Jim Halpert was getting pretty good at lying to himself.
Lie number one: He didn’t miss drinking grape soda. Bottled water was perfectly fine. Clear and flat tasted just as good as sweet, purple and fizzy. And it was better for him.
Lie number two: He genuinely cared about selling paper. Card stock was truly interesting to him.
Lie number three: His relationship with Karen was actually going somewhere really good. All the late night talks were a sign of strong communication and honesty.
Lie number four: He was no longer in love with Pam Beesly. They were just friends. Co-workers. They were colleagues. Sure, he cared about her, but any decent person would care about someone with whom he’d worked for so many years.
And so, on a Tuesday in March, at about 11:30 in the morning, Jim sat at his desk and pored over expense reports, looking up to smile at Karen when he felt her eyes on him. He sipped from his bottle of water, and when the phone rang and Pam picked it up with her usual “Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam,” he only felt a slight drop in his stomach because he’d skipped breakfast and it was getting on lunch time soon.
But then she gasped. And he knew without turning around that she’d clapped a hand over her mouth. So when he turned toward her, he wasn’t surprised to see her wide eyed with, indeed, her right hand covering her lips.
Pam nodded rapidly a few times, saying “okay” and “yes.” She didn’t seem to notice him watching her, or if she did, she didn’t seem to care. She nodded again, saying “I’ll be there tonight,” and hung up, immediately rising from her chair and walking out of the office.
Dwight, blessedly, was out on a sales call, so no one noticed when Pam walked out. No one but Jim. And Karen, who was watching Jim watch Pam. He could feel her eyes on the back of his head the same way he could feel Pam’s when she stared at him from her desk.
So he knew Karen was watching him when he too got up and walked toward the door. The further he got, the more intensely he felt her eyes. But what did she expect him to do? Not check on Pam? He would check on Oscar, or Phyllis, or Angela.
Okay, maybe not Angela. But Angela was the tiniest scary person he’d ever met. Or maybe the scariest tiny person. One of the two.
But he’d check on anyone else, because it was the decent thing to do. And Jim was a decent guy.
He found her, as expected, in the stairwell. She was sitting with her back to the wall, her knees tucked under her, her forehead pressed into one palm.
She was crying. Not bawling or sobbing loudly, but whimpering quietly, her shoulders shaking a little.
“Pam?” He didn’t ask if she was okay.
She looked up, stared at him a moment. “My grandmother died,” she said simply.
Oh.
He slid down the wall so he was sitting next to her. Somewhere between his brain and his body, something just wasn’t connecting. He wanted to reach out to her, but he couldn’t make his hand move. He told himself he shouldn’t, then had to force himself not to.
Damn it.
Pam pressed her hand to her forehead again, crying softly as if Jim wasn’t there. He leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes and tried to relax. He turned off his brain and decided to let his body do what it wanted.
He breathed.
“Come here,” he heard himself saying as his arm reached up and around her shoulder, pulling her toward him.
Yes. Yes, that felt right.
She leaned her head on his shoulder, like she had the day she fell asleep on him in the conference room.
She didn’t bury her face in his chest. She didn’t sob harder. She didn’t clutch on to his shirt or tie.
She just rested her head on his shoulder.
She sniffled every now and then, but mostly it was quiet. Jim felt his rear getting numb but he didn’t move. Her curly hair tickled his neck. Neither of them said a word.
Minutes passed.
Then Pam spoke up.
“I want waffles.”
Story Notes:
I do not own "The Office." Or Jenna Fischer or John Krasinski. Or Jim or Pam. Or a bobblehead.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Wherein Jim lies. And lies. And lies. To himself. And Pam gets a phone call and has a strange desire.
Chapter End Notes:
Belgian waffles are wonderful. Just sayin'.
