Leaving Roy had been hard. In the beginning there were times when she would go to bed early and lay there and cry, not necessarily missing him, but missing those ten years. Those ten wasted years. She would cry, and it wouldn’t be long before Jim was lying beside her, his arms encircling her, whispering in her ear that it would be okay. He’d let her cry—he always let her cry, and when she was done she would say something to explain, like, “I wasted ten years of my life with him.” And he would tell her no, she hadn’t. Being with Roy had led her to him, how could that possibly have been a waste?
And it was true. Because if Roy hadn’t gotten the job at the warehouse and noticed there was an opening for a secretary upstairs, she would have never quit her previous job and applied at Dunder-Mifflin. Secretary work was secretary work, but the paper company was offering a higher salary, better benefits (shockingly), and they’d save money on gas with both of them working at the same place. It was the perfect set-up.
So Roy had indirectly led her to Jim.
She likes to remember him on that day, when she first set foot in the office. He was funny and polite—nicer than the other people there. And she assumed that it was because it was her first day. Because she was the new girl. But day after day he sought her out, having lunch with her, joining her at reception and joking about Dwight. And joking had turned into playful pranks and admittedly, some not-so-playful ones. And day after day, he smiled at her. Talked to her. Laughed with her.
She knew from the beginning that he was harboring a secret crush for her. Saw it in his eyes sometime around her second day there. She hadn’t mentioned Roy, hadn’t worn an engagement ring at that time (they were still saving for one), and in hindsight she knew that she probably led him on. Played along and joked until she felt it getting too close. So at the end of her first week there she asked Roy to come upstairs when he was ready to leave. And she saw Jim’s fallen face when Roy came around the corner and kissed her.
The next week she noticed a sharp change in Jim’s behavior. He abruptly stopped having lunch with her, left his trips to reception to only what was necessary and business related, and even stopped smiling at her so much. She expected it. Had known that he would step back once he knew Roy was in the picture—he was just that kind of guy. And she would come home from work depressed, because her job was killing her and there was nothing to look forward to. And she felt a little guilty. But she would tell herself that it was only because she missed hanging out with her new friend and not so much because of the few nights she had dreamt of him, woken up and felt the need to wake Roy up, too.
She realized it was the thrill of meeting someone new and in a few days she was over it. And then she was the one seeking him out, inviting him to eat with her, trying to come up with pranks to pull on Dwight (she wasn’t nearly as clever as he was), trying anything at all to get him to smile at her again. And gradually he warmed to her, and they were back to their normal ways. He never mentioned Roy, never willingly talked about him. But he would always listen to her—always. And she knew it hurt him anytime she brought up the wedding, anytime she talked about what they had watched on TV the previous night, anytime she mentioned their plans for the upcoming weekend. But he would always listen.
She knew that it was a little mean of her to do it, but there was something about the way he looked at her during those times that she liked and that would justify it for her.
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Her years at Dunder-Mifflin all blend together, but there are some days that still stick out in her memory. Sometimes she likes going through the teapot Jim gave her that one Christmas, because those are her favorite reminders. He sees her looking through it on rainy afternoons sometimes, and he blushes and says, “I’m such a sap,” and then he joins her cross-legged on the floor to reminisce.
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There’s the old U2 tape stuck in there because she had mentioned one time that it had been the first tape she had ever bought with her own money—age ten. He laughed at her when she mentioned the crush she had had on Bono, teased her mercilessly—wore dark sunglasses one year for Halloween. And sometimes when she was driving by herself, she would pop that tape in and sing along to all the songs she knew by heart.
The old hot sauce packet always makes her smile when she remembers the time she mistakenly put it on a hot dog. Jim had looked at her strangely as she drizzled it on there, a half smile playing on his lips. And she asked, “What?” but he only shook his head and watched her as she took a bite, her face contorting as she tasted the hot sauce, both their eyes watering—hers from pain, his from laughter.
