Engaged Ain’t Married

Chapter 1: Jim

After I kissed Pam on Casino Night, I sat in my car in the Dunder Mifflin parking lot and cried like a baby. My first instinct was to go home and pack my bags for Stamford and that job Jan had promised me. I didn’t want to be here anymore. It had been bad enough watching Pam be engaged; I didn’t think I could handle seeing her married to someone else.

Married.

Jesus.

My second instinct was to go back inside the warehouse and get wasted, but as I wiped my eyes angrily with the backs of my hands, blew my nose on a handful of leftover McDonald’s napkins on the console, a miracle occurred: Pam emerged from the front door of the office building, looking as bad as I felt. Even in the security lights, I could see her blotchy face. She’d been crying too. Don’t get me wrong—the worst thing in the world is to see a woman cry, especially if you had something to do with it—but as selfish as it might seem, her obvious pain gave me hope.

I almost followed my third instinct and got out of the car to comfort her, but at the last minute, reason prevailed and I ducked down in my seat so she wouldn’t see me.  Pam was an honorable woman, which, of course, was one of the reasons I loved her so damn much. She’d given her word to Roy, so her first instinct had been to refuse me, to say that she valued our friendship, that she was sorry.

But her kiss hadn’t seemed like she was sorry.  She’d kissed me back.

When my hands had slid over her wrists, I’d felt her pulse fluttering wildly.  Her eyes had been wide with shock, and yes, come to think of it, desire. I’m certainly not an expert on women, but I know when a girl responds positively to what I’m doing. Her hands had been in my hair, and her breath had caught the moment our lips touched. Was I totally reading this wrong?

I’d been so overwhelmed by my own feelings, by my incredible disappointment, I hadn’t stopped to analyze how much her words had belied her actions, but I’d respected her decision and left. Seeing her as wiped out as I was, as outwardly upset after she rejected me, I wasn’t so sure marriage to Roy was what she wanted.  At the very least, she was torn.  And torn meant all was not lost.

Engaged ain’t married.

Never, ever, give up.

Michael Scott wasn’t exactly a love guru, but I’ll be damned if his advice from the Booze Cruise didn’t seem eerily relevant now.

“He’s right,” I said to my empty car.  “Oh my god.”

As I heard Pam’s car drive out of the lot, I sat up, started my car, and followed a good distance behind. It was late, and I felt compelled to see her home safely.

I’d hit her with a lot tonight, I realized. I’d confessed my love, kissed her for the first time (if you didn’t count the night of the Dundies). She needed time to process just as much as I did—more, even.  I’d taken her totally by surprise, and she’d told me what she knew she should, considering her fiancé.

You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.

Me too.

I replayed our conversation in my mind now, as the fog of hurt feelings began to lift.  How had I blocked out that little tidbit?

“Me too,” she’d said.  And then we’d established that neither of us was drunk, so no excuses there.

A happily engaged, sober woman didn’t want to kiss someone who wasn’t her fiancé.

So, I would let Pam sleep on this decision she’d made, give her some space to think. I would be in the office tomorrow, at my desk as usual, five feet away, and I was not going to give up until she was actually standing in a church saying I do to Roy Anderson.

I took a deep breath.

“Engaged ain’t married,” I repeated out loud. It was sounding better and better.

I had less than a month to turn things around, to convince her that I was the better man for her, that we belonged together. I’d heard her on the phone just before I kissed her. I was her best friend, she’d said; she hadn’t mentioned Roy. And by the way, how are you not best friends with your fiancé?

I watched from just down her street as Pam pulled into her driveway, watched as she got out of her car, wiping her eyes with a Kleenex, visibly pulling herself together before walking up to the front door and letting herself in. Did it physically pain me to know she was going inside to a man that wasn’t me? That she might be kissing him when her lips had been warm and sweet beneath mine just thirty minutes before?

Nothing was new about the answer to the first question, I guess; I’d been dealing with those images for years. As for the second, well, now I knew what I was missing, and the acuteness of that particular pain felt like a knife to my gut. But I know Pam, and no matter whether she stayed with Roy or not, she was still thinking about our kiss, and likely feeling tremendous guilt about it. It was up to me to be sure her guilt was for being with him, not for kissing me. 

Right then, I heartily accepted the challenge. “Oh, Beesly; it is so on.”

When her door was safely closed, I drove on past, a smile on my face.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx

I showed up for work a little early the next morning, anxious to see her. It wasn’t like I’d slept a wink last night anyway.  I knew that she and the camera crew were usually the first to arrive in the office. I had no idea what they had recorded of what happened between us last night, but I was sure that Pam would appreciate me playing it cool regardless.

