When she first started dating Jim, however, she found herself forgetting her contact accessories frequently, especially when she spent the night at his place. Passion drove her carelessness and the things she usually kept in her purse - case, eyedrops, solution - were often left at home. The first time he saw her in her glasses was a few weeks after their relationship had finally finished defining itself. She was embarrassed, and though he reassured her that she looked exactly the same, she still wore her contacts out of habit.
The pregnancy, however, drove her to such exhaustion that she sometimes fell asleep in her bed with her shoes still on. Contacts became a burden, and she slowly transitioned to wearing glasses most of the time, at least at home. She soon found out that, surprisingly, Jim sort of had a thing for glasses. She'd catch him staring at her amorously while she was reading or cooking. He called her "cute" and "intelligent" and "sexy" in them, and would only take them off after all her other clothes and accessories were gone as well, and only in order to get as close to her as possible. He liked them so much that she let him pick out a new pair as a wedding gift to her, and those, he never let her take off.
"So... tonight it's girls, right? What letter are we on? E?"
"Yeah, but we didn't finish boy D's from yesterday."
"We didn't?"
"No, because 'Damon' reminded you of that one bartender and what he said on the Fourth of July about, well... and then we got distracted."
"Oh. Yeah. I remember."
"Yeah, I'm thinking I like 'Damon.'"
"Mmmmm, me too..."
"...do you want to finish? For the sake of being systematic."
"Why not, I guess. We might be missing out on some quality names if we let it go."
"Very true. 'Dietrich' may never get a chance."
"So... hmm... Derek? Dimitri?"
"Nah."
"But... look! It says that 'Dimitri' is often anglicized as 'James.'"
"So I'd be code-naming my child after myself."
"Yes. Clever, yeah?"
No."
"Fiiiine. Donovan."
"Oh, God, no. Uncle Donny is the reason I never moved to Philly."
"But his name is Donald."
"Still! I don't want any connotations."
"You're so picky... oh! Here's a lovely one. 'Dwight.'"
"Oh, yes, absolutely! What a fine, untainted name."
"Regal, almost."
"Almost."
Sun streamed in through the blinds and made patterns on the walls. He, semi-conscious, was blinded by a sunbeam and shifted in bed, mumbling incoherently. He opened his eyes to his white room splashed with light the way most of his mornings started, and for a second he hung in usual morning bliss. He turned his head to look for Pam, but she wasn't there, and then it came flooding back - last night and the fight and how alone he had felt. Pain turned his stomach as he remembered some of the words that had escaped her mouth, and he frowned. Running a hand absentmindedly through his hair, he got up and walked out of the room and into the kitchen, where the scene had taken place. The first thing he heard is -
"I'm so sorry."
She stood with her hands clasped behind her back, speaking anxiously and swaying back and forth. He could tell it was practically afternoon, and that she had been up for hours already. Her eyes were red and out of habit, he felt a fleeting sense of concern before he realized why.
"I was overwhelmed. I get frustrated sometimes because working for Dunder Mifflin is just not something I expected to do for the rest of my life. But that doesn't mean I don't like it, and when I don't, it has nothing to do with you. I'll never get bored of you."
He knew that, but it was nice to get assurance. He didn't know what to say, so he glanced at the dining table. It was set with placemats his parents had bought them and smooth white plates with oddly shaped pancakes stacked up on top and butter melting down the sides. She had folded napkins into triangles and placed the all the cutlery in their right places, like a little girl playing house would. It normally would have tugged at his heartstrings and he probably would've teased her about her effort, but he couldn't think of anything that wouldn't sound like he was ignoring her. He wasn't; he just needed to hear more.
When he didn't make eye contact, she licked her lips and continued. "I know I hurt you, and I'm really, really sorry. Jim... I love you, and us... so much, and... where we are right now." She kept pausing to search for nonverbal responses, but none came. He continued looking at the table. He wanted to tell her it was fine, that he wasn't angry or hurt anymore and that she just scared him sometimes, but he let her go on. He pulled out a chair and sat down, still avoiding her eyes.
"Please," she said, her voice wavering a little. "I can't even..." she paused, almost pleading. It was obvious how genuine her apology was, and he started to feel bad for ignoring it. "...do you want any syrup with that?"
"Yeah," he said, his voice quiet, but void of passive agression. He wished he could say more. "Thanks."