But she always looks at the pencil last, because it’s from the last day before the cameras came. They went mini-golfing that afternoon, in ‘celebration’. Pam was less excited than everyone else, actually dreaded the cameras coming, because she hated the thought of people watching her. She and Jim walked off together in search of some peace away from Michael’s obnoxious boasting and Dwight’s persistence that the cameras were most likely Office Depot spies.
Jim teased her about losing to him, “And all that trash you talked, Beesly,” and she feigned irritation, turned and threw the pencil at him, hitting him square in the chest. And he cocked his head to the side and said, “Wow, you are such a poor sport,” and she denied it vehemently. He laughed as he bent down and picked up the pencil, slipping it into his pocket as he stood.
But it wasn’t long before things fell silent, like they often did when the two of them were alone, and she asked him what it would be like once the cameras were there. “Different,” he had said, and she had understood him completely. And that was the first time he had turned to her, looked at her with that desire in his eyes, burning to tell her something—anything.
And that was the first time she had given an excuse and walked away, because she didn’t trust the way her heart was pounding.
Once the cameras came, things were different. Michael toned up his buffoonish qualities, Dwight toned down his normal ones, and they got a new guy—a supposed temp.
But besides the obvious, not many people noticed the difference between Jim and Pam. For the first few weeks, it was just like three years prior when Jim had found out that Pam was engaged. They stopped hanging around each other so much, stopped goofing off. And once again Pam went home every night depressed, looking forward to the long weekends when she and Roy would drive to her parents house for a barbecue, and she could complain to her mother about how horrible the cameras were. And her mother would nod knowingly, like mothers do, and ask about Jim.
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She still likes going to her mother’s house on long weekends. Her family loves Jim, and he loves them in return. Sometimes she catches him alone in her old room, looking through the boxes of her things. He stumbles upon her old artwork from time to time, and she likes standing in the doorway and watching him trace his fingers along it, a small smile on his face. She tells him it’s not that great, but he just kisses her, tells her it’s his new favorite, and later begs her mother to let him take it home. She always says yes, and the ‘new’ artwork hangs on their refrigerator, making it seem like there’s a five-year-old child living in the house.
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But soon things went back to normal and she stopped finding reasons to complain to her mother about the cameras. But it wasn’t long before Jim and Pam had another rift between them, this time in the shape of a beautiful redhead named Katy.
She was prettier than Pam, as had been pointed out, and although Pam’s insecurities were heightened around her, Pam was enjoying laughing with Jim at Dwight making a fool of himself. But then she watched Jim leave with her, and she felt something gnawing at the pit of her stomach, something that felt a bit green.
And the summer had been miserable for her as she watched him leave in a hurry each evening to go home and change. She listened to him recount his dates to her at lunch—the funny thing Katy had said, the story Katy had told about her grandmother who stole things, the way Katy had accidentally tipped the waiter twenty dollars for a fifteen dollar meal.
In the fall, he was still seeing her but his lunch time tales were getting to be fewer and fewer until they just about stopped altogether. And sometimes things were like before, and she would catch him staring at her with a blank look on his face. And he started walking out to the parking lot with her again, no longer rushing out the door and being the first one to drive off in his car. And she felt special again, like Katy was his girlfriend but she was his best friend.
And when the Dundies rolled around, he showed up without a date and she was thrilled.
But Roy wanted to leave, he hated Chili’s and figured since they weren’t even getting free drinks, he might as well go where he liked. So Pam frowned at Jim, mouthed a goodbye and left. But her fury grew as she walked out to the parking lot and she convinced herself that she wanted to stay because she was tired of Roy doing things without even asking her.
When she was back inside, she downed Jim’s beer, and she liked the look of surprise that was on his face.
And when Michael called her name she felt sick, just knowing she would get the World’s Longest Engagement award again and it would serve to remind her that she was in a relationship that was going nowhere for the rest of her life. But she didn’t get that award, and when she ran back to her seat, all she saw was Jim and it wasn’t hard to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him.
