She felt as if she were sifting through old memories.
Her apartment with Roy was much the same as it had been years ago, before she'd left him — the furniture was all in the same place, the flat screen television still took up most of the living room, and the washing machine still sounded like a dying donkey. Worse still, Roy hadn't done much to clean it lately, and her nose scrunched up at the sight of mud stains grounded into the carpet, a fine layer of dust over her bookshelf, and dirty dishes in every available space in the kitchen.
It reminded her of the time she'd spent a week on a cruise with the only two friends from high school she kept in contact with. Roy hadn't wanted her to go, but as Marissa was offering to pay, he only protested so much.
When she'd returned with a tan, gushing over the best week she'd had in years, she'd found the apartment in much the same state it was now.
"It's good to be home, isn't it?" Roy asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "God, I'd be okay with never going to a hospital again, you know?" She might have nodded, she wasn't sure — she hadn't really been paying attention. He kissed her temple. "So you need anything or . . . ?"
She glanced up at him, frowning slightly. "The game is on," he went on in explanation, "so if you maybe want to get settled in again and I'll just be. . . ."
"Sure," she said, pulling away from him. She gave a tight smile. "Sure."
He smiled. "Thanks, Pammy."
"Don't." He frowned, and she took a steadying breath, forcing herself to stay calm. "Don't call me Pammy," she clarified quietly. "Please."
"Okay," he said. "I didn't know it bothered you."
"It does. I've told you that before." He only stared at her, and she turned away from him. She couldn't deal with this. "Enjoy your game." He didn't reply, but about the same time she reached the bedroom, she heard noise from the television.
She had been released from the hospital after three weeks, and as frustrating as it had been lying in a bed all day, it was almost worse to come home to this. And on the car ride home, Roy had asked her when she felt she'd be ready to go back to work.
She told him soon. She wasn't actually ready to go anytime soon, but it was the only way she could see Jim. She hadn't seen him since his one and only visit, and it was almost as if he were haunting her — the more time passed, the more she found her every thought directed to him, to what he was doing and thinking and whether or not he was coming and if he were there, what would he be doing? Saying?
It was kind of ridiculous, really, and if this were all a dream, she could imagine how he would laugh at her when she described it to him the next morning.
"And I would be imagining you in all the conversations I was having and everybody was thinking I was crazy," she'd say.
He'd grin and tell her, "So what your saying is that your dream self is even more obsessed with me?"
But it wasn't a dream. There was no waking up and finding him lying right beside her. Pam sunk down onto her bed, her fingers tracing the plaid design of the old comforter she had bought at Target years ago. It had some sort of stain on it, some old one she vaguely remembered being upset about.
She lay back, staring up at the fan ceiling slowly spinning. This wasn't a life. She needed a life. She couldn't do this.
She needed to leave Roy.
She needed to get Jim back. Except she'd never had him, so she wouldn't be getting him back, just getting him in the first place. That wouldn't be hard, would it? She knew he loved her. Her mind flashed to berry yogurt and office Olympics and a teapot with a dorky yearbook photo.
Yes, he loved her. She'd cling to that, and somehow — somehow — she'd make the rest work out.
Pam took a deep breath as she reached the top of the stairs.
She had taken them instead of the elevator so she could prolong her entrance. But it really only gave her an extra minute, and there she was, about to face her crazy co-workers. And see Jim. She straightened up and pushed the door open.
The usual office sounds greeted her, and she forced herself not to look around as she made her way to the reception desk. It looked slightly different than she remembered, with things in different places than she'd always kept them. Roy said they'd found a temporary replacement for her, as Michael had refused to hire someone permanently. "Scott actually did something right," Roy had said.
Pam's mind flittered to her brief stint as a saleswoman while she put her purse on her desk and slipped off her coat. "Michael!" Dwight yelled, and Pam's head snapped in his direction. "Michael, she's here!" Dwight disappeared into Michael's office.
Pam had an instant in time to glance at Jim, to meet his gaze, and something inside her warmed at the amused grin that danced across his face in that single instant. The next thing she knew, Michael was coming towards her. "Pamela! Over here, come over her!" He waved his hand at her, directing her to come out from behind the desk.
"Everybody!" Michael shouted to the office, and Pam watched her co-workers turn to her, various kind smiles on their faces. "Look over here! Our Pam is back! This is an epic moment. We knew you would return, didn't we? Well, I knew. I knew." Michael beamed at her.
"Thanks, Michael," she murmured.
"Welcome back, Pam," said Phyllis, and others echoed her, calling out greetings and giving warm smiles, and Creed even looked mildly interested.
"And, okay, that nurse of yours," Michael went on, "she was awful. Every time I tried to see you, she stopped me. But she's not here now, is she? And wait, wait, come here —" He grabbed her arm and started dragging her towards the conference room.
"Wait, Michael," Angela called. "It's not ready yet!"
