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It's so easy to forget sometimes.

It's easy to forget when he calls her at noon and tells her that he's bringing clients home for dinner.  When she has to rush from work to stop at the store and hope to God she has enough time to pick up the clutter in the living room before they get there.

It's easy to forget when it seems to her he deliberately ignores her request to fix the garage door three weekends in a row.

It's easy to forget when he makes an offhand comment at dinner that, in her highly hormonal state, hits a little too close to home. 

It always surprises her - how easy it is.

They say when you go through something traumatic - that the pain eventually lessens.  And she knows that's what this is.  That's how sometimes she allows herself to forget what it was like - back then.

Back then, when he kissed her and she kissed him back, her lips saying one thing but her voice saying another.  Her answer to his question made him leave, back then, when she was too scared to call him after she called off her wedding, back then, when the words to convince him that she wanted to keep talking on the phone with him forever got lodged in her throat.

So now, after storming from the kitchen and slamming the bedroom door she sits on the edge of the bed and tries to remember.

She sits quietly, breathes in and out slowly.  She fights the urge to cry, she's not usually a crier but it seems she's like a faucet lately.  She holds a wad of Kleenex tightly in her fist and sniffles. 

She wants to throw something - she thinks it might make her feel better.  As she looks around the room she finds there's not much of a selection to choose from.  Her eyes fall on a series of framed pictures, a mishmash of memories too precious to destroy.  Nothing in this room seems at all disposable to her.

After a while - has it been ten minutes or twenty?  She's not quite sure.  After taking some time to calm herself crosses back to the bed, settles down and closes her eyes. 

And she begins to remember.

She remembers the first time they stood in the parking lot alone, back when it was simple, when they still pretended they shared nothing more than tastes in music. 

She remembers the second time, when he told her he loved her and she answered "I…can't."

She remembers the third time when he told her he'd moved on and she'd answered "You can do whatever you want."

And she remembers that every single time they'd been there alone she was lying.

She remembers what it felt like to be without him, what it felt like to call off her wedding, what it felt like to be too scared to move. 

In moments she's right back there, panicked and nauseous, watching him walk back inside with someone new.  Not someone who he had nothing in common with - but someone who would do a good job in making him happy.

She remembers how she'd decided to let him - how she decided that if she couldn't have him he should at least be happy - finally.

She remembers stepping back.  She remembers contemplating going back to her life as it was before.  She'd known, back then, that she could have.  Roy had still loved her, in his simple, uncomplicated way.  She remembers the exact moment she'd decided that she didn't want simple or uncomplicated.   She wanted more than that.

She hears the creak of the top step of the staircase.  She knows that he's trying to be quiet.  He doesn't want her to know that he's come up here to check on her.  She smiles in spite of it all.  He does that - every time.

She wants to go to the door and put them both out of their misery, but she needs a little more time.  More time to really remember where she could be right now - where they both could be.

Things could have ended up much differently.  She could still be living alone.  She could be living her life with the wrong person.  He could be living a life with someone else.  But something kept that from happening, something amazing.  And she remembers the day she finally took that last steadying breath and let go.

She'd imagined it so many times.  She thought it might have happened at Christmas, but it ended up being a day just like any other.  She found herself at the office late, typing an important letter.  He was there too, trying to close one last sale.  They finished at the same time.   For the fourth time, they wound up in the parking lot - alone.  And she remembers how they got there… 

They are silent in the elevator, standing a safe distance apart.  His hands are stuffed in his pockets.  Even now, after all this time he doesn't trust himself.

They walk toward the door.  Jim reaches it first pulls it open for her and she feels her heart break a little bit more.

"Thanks."  Pam whispers as she walks past.

"You're welcome." 

They walk towards their cars, parked conveniently side by side.

"You have any plans for the weekend?" Pam hears herself ask.  She's asking about both him and Karen but doesn't say her name.  She doesn't like to admit it - but she tries to avoid saying it whenever possible.

"Not really."  He shrugs in reply.

"You were kind of quiet today."  It dawns on her that he had been quiet all day.  Uncharacteristically so.

He averts his eyes. "Yeah. It's not a big deal - I'm just going through some stuff…"

"OK." She doesn't believe him but she doesn't want to push.  It's enough that it's almost normal - even if it's only for a moment.

"It'll work itself out."

"I hope so.  I don't like seeing you unhappy."

He blinks.  "Really?"

She blinks back.  "Of course."

"OK." He shakes his head, jingles his keys, and moves to open his car door.