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Sometimes Jim has to go out of town on business trips and she misses him so much that she spends the days doing nothing but moping around. She waits for him at the airport and her heart leaps when she sees him coming. He’s always visible in the crowd, a head taller than everyone else, and the smile breaks across her face as she runs to him, throws her arms around his neck and kisses him. He just laughs and asks, “Missed me much?” And there’s nothing she can do but kiss his face all over.
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Roy never made her dinner, he always claimed he didn’t know how to cook, that he burned everything he touched. And she believed him. Believed that unless she wanted a crispy dinner, she should be the one who cooked it. She and Roy would laugh about his lack of cooking skills, the Easy Mac that would come out of the microwave all hard and shriveled, the tube of cookie-dough that would turn into hardened black bits. It was something of a joke between them that over time got less and less funny.
When Jim made her a grilled cheese sandwich and they sat together on the roof, she realized just how unfunny it was that Roy couldn’t cook. After all, she hated cooking. Was she just supposed to grin and bear it for the rest of her life? And she felt guilty then because Roy couldn’t cook, but that wasn’t his fault. Relationships were supposed to be about compromises, and she convinced herself that cooking would be one of hers.
She hated to admit it, but she often liked the times she was mad at Jim. It made him human almost—like he was capable of doing mean things like the rest of the world. And when he mentioned Roy leaving her at the hockey game, she was furious because how dare he? He had no right to intrude on her life like that. It was none of his business. Sometimes he could be so arrogant, acting as though he never did anything wrong.
And it took her two days to realize that he wasn’t like that at all. He wasn’t the least bit arrogant, and maybe his faults always seemed so magnified because she put him too high up on a pedestal and that made the fall a thousand times farther.
So by lunch, she forgave him. Nudged a snack pack of Jell-O across the table to him as a peace offering. They shared it, and laughed at Dwight’s singed eyebrows from the fireworks, and never said a word about what had happened. Because between the two of them, forgiving always meant forgetting.
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There are some days when they have a fight, and they both go storming to different parts of the house. She always crawls into bed and hears him running the vacuum downstairs and knows that when she goes down there later, it will be spotless. Sometimes she cries, but other times she’s too mad, and she just lies there until she calms down. And later she hears him at the door, feels him crawl into bed with her, and his hand touches her and it takes her seconds to snuggle close to him. They save the apologies for later, because maybe they haven’t completely forgiven each other, but they lie there together and even though it’s the middle of the afternoon they fall asleep.
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When Roy finally set a date for the wedding, Pam was ecstatic because she had been beginning to second-guess herself. Marrying Roy had always seemed like the right choice—the only choice. But if he wasn’t willing to set a wedding date, what else would he not be willing to do? Support a new career for her? Have kids when she wanted them?
But Roy pulled through for her once again, showed her that he was reliable—good ol’ solid Roy. When he said June tenth, Pam’s stomach flipped over and the tears sprung to her eyes. All she wanted was to run to him and kiss him and never doubt him ever again. Forgotten was her conversation with Jim on the deck. Forgotten was the way he had stared at her—wanting to say something, but the words just failing him completely. Forgotten because she was so happy all she could picture was herself in a long white wedding dress, her parents grinning from their seats, and Roy looking sharp as ever in a tux.
And she didn’t think about Jim on the deck for a few days. Not when she and Roy called in sick the next morning, and didn’t leave the house once. Not when she ordered pizza Saturday night, and the guy that delivered was tall with hazel eyes so piercing she had to look away. And not when she returned to work on Monday and saw Jim himself smiling sadly at her. It wasn’t until lunch when Jim had paused mid-sentence that she was reminded of how he had wanted to say something to her, right before Roy set the date.
But she didn’t mention it because she was so happy.