"Ta-da!" Michael trilled, presenting the conference room to Pam with a dramatic flourish. There was banner hanging that read Welcome Back Pam! and two balloons. Michael frowned. "This is it? Where's the food? I said you should get an ice cream cake, with a layer of mashed up oreos. I saw it in —"
"We didn't have time," Angela insisted, crossing her arms over her chest. "We'll have it by this afternoon."
"It's okay," Pam insisted.
"No, okay, no, it's not okay. You're supposed to feel welcome, and this — this is not welcoming. Ice cream cake is welcoming," Michael said, looking genuinely distressed. Pam found herself comforted by the familiarity of it.
"You're right, ice cream cake is welcoming," Jim said. He had swivelled in his seat to face where they were gathered at the entrance of the conference room. Pam cherished the excuse to look straight at him, and her eyes feasted on his casual, relaxed sprawl in the seat. "But you know what else is?"
"What?" asked Michael.
Jim looked at Michael, all seriousness. "A hug. From you."
"You know, Jim, you're right," Michael agreed. Pam barely had time to give Jim an outraged looked that clearly expressed, 'you're mean' before Michael had his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to face him.
"Welcome, Pam," he said.
"That's really nice, Michael, but you really don't have to —"
He hugged her. "Welcome home," he said. "I've missed you so much! Sally, your replacement — she was terrible. She didn't understand me at all." She patted his back awkwardly. Damn it, Jim.
"You can let go now," Pam told him. It took him a few moments. It was going to be a long day. But as she walked back to her desk, she saw Jim smirking at her, and she shook her head at him, mentally swearing revenge. He only grinned.
A couple of minutes later, he approached her desk, momentarily saving her from the ten thousand e-mails she was attempting to work her way through. "No jelly beans?" he asked.
"I'll get some tonight," she replied, smiling shyly. Would it be inappropriate to climb up on her desk and throw herself at him?
"You better." He rapped his knuckles on the desk. "Welcome back, Beesley."
"Thanks," she replied softly. He was already heading back to his desk.
The day went by excruciatingly slow
A little before lunch, Kelly launched herself at Pam, screeching and squeezing the life out of her before demanding to know why no one had told her Pam was back. She had gushed on and on, trying to fill Pam in on everything she had missed.
Toby had kindly brought her some flowers, shrugging and saying he hoped they would brighten her day. Kevin had also wanted to know when the jelly beans would return. Michael continually stopped by to talk to her, his conversations ranging from his mom's new boyfriend to what it felt like for her to have a near death experience.
It was very, very normal.
At lunch, she and Jim sat together. He made easy conversation, drinking his grape soda and eating his ham sandwich, smiling and laughing and teasing her, but even as familiar as it was, it was so achingly wrong, because she knew what was missing.
She had also begun to analyse every word he said and every move he made, and it was, unsurprisingly, a lot of work.
The highlight of her day was probably when Michael wanted to have a conference about getting an office pet. He wanted something exotic. He had printed off all sorts of animal pictures. "Michael, come on, that's a lion," protested Toby. "Don't you think this is a little ridiculous?"
"First of all, that is a lioness, and second of all, nobody likes you, so why don't you just go jump off the roof?" Michael replied, making a face at Toby, who audibly sighed.
Pam tuned out most of the hour long meeting. She was sitting next to Jim, and her knee barely brushed his. What would it mean if she grabbed his hand? Would he tense and pull away? Would he look at her in surprise? Would it give her the clue she needed to confirm that he did, in fact, love her, just as in her dream?
"Hey," Jim murmured into her ear, surely about to say something witty about whatever was happening, whatever she had missed while she was trying to gather the courage to touch her hand to his. She automatically turned towards him, and her nose brushed his cheek.
He pulled away. "Sorry," he said immediately. He never said what he'd intended to, and she hated the look on his face, the apology. Her chest constricted a little. He wasn't supposed to pull away from her. Ever. He wasn't supposed to apologise.
She started to say something, anything.
"Hey, Jim, Pam, come on! This is a group activity. It needs group participation!"
She said nothing. And she never did grab his hand.
But she kept her knee pressed to his.
That was something, right?
Roy came up to collect her as the day drew to a close. "How was you first day back?" he asked. She shrugged. "Yeah, well, I'm sure you'll get back into the hang of things soon." He smiled, leaning forward and pecking her lips before she could pull away. "Let's go."
Her eyes flickered to the back of Jim's head. He wasn't facing her.
"Pam, let's go," Roy repeated. She nodded, grabbing her purse from under the desk. Roy was already out the door, leaving her momentarily by herself as she buttoned her coat.
"Bye, Jim," she called out. He turned towards her and gave a small smile.
"Night, Pam." She must have stood too long, staring at him as if he would suddenly leap up, wrap his arm around her waist, and they would go home together. "You okay?" he questioned.
"Fine," she muttered. "I'm fine."
He smiled and turned back to his computer.
She left. In the car, she pressed her forehead to the glass of the passenger side window.
How did she do this? What happened first?
She hadn't been alone like this in years. She'd gotten use to having Jim around, to being able to talk to him about anything and everything, to taking comfort in what he thought. He was always supportive of her, he always let her make her own choices, but he was also always there. It might be wrong, but she seemed to have lost the ability to function without him.