Sure enough, she had just turned on her computer, and the doc crew was setting up when I walked in. She looked up at the door, startled at my arrival. I mustered my usual grin of good morning.  Didn’t want to scare her off.

“Hey,” I said softly, taking my usual place leaning on the reception desk.  See, I tried to convey, I’m okay. Are you okay?

She swallowed, her face flushing, and glanced nervously down before summoning the courage to look up and meet my eyes. That’s my girl. My heart began a heightened pounding.

“Hi,” she said.

“Sleep okay?”

“Not really.  It was a uh, late night,” she hastily added.  She didn’t want me to misinterpret anything else, I supposed.

“Yeah. I didn’t sleep much either.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Not your fault. I started it.”

I was hugely relieved when she smiled and blushed anew, then laughed nervously.  No matter what happened, there would always be this between us.

Since we were the only subjects in the office, I felt the camera suddenly focused on us. I took a deep breath, watched her eyes drop briefly to my mouth, then hastily back up to my eyes.  My heart gave a loud thump. Yes, I’m thinking about it too.

“I just want you to know,” I began softly, “I meant what I said last night, and I’m not going anywhere.”

She didn’t seem to know what to say, but I chose to take that as a good sign. Michael’s arrival took the attention partly off us, and the three of us got caught up in his usual silly banter, mainly about the success of the casino fundraiser. Michael in a good mood was a double-edged sword—it could be both amusing and painfully awkward for the rest of us. He’d had the attention of two women the night before, so his ego had gotten a good long stroking. He was primed and ready for the day. One by one, the rest of my coworkers arrived, and we were all feeling the dread of a Michael in rare form.

As distracting as he was, however, I couldn’t stop looking over at Pam, enjoying how she alternately cringed and laughed at our boss’s antics. I found that I was not in the mood to take on Michael or even Dwight, and I let jokes pass by me like cars on the interstate. Pam caught my eye a few times, and a new, even deeper intimacy relayed between us across the short distance.  And so went the morning.

I sat by her at one of the tables in the break room like nothing had changed, my usual ham and cheese tasteless in my mouth, while she picked at her salad.

“How are things at home?” I asked boldly, mindful of the others trickling in with their own lunches, or stopping at the vending machines.  And as always, the camera crew watched all of us.

“Okay.”

So, not wonderful, or better than ever. Just…okay.

The conversation around us turned to last night’s revels, complaints about money lost, laughter and teasing ensuing. Pam and I only halfheartedly joined in. Before I got up to throw away the remnants of my lunch, I risked a squeeze of her small hand resting on her knee beneath the table.  She only jumped a little, and her face turned pink, but she didn’t move her hand, and thankfully didn’t slap my face. I felt the soft fabric of her skirt just above where my palm rested. Her hand was cold, and what my fingers touched of her knee was hot. I tried not to find any deeper meaning in the contrast; instead, I stared at her face, willing her to meet my eyes.

“Jim,” she said quietly, inaudible above the chatter to everyone but me.  I couldn’t tell if she was admonishing me, encouraging me, or merely acknowledging me.  My thumb circled her knuckles.

When she met my eyes at last, I smiled at her with a confidence I didn’t completely feel, and with a last caress, stood up to head to the trash can. I’m guessing she was as shaken by the covert physical contact as I was. I found I was a little worked up, both emotionally and physically, so I left the breakroom and took the back stairs, jogging lightly around the building. When I came back to the office, everyone was back at work, including Pam.  She looked up from her computer curiously, met my eyes, but look hastily away.

I hated this awkwardness more than anything. I loved her and she knew it now. I felt like a weight had been lifted, but I was sad too that I might have ruined our friendship over this.  In my new quest to win her, I had to do something about that.

That afternoon, the camera crew caught me for a private interview in the conference room.

Producer: So, what’s up with you and Pam?

Me: What’s up with me and Pam? Nothing. Same old same old.

Producer: We saw you two last night in the parking lot. And then upstairs.

Me: Oh. Well then you heard she’s still marrying Roy. I took my shot. She made          her choice. What else can I do?

Producer: What about Stamford?

Me: I don’t know if I’m taking the job in Stamford.

Producer: Won’t it be hard to stay here now?

Me: Yes. But we’re both adults. What would that say about me if I ran away?

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the past, I had stood idly by (usually at Pam’s desk) and watched as Roy treated her like crap.  I’d listened on countless occasions as she’d recounted near tears something selfish he had done, something thoughtless or stupid. Why hadn’t I been a real friend and told her to get the hell out? I had told myself I was being supportive, respecting her decision to stay with that jerk, but to tell you the truth, I had mainly been scared to death. I’m not just talking about the fact that Roy would quite possibly kill me if he knew I was moving in on his girl; I was afraid of Pam’s rejection, pure and simple, with the added fear that I would lose her friendship. 

