Toasts have been made, words have been spoken. He’s been delirious through it all.
He’s not drunk, nor plans to be; he does not want to make a fool of himself.
He just doesn’t understand why she hasn’t said anything to him, or why she hasn’t even looked his way. But then he realizes that he hasn’t said anything either and has been dodging any form of communication.
He doesn’t understand any of this, really. He just wants to go home and sleep his life away. He cannot stand the thought of waking up to the memory of her wedding.
As he continues to sit alone, nursing his beer, he realizes that it’s the thought of having her that keeps him alive. It’s what helps him face the days that are all the same: hours watching her not-watching him, and dinner alone each night. Sometimes, he’s afraid that if his dream is realized, he will have no reason to go on living.
Michael comes over, an apple martini in his hand, his tie loosened. He has a large smile across his face: he looks like he’s accomplished something vast.
“You’ll never guess what I just did,” Michael slurs. Too many drinks, thinks Jim. Better him than me.
“What did you do, Michael?”
“I trashed the wedding.” Michael bursts into a fit of laughter.
“Michael, I’m going to have to say that you’re as good as Vince Vaughn from the Wedding Crashers,” Jim laughs lightly, knowing Michael is known to exaggerate, and apparently, even more so when he’s drunk. Jim glances around the room and everything is neatly in its place: white flowers top each table, white satin drapery dangles from the dim lights, light music is playing the background, combined with the hum of content voices. The scene is impeccable.
“Can I please be Owen Wilson? I wanna be blonde.”
Michael’s eyes roll back into his head and he tips forward. Jim catches him, leans him back in his seat, and laughs silently. At least he’s not on the tables.
Jim continues to drink his beer, slowly, trying to have too much, especially because he hasn’t eaten anything. He scans the room for a sign of her, any sign at all, and that’s when it happens.
Their eyes meet.
Their eyes meet and it is like the past and future become unimportant. There is only that moment and the incredible certainty that everything in their worlds has been tied together, just so they could understand what they see in each other’s eyes.
I need to talk to her, he thinks, suddenly overcome by an urge to confront her.
He stands and walks across the dance floor; for a moment he wonders how she would feel in his arms if they danced together, their shoes clacking against the hardwood surface in unison.
He pushes past the thought and continues to walk towards her, fortitude in his eyes. I’m going to do this, he thinks, confidently.
He remembers this feeling: it resembles the emotions he had felt minutes before meeting Pam in the parking lot after the casino party. He had convinced himself that tonight was the night and he had a surge of bravery running through his veins but when his eyes meet hers under the moonlight, he felt like a little boy telling his secret crush his true feelings.
He approaches her, and she turns to face him. Her friends, who were talking with her moments before, eye them suspiciously and walk away.
“Jim–” she begins.
“Can we talk outside?”
She nods, her lips pursed.
They reach the foyer, his hands in his pockets and her fingers fiddling with one another. They are both nervous because they know what will happen.
I have to do this, he thinks.
This is my wedding – he can’t ruin it no matter what he says¸ she thinks.
He reaches for her hands, her fragile, pale hands. He joins them with his and rubs his thumbs across the back of them.
They are sharing a space so close that he can count the freckles on her flawless face.
“You look beautiful,” he whispers. Her eyes are wide.
“Thank you,” she cannot manage to say anything more.
He pauses. How do I say all of this?
“I know this isn’t what you want to hear…” he begins.
“Please don’t say that–”
“…but you have to know. For the last time,” he finishes.
She is quiet.
“I’m in love with you,” he smiles weakly. His insides are breaking.
She is quiet.
“Coming here today was so hard. You, married? I don’t like to think about it.”
She is quiet.
“But I made myself come because our friendship means more to me than anything else, even if it means losing you. I don’t want us to regret anything – you don’t deserve that.”
She is quiet.
“Pam, we are both guilty of the same things,” he says slowly, looking at their hands, together. He had forgotten what her skin felt like against his.
“Stop trying to fix things,” she says it coolly, with little emotion. Her eyes do not meet his – she is staring somewhere behind him, over his shoulder.
Something inside of him flickers – it only takes an instant for him to realize that he’s been too complacent, too allowing. He’s sick of waiting for things to change between them instead of making them change. He’s annoyed with how he has not tried hard enough when he knows he can. He’s done with feeling like he could have done more.
“At least I’ve tried! I’ve tried, Pam!”
“This is my wedding, Jim! Everything was going fine and now you have to prove yourself?” her calm tone is slipping and anger is pushing through. She yanks her hands from his in one swift motion and her fingers curl into fists at her side.
“Everything is fine? Did you seriously say that? Things aren't ‘fine’ Pam, and you of all people should know that.”
“You have no right to say that! You don’t know anything about my relationship with Roy!” Her voice is on the verge of a shout.
“I know enough to say that today was a mistake,” the last word is harsh as it slips past his clenched jaw.
Immediately, her eyes sting with tears and his follow. He thinks, for a moment, that he has crossed the line.
“How dare you.”
There is a short pause. He resorts to where their relationship spun out of proportions.
“You kissed me back, Pam,” he snarls, stepping back, their eyes locked. “You just have to remember that. You. Kissed. Me. Back.”
Suddenly, the idea that there will never be “another chance” washes over him like a smothering flame. He stands there, staring blankly into her darkened eyes, wishing he had died and that everything would end forever at that moment.
Author's Chapter Notes:
This story is in no way affiliated with NBC, The Office, or any of its writers or actors. Pam and Jim belong to NBC and the producers and writers of The Office and I am making no money from this. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter End Notes:
I promise, more is coming!! There will be a happy ending!