She made dinner that night for the first time since she'd awoken in the hospital. Instead of having Jim sitting on the counter, trying to help, offering to make the salad, or simply trying to entertain her, she was alone. Roy was watching TV in the next room.
Feeling rebellious, she made home-made macaroni and cheese, steak, and peas with too much bacon. It was Jim's favourite meal. Roy liked it. She wished he didn't. He spent most of dinner talking about the poker game Darryl was holding that night.
"Wait, it's tonight?" she asked, finally having listened to a full a sentence he said.
He paused, slowly lowering his fork. "Is that okay? 'Cause I mean, I can stay home, if you really want. I mean, if you need me to stay home, I can."
She cleared her throat. "No. It's fine. Go." She smiled tightly. "Have fun."
"Great, babe. You can go get yourself something pretty at the department store with some of my winnings, how's that sound?" He grinned at her as if he were the greatest fiancée in the world and turned back to his dinner.
When he was gone, she pilled the dishes in the sink. She couldn't be bothered with cleaning them. Before she could stop herself, the emptiness of the apartment making her go crazy, she picked up the phone and dialled the cell number she knew by heart.
After three rings, he picked up. "Hello?" He didn't recognise the number. Had she ever called him from this phone before? No. They had only ever been co-workers for all those years. She called them friends, but no, they were co-workers. She had barely ever seen him outside of the office. "Hello?" he repeated.
She abruptly hung up. What was she going to say? She took a calming breath, tilting her head back so it rested against the wall as she cradled the phone to her chest. What was she doing? This was ridiculous.
She needed to talk to him. He would help her figure everything out.
Her fingers only shook a little as she called him again. "Hello?" She opened her mouth to say something. Nothing came out. "Who is this?" Jim asked. "How did you get my cell number?"
"You gave it to me," Pam replied. There. That was something.
"Pam?" He was surprised.
"It's me," she said. It was quiet.
"Are you okay?" His voice was concerned. That made her heart ache. "Did something happen?"
"No, no I'm . . . nothing happened, but I — I'm not okay." She bit down on her lip, tears beading suddenly in her eyes. Why did she have to be such a girl? She wasn't even pregnant anymore (and she never had been).
"What —?" His voice cut off and she could hear another voice buzzing in the background. "Just a minute, Pam," he said. The other voice spoke again, slightly muffled. But it was a girl's voice. He was with a girl. Her stomach churned. Oh, God. "Pam?" he asked. "You still there?"
"Yeah, but I, um, I have to go."
"Wait, what's going on? Do you need me to come get you from somewhere or something —?"
"No, no, I'm fine. Really. I shouldn't have called. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Pam —"
She hung up the phone. She wiped hastily at her eyes. Why couldn't she go back to sleep and wake up where she belonged — with Jim and her baby and in a life that was so utterly right?
She took a long shower that night, standing under the hot water with her mind wandering to everyday moments with Jim, to him showering her with gifts on Valentine's Day as if to make up for all the Valentine's Days Roy gave her nothing. She wasn't sure why her mind sticks to that.
She tried watching jeopardy. It wasn't as fun without Jim.
She took out her drawing paper. She put it back away.
She went to bed at 9:47. At 10:13, she was still staring at the ceiling.
Roy stumbled in past midnight, jolting her awake from whatever restless sleep she'd fallen into. She sighed, turning over in the bed and letting her eyes flicker shut again as he pounded around the kitchen, turning on lights and probably making a mess.
He came into the bedroom, muttered something under his breath, and disappeared into the bathroom. When he re-emerged and climbed back into bed, his arms went around her in an instant. "Are you awake?" he asked. His breath was thick and warm and smelt of beer. "Pammy, are you awake?"
"I don't want to be," she muttered back.
His hand slipped under her shirt. Her eyes flew open and she pulled away from him. "Aw, c'mon," he protested. "It's been so long."
She took a deep breath. There was no way in hell anyone other than Jim was ever touching her again. She might not have found the way to break things off with Roy yet, found a way simply to deal with everything, but she knew she would, and nothing was going to happen. "It's late."
"It's not that late," he pushed, his face leaning towards her. She nearly shoved him aside.
"I said no, Roy. Not tonight." Not ever.
He groaned, falling back on the sheets. "Well, can you at least help me out?"
"No."
"Pam!" She climbed off the bed, grabbing a pillow and disappearing into the living room. She had no problem sleeping on the couch. "Damn it, Pam!" he yelled after her. "Don't be pissy! I wasn't out that late!"
She didn't respond, and he didn't bother her again.
When she awoke the next morning, there was a crick in her neck, and her cheeks were sticky and salty. Roy was a little hung over, and he didn't say anything to her as she made breakfast. He'd probably already forgotten, most likely having fallen asleep minutes after she left him. They drove to work in silence.
She couldn't do another night of this, another day of this, another minute of this.
It was time to do something to make it right.
To Be Continued . . .