She waits until his back is turned.  "You don't believe me?"

"No.  I believe you."  He looks over at her, then back towards his car.

His indifference infuriates her.  Why now, why she chooses this moment she's not quite sure.  Maybe because deep down she knows there's a window of opportunity here.  Her final chance to change things. 

"I don't want to ruin everything…"

"Huh?"

"I just…I want…"

He meets her eyes, challenges her.  "Pam?"

"I wouldn't bother to say it now.  Except I thought you were happy…"

She can't believe she's said it aloud.  She wants to take it back, but the words are out before she can catch them. 

"I am."  Jim insists a bit too defensively.  He's not happy - he and Karen aren't happy.  It wasn't working anymore and they'd both finally acknowledged it the night before.  It had become abundantly clear, no matter how he tried to hide it even now, months later, standing three feet away from her that she was still firmly rooted under his skin.

Pam doesn't know any of that - not for sure.  "Then fine."  She sighs.  "Goodnight Jim."

He can't seem to let her leave without asking.  "Pam.  Why do I get the feeling you're dying to tell me something?"

She doesn't know when exactly she decides to just be honest - but she does.  And it's scary, scarier than she'd ever dreamed it would be. Still it's a good scary.  The best scary.

"Because I am."

He faces her, his gaze unwavering. "Go ahead then."

"I don't want you to think you need to change anything.  I just want you to know that I'm sorry."

"Okay…"  He's baffled by her words.

"I realize now - what it felt like.  It's not fun.  You’re stronger than me.  You lasted a lot longer than I could."

"What are you trying to say?"

She's on a cliff, peering over the edge.  She stumbles, loses her balance and begins to fall.  Except it strangely feels almost like flying.

"Last year - when you left - I should have told you to stay."

Not now.  Not again.  He thinks desperately.  Instead he simply says her name, softly, pleadingly.

"Pam."

"When I didn't do that - I should have called you to tell you I wasn't getting married.  I should have made sure you knew the reason why."

There's the sound of a car driving past, the rumble of a tractor trailer.  And then there's just him and just her, staring at each other intently.

"I should have told you how happy I was to hear from you.  I should have flat out told you why I wanted to spend time with you when you came back.  I should have told you when you told me you were seeing her that it wasn't fine with me."  She straightens her back, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.  "I should have done it all differently."

He looks at her, wondering if it means what he thinks it means.

"But I didn't and now it's done.  So I wanted to tell you I can see that she makes you happy Jim.  But I'm sorry - I don't want to have to watch it.  Not anymore."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I'm giving my notice.  I'm going back to school.  Full time.  I'm going to work part-time at the art supply store on Spruce…"

"That's…great." It's what he says, and it's what he feels, but it's not everything.

She levels her gaze, breathes deeply in and out.  "I just wanted you to know the reason why. Well.  Part of the reason.  Finally."  She turns towards her car.  "I think I've waited long enough."

He moves quickly, snags her arm.  "What if I said I'm not that happy?"

It's not the response she's expecting.  "Then I'm sure someday you will be."

"What if I said there's only one way that could happen?"

A tiny sliver of hope sneaks up and latches onto her heart.  He's so close…too close.  Her hand reaches out, runs over his chest, her fingers grazing his tie.  She doesn't reply but tilts her face up to his.  And in that instant - it's over.

She thinks she's the one to lean in first, but in the end it doesn't really matter.  It's once again a kiss that changes everything, and also changes nothing.  She knows she's still going to leave - but luckily she won't be leaving everything behind.

The hinges squeak and he winces.  He remembers he'd promised to oil them last weekend.  Still there's a smile in his voice as he whispers.  "Is it safe?" 

"Maybe."  She replies, smiling herself.

"Let me just state for the record that wasn't what I was saying.  You're not fat - not at all."  He promises as he moves to lie beside her.  His hand drifts to her stomach, still relatively flat under the circumstances.

"You should choose your words more carefully then."  She snaps back.  Her actions belie her words as she turns towards him.

"I know.  I should."  He nods.  "Duly noted.  I promise.  No more comments about winning the Guinness World Record for how many Oreos a person can consume in one sitting."

"Alright then."  She runs a hand over his cheek, her eyes well up and she starts to laugh at herself.  "And I should remember how lucky I am."

He thinks he's the lucky one.  He leans close, brushes her lips with his as he murmurs.  "You say that every time."

She smiles at him and remembers.  "I know. I do.  Because every time it's true."