But kissing her had changed everything. If she hadn’t kissed me back, I’d be moving on. So, here we were. But if I was going to win her, I couldn’t just grab her and kiss her again, no matter how much I wanted to. I would have to step things up though, because time was definitely running out.

So, did I merely hover in front of Reception? No.  I went behind her desk, a position I only used to dare when something exciting was happening in the office.   I stood closer to her, took her hand more. Plotted and planned an elaborate new prank on Dwight with her.  When we had another pointless meeting in the conference room, I sat by her as usual, but was sure to press my knee to hers, “accidentally” brush my arm against hers, lean in to whisper a joke over something ridiculous Michael said, pleased when I felt her tense and shiver a little when my breath stirred her hair.

I didn’t mention the kiss, or my declaration, but it was definitely there between us, an amplified awareness that had once been easy to play down as friendship. I wanted her to be comfortable with me again, but not too comfortable, if you know what I mean. The ultimate test came when Roy came in at lunch time. This time, I didn’t scurry away from Reception; I stood my ground, looked him dead in the eye. His eyes narrowed, and his nostrils actually flared.  I felt the tension in Pam, but Roy said nothing about my proximity to her, and I found that I didn’t feel nearly as intimidated now that I felt I had a legitimate stake here.  On at least some level, Pam shared my feelings, I was sure of it; all the rest was just semantics.

The weekend came, and I did something else I rarely did: I texted her outside of work.  In the past, I’d respected that her homelife with Roy was off limits. I was fighting for our lives here though, so everything was fair game now.  “Engaged ain’t married” echoed in my brain. I guess it had become my official mantra.

Me: Hey, just wanted you to know that Legally Blonde is on channel 8.

Pam: Lol. No way.  Are you going to watch it?

Me: I will if you will.

Pam: You’ve already seen it though, right?

Me: It’s a chick flick, Beesly.

Pam: So yes?

Me: No. OK, yes.

Pam: Lol. I’m changing the channel to it right now.

Me: So, you’re sitting home on a Saturday night?

Pam: As are you, apparently.

Me: How do you know I’m not having a big party, and everyone suddenly wanted to watch a Reese Witherspoon romcom? Judgy much?

Pam: Yeah, ok.

Me: We’re doing each other’s hair and nails later.

Pam: Who’s we?

Me: Uh…Mark and I and his girlfriend.

Pam: I’d seriously pay big money to see that

Me: Come on over. You can pick the nail polish.

It seemed like an eternity for her to reply, while my pulse beat erratically. Too far, inviting her over like that? Five minutes, and her next text came through.

Pam: Sorry. Was saying goodbye to Roy.  He’s playing poker with the guys in the warehouse.

Me: You’re not going with him? I figured after last week, you were on a roll.

Pam: Yeah.

And there it was, another reminder of what had happened on Casino Night. Palms sweating, I took the plunge and called her. I mean, I’d crossed one invisible line tonight, and she was still talking to me…

“Hey,” she said, a note of surprise in her voice.

“Hi.  So, I have a question about this movie.”

She laughed--nervously? “What? We’re seriously going to analyze Legally Blonde? Are Mark and his girlfriend there?”

“No, they’re down in the living room.  I don’t think they’re watching much TV though—which is why I came upstairs.”

“You’re in your bedroom?”

“Yep.”

I knew she was thinking about when she’d been here before with me, the night of my barbecue. God knows imagining her here had kept me awake many nights since.  I bunched my pillows behind my head and dug in.

“So…what was your question?” she asked.

“My question is, do you think fake fur is gonna make a comeback in women’s fashion?  And if not, why the hell not?”

“That’s your question? Nothing about how society judges women by their clothes, or their hair, or if a woman’s self-worth should be based on whether a man wants her or not?”

“That’s what this is about?” I said dryly. “I thought it was about how hot Reese Witherspoon looks in a bikini.”

“Typical,” she tsked. “Obviously, you have not begun to plumb the depths of this movie. I’m so glad you called so I can open your mind to the misogynistic constructs of our male-centric society.”

I was trying very hard not to laugh, as I knew she was by the way her voice trembled a little toward the end of her erudite statement.

“Well, I guess I’ve come to the right place. Thank you, Pam. I’m anxious to get started on my re-education.” I did laugh then, and she followed suit.  “You know,” I said, a thought occurring, “I think Harry and Sally did this very same thing.”

A movie about best friends who later became lovers. I gotta say, a stroke of genius on my part, as far as planting subliminal messages goes.

