
He starts shifting, attempting to loosen my grip. "Uh, sure, I'll--I'll take the couch."
"Right here, Jim. Stay." I wish I can see his face, because he's shaking and I'm sure he doesn't believe this himself. I've almost convinced myself I'm dreaming. But then I feel his smile, and he kisses my hair softly.
"Okay, Beesly."
