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Author's Chapter Notes:
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Christmas carols were playing in the background. Only the soft glow from a few vanilla wildberry candles and her painstakingly decorated (though small) Christmas tree filled the- what word did the real estate agent use?- “cozy” apartment. Pam shuffled to the couch, loving the charge sock-against-carpet gave her. For some reason Pamela Beesly had always enjoyed static electricity. Something about the Earth giving her an extra bit of oomph at random unexpected moments, but at the same time if you worked hard enough and had all the right ingredients, you could earn it for yourself.

As she settled into the hand-me-down sofa wrapped in a slip cover her mom had made as a house warming present, her finger hovered over the light switch on the wall behind her head for just a moment, both dreading and hoping for the electric zap.

The noise she made was too satisfied to be a yelp, but too shaken to be a laugh. It was a sort of barky chortle that she didn’t even recognize as her own. Pam didn’t recognize a lot about herself lately. The line that had permanently taken up residence between her eyebrows. The smile she didn’t realize was fake because she’d never had to fake it before. The jealousy boiling up so hot from the depths of herself she thought about ditching her teapot and heating mugs with her hands.

Ugh. The teapot. She hated thinking about the teapot. Hated the vision of his hand snaking the card out of the box. He didn’t know she had seen, but she had. Pam could only assume what was written inside, but if it was anything like what she would have written in his situation, this whole mess could have been resolved ages ago. The idea of smashing the teapot had more than just crossed her mind. Once, Pam had gotten as far as the dumpster behind her building with it, but had just stared at the pavement for a few minutes then headed back upstairs. She was just too practical to smash a perfectly good teapot.

“Stop.” Not realizing she had said it out loud, Pam jumped at the sudden noise. “No dwelling. No moping, no crying, no wishing. No. Dwelling.” With that under control, Pam picked up her phone, dialing the number from the post-it on her coffee table. After six of those weird double rings you hear in British movies the hotel answering machine picked up, but she hung up without a sound. Apparently her parents were too busy with cruise activities to talk.

“Merry Christmas to me.” Tilting her mug all the way back, she realized that was the end of her champagne.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” she said to the bottom of an empty ceramic coffee mug.
Chapter End Notes:
Sad Face. But at least when I write these now, I know it gets better later...


TeaTime is the author of 4 other stories.



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