“Only I think they watched Casablanca,” Pam was saying.  “Much as I love Legally Blonde, sort of an apples and oranges thing.”

“I don’t know, I see some similarities. I mean, between us and Harry and Sally.”

She was quiet a moment, absorbing what I meant.  “Jim—“ she began.

But I couldn’t stand her putting up walls again, or worse, ignoring what was between us.  “Pam,” I interrupted, “you kissed me back.” It just slipped out, I swear.

“It was wrong of me.  I’m engaged.”

I could hear Reese Witherspoon’s girly voice on her TV, echoing the one in my room.

“It didn’t feel wrong.  I can’t stop thinking about it, can you?”
“No,” she admitted softly.

“So, what are we going to do about it?”

“I told you; I’m marrying Roy. We can’t do anything about it.”

“We could if you let yourself. Why are you marrying him?” Jeeze, Halpert. Well, in for a penny…

“Because I promised; I made a commitment.”

“Huh, well I expected you to say because you love him, and you can’t imagine your life without him. That’s what I’d say if I had a fiancé.”

“Jim, please, you have to stop this.”

She was starting to get angry, but then, so was I. I took a few deep breaths, prayed quietly for strength. Last thing I wanted to do was to have to start from square one again, like I had last week.

“I’m sorry. I’m really not trying to upset you. I—it’s just—I—it’s frustrating, okay? You know how I feel about you. I don’t think I imagined how good it was between us, did I? Was it all in my head?  Because if you tell me there’s nothing there, I’ll back off. I don’t think I can stay here and watch you marry him, though.”

“Is that an ultimatum? If I marry Roy, you’ll just…leave?”

“No, it’s not like that. It’s not to hurt you. It would be self-preservation.”

She was quiet a moment, and when she spoke again, I could hear the tears in her voice. My own throat was getting tight with them.

“Where would you go?”

“Stamford. Jan already lined me up a job. With your wedding coming up, I had to make a backup plan. God, Pam, I don’t want to leave, I can’t imagine not seeing you every day, not laughing with you. It’s gonna kill me, but I don’t see another way, do you?”

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered.

“Then give me a reason to stay.”

I hadn’t planned to say all that, hadn’t planned to lay it all out there. When she didn’t reply, I rushed to fill the silence before she hung up or something.

“Look,” I backtracked, “can I come over, or can we meet somewhere? I really didn’t mean to get into this on the phone—”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

I hoped I knew, but I needed her to say it. “Why not, Pam?”

“Because…because you know what will happen if we’re alone.”

“What will happen?”

Yes, I was pushing her, and in my mind I was praying a nonspecific: please, please, please…

“God, Jim. I—I’m—I’m afraid I’ll—I’ll kiss you again.  There, I admit it. Are you happy now?”  I was, deliriously so, but she was crying for sure now, so I didn’t say that.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” I said instead, already jumping off my bed and scanning my floor for my shoes. I could barely focus now; my mind was racing and the pounding in my head was deafening. “Make that five if I—”

There was an involuntary bark of laughter on the other end of the phone at my obvious eagerness.

“No, don’t!  Please. You have to let me think now, okay?  I have to figure this out for myself.”

She sniffled, and I could hear her reaching for a Kleenex or something. Somewhat deflated, I sat heavily back on my bed.

We were both quiet now, save for her soft breathing. I was holding my breath.  Finally, I let it out in a rush, my free hand raking anxiously through my hair.  I was literally shaking as my adrenaline waned.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll let you think.  But while you’re weighing the pros and cons of this mess, remember what I said last week: I love you, Pam. You can’t even imagine how much.  This is totally it for me. And if there’s a chance that you—Jesus, Pam, don’t marry him. I should have said this before, but I was too chicken shit. If you feel the same way about me, you can’t marry him, you just can’t!”

Another heavy pause, then she said: “So much for letting me figure this out for myself.”

I laughed, relieved, though everything was far from resolved.  “Sorry. That was laying it on pretty thick. I’ll let you go now, unless you want to talk some more, or finish watching the movie together…”

“Tempting, but I meant what I said. I need to think, I can’t do that when I talk to you, or if I’m around you. I’ll see you on Monday, okay?”
“Okay…And hey…I love you.” It was getting easier to say every time.

“I—good night, Jim.”

I grinned. She’d almost said it.  “Night, Beesly.”

I ended the call and lay back on my bed, closing my eyes as I replayed our entire conversation in my mind. For the first time in a long time, I actually looked forward to a Monday. But damned if I didn’t watch the rest of that stupid chick flick, just to feel some pathetic connection to her.  And you know what? It was just as bad as I remembered it; I mean, really, really bad—not that I’d ever mention that to Pam.