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In the evenings they go for walks, and they pass a church where a wedding has just ended, the bride and groom running happily down the stairs. Jim turns to her, and he has that look, that look that she has happily come to recognize, and she instantly reads his mind. “One day,” she says with a smile, and he grins back at her because that’s good enough for him.
She likes talking about the future with him, and sometimes they stay up all night and do just that. He mainly listens to her—listens to all her hopes and dreams, nodding his head occasionally, telling her how wonderful she’ll be. And she loves the reassurance she gets from him, because he believes in her, believes she can do anything in the world.
And she asks him about his dreams, what he wants to do with his life. And right before he kisses her he tells her that he has no dreams except for the one right before him.
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Pam thought Jim could never do anything worse than going to Australia two days before her wedding. She thought that that was as low as he would stoop. But complaining to Toby about how she was planning the wedding at work was so heartbreakingly worse that she began to resent him a little. She thought they were friends, and unless she missed something and they were in fact eight years old, friends didn’t tell on each other.
But she could only be mad for so long before she started feeling a little guilty. Because maybe she was planning her wedding at work because of the way it drove Jim mad. Maybe she liked the way he left the room or pretended to be focused on something else whenever she mentioned anything about flowers, dresses, or veils. Maybe she liked getting back at him for all the times he made her doubt herself with Roy.
And maybe it was a little vindictive of her, but she didn’t care. Everyday her wedding got a little closer, she felt the wedge between the two of them push them a little farther apart. And she hated it because after all, he was her best friend. Her best friend.
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They go grocery shopping every Thursday night, and Jim always pushes the cart, his tall frame bent awkwardly over it. He begs her for Fruity Pebbles and Cheez-its and Fudge Rounds and sometimes she gives in and watches as he throws them giddily into the cart. She stares at the bottles of catsup and ketchup and says, “You know, I could never tell the difference,” and he rolls his eyes, smacks her bottom playfully and replies, “You’re lucky you’re cute.” He stands behind her, and his arms go around her waist and he whispers to her, “You know, I love you more than anything in the world,” and she leans against him for a moment before whispering back, “Then put back the Fudge Rounds.”
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She stumbled blindly up the stairs and into the office, ignored her phone—which was closest--and headed straight for Jim’s. It took her three tries to dial her mom’s number, and her hands were shaking so badly that she was afraid she would drop the phone. She told her mom about his confession, how he was in love with her, and how she hadn’t known what to say.
She knew it was her fault for leading him on. She had known time and time again that she was doing it—right from the first day they had met. But she liked the attention he gave her, she liked the way he looked at her, she liked how he was so thoughtful, so giving, so funny, so wonderful…
And when her mother asked, “Well, are you in love with him?” she found it so natural to say, “Yeah, I think I am.”
He turned the corner then, and she hurriedly hung up with the phone, promising to call back later. And as he walked towards her, she immediately saw that there was something different about him. He was a man with a purpose.
And he kissed her and kissed her, all warm and tender and exactly everything she had ever imagined a kiss with him would be like. And she pulled her hands away from his hair, reluctantly pulled away from him and said something inaudible about the cameras.
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She thinks of that kiss a lot--their first real kiss, as she likes to call it. It put everything in motion, and now here they are, feeling like it’s the most natural thing in the world to be laying on the couch together watching a crappy movie on a Saturday evening. And it is the most natural thing, because a part of her had known--since the first day they met until the kiss that changed her whole life--that being with Jim is what’s right and real and perfect.
She turns and looks at him, a smile playing on her face and he asks her what she’s thinking. She tells him, and just like that he’s kissing her hurriedly, urgently, arms wrapping around her and making her feel like she’s so delicate, so breakable, ready to shatter into a million pieces with one more kiss…
They decide to go to bed early but they don’t even make it up the stairs and she’s not surprised when she wakes up the next morning on their living room floor.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Spoilers are for the entire series.
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.
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.
bright red shirt is the author of 6 other stories.
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