She set the bottle on the table next to him, apparently relieved he hadn't burst out yelling. She pressed her lips to his hair with one hand on his shoulder, and he relaxed. He wanted this to be over, right now. "I rented Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Rear Window, and Harvey... if you still want to do our Jimmy Stewart movie marathon. It's okay if you don't."
Without stopping his cutting motion of the pancakes, he looked at her. She smiled a small smile. "Of course I want to. I'm not mad, Pam."
"You should be."
"Well, I was. But I love you," he blinked, trying not to make a joke to ease the tension. That was too easy, and he wanted this to be real.
"I really am so sorry," she shook her head, sliding into the chair next to him. "God, I'm just stupid sometimes and I say things out of nowhere and I-"
He had to cut her off. "Hey, it's okay. It's okay. I don't care."
She looked unconvinced.
"These," he indicated at his plate, "are delicious. You are wonderful. Let's watch one of the movies." He leaned over, cradled her face, and kissed her softly. Though she hadn't touched her breakfast, he hoped she realized he was over it. He sensed his sense of humor catching up with him - he couldn't help it."And maybe later I can show you how we're not boring."
"Jim! We're not! I know we're not."
Soon enough, pancakes and Jimmy Stewart movies became the ultimate apology combination. When he forgot to pick her up from the gym and she had to walk home in the rain - chocolate chip and The Philadelphia Story. When she implied his sister was a slut for dating two guys at once - banana and It's a Wonderful Life. When they started arguing about whether or not they wanted to live in Scranton forever - first, they ran into each other in the kitchen, and then it was blueberry and Vertigo.
Since the pregnancy, we've started ordering in only on Wednesdays. On the weekends, we'll eat out whenever, but during the week, we try not to, except Wednesdays. He can't cook very well and neither can I, but we try to most nights. It's fun, and we've both been getting better. Well, at least, I have. And it's cheaper, because for twenty dollars worth of groceries, you can get about five meals for two people, but twenty bucks is what you'd normally spend on one meal. Not that Jim cares about money. "Oh, yeah, let's buy the more expensive paint, because I like this 'island banana' color better." You know what, Jim? Our baby is not going to care what color his (or her!) walls are, so let's get the nice, cheap white, and save money for things we'll actually need like diapers... and food.
She likes Chinese food; I hate it. Last Wednesday we got some weird rice thing and it made me sick - her fault. She even admitted it! But I bet it won't stop her from trying to get Chinese this week. Why can't we just get Italian? We both love it and it makes her so... cuddly. Aren't carbs supposed to be good for hormonal women? Maybe in the future, when we're not on the verge of bankruptcy, we'll go to Rome or Tuscany or something and she'll love it so much we'll get Italian every Wednesday. But I guess if we had enough money to go to Italy, we'd have enough to get whatever kind of food we wanted - not just the Wonton Wednesday Wonder Deal at Wok World (that's why we picked Wednesdays, by the way).
He's in an old t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms. She's in a lavender camisole and boxers. His hair is wet from the shower; hers frizzy from a long day.
"I know I should leave it on so I get used to it, but it's just so weird," he says, twisting his wedding band with his thumb.
"It doesn't bother me," she says plainly, glancing down at her left hand and smiling.
"Yeah, but you've had practice. This is new for me."
"Hm, maybe you shouldn't have gotten married then."
"I know," he groans and then grins, meeting her eye. "Seriously, what was I thinking?"
She sighs, and puts her hands behind her neck to twist the clasp of a thin gold chain so she can see it. It makes her slightly crosseyed to unhook the two ends, and she is doing it so intently that he can't help but chuckle inwardly at the sight.
"Give me it," she demands, extending her palm.
He pauses for a second, confused. Assured by her expectant smile, he slips off his band and places it in her palm, his fingers brushing her cool skin. She proceeds to take hers off as well, and strings the two through the chain. He watches in silence as she rehooks the clasp and lets the rings fall somewhere behind the line of her camisole.
"I'll keep them with me every night," she says, catching herself off guard. Her voice came out a lot more seductively than she intended. "So, uh, it doesn't bother you."
He kisses her on the corner of her mouth. "Fine by me," he says, tracing his forefinger along the necklace. Her eyes flutter closed as he reaches the dip in her cleavage and kisses her shoulder softly. He lingers there for a moment, a moment slightly long for a romantic pause. She quickly realizes he can't reach the rings and smiles.
"You'll get it back in the morning, I promise."
"All nice and warm, too."
From then on, they take off their wedding rings at night.
