She’d unintentionally gotten entirely too drunk but she’d blamed it on the fact that Roy had called the waitress "baby" and because she barely knew anyone. And she’s horrible with names and even after the first week she’d still referred to people as "the redhead", or "the mean lady", or "the tall guy".

She’d been to the bathroom about twelve times already but the thirteenth time she’d gotten to the door just in time to see about ten college girls go in together. And of course it’d been one of those bathrooms with only one toilet.

And (she barely remembers this part) she’d been standing against the wall with her arms folded, waiting for what felt like forever, when she’d seen "the tall guy" (and in her own head she sometimes liked to tack on "with the nice smile", because he had the nicest she’d ever seen) out of the corner of her right eye. He’d needed to get past her to get to the mens room but there hadn’t been enough space in the narrow hallway for him to get by her and she’d pressed herself into the wall a little more. He’d turned sideways to squeeze by and as he did, he’d caught her eyes with his and hadn’t let go. His nice smile had faded a little and she’d noticed his lips (and she thinks people write poems and songs about the kind of look he was giving her). He’d glanced down at the floor, and then back into her eyes, and he may have rested his hand on her cheek and brushed against her skin with his thumb. She’s not sure, but she’s almost positive that he had done that.

The conference room: a month later

They’d decided Wednesday would be Show and Tell day. They had sat together in the conference room. He’d brought in a worn photo album, thick and falling apart (and she’d fondly envisioned his fingers placing each picture in plastic slots), and she remembers how he had beamed as he’d pointed out each one to her...he and his brothers when they were little, his mom and dad, high school basketball games, his niece and vacations and tons of parties.

(She’d decided her favorite was the one of him from that past July, on the beach, the sun in his hair making it gold. And he’d had a hint of sunburn, wearing a faded t-shirt and swimming trunks. It had made her think of summer and his smile had made her warm inside.)

Your turn, Beesley, he’d said, and she’d laid her art portfolio on the conference table, filled with portraits and illustrations she’d done since high school. Some were pencil sketches, some done in charcoal, some in bright watercolors.

She’d watched his face as he flipped through the pages, studying each one intently, running his finger over the paintings. She had waited for a Wow that never came out of his mouth, but she saw it in his eyes. When he was done he’d looked up at her and she’d smiled. I know they’re really nothing, she had said, shrugging, but that’s me. She’d gestured towards the portfolio.

He’d licked his lips before speaking. Her heartbeat had quickened and she’d wanted desperately to know what it was called, when he looked at her like that, and she’d wondered what color she’d use if she could paint a picture of it.

Pam, he’d said, these are not nothing. They say everything about you. Everything.

In the silence after he’d said that, she’d let his words swirl around her and she’d held her portfolio tightly against her chest.

The meteor shower: her first winter

It’s a meteor shower, Beesley, he’d pointed out. And she had gone along with it, knowing full well that they may not see any actual meteors (but something about the way he would get so enthusiastic made her stop trying to figure things out all the time).

Meteor shower mix CD, he’d said, holding up a portable CD player.

Hot chocolate.  She’d held up a thermos and Styrofoam cups.

They’d sat in lawn chairs on the roof of the building and even though they both knew that six o’clock was too early they’d scanned the sky intensely for something, anything that resembled a shooting star. Mostly they just saw airplanes. But the sky had been clear and nothing else really mattered.

She had laughed when the first track of the CD played the theme song to 2001: A Space Odyssey and she’d quickly changed it to the second track (it had been that "Yellow" song that she never used to really get but then suddenly all the words had made sense to her).

They quietly searched the night sky, sitting close because it was warmer that way, and occasionally she’d point and say, I think I saw something! until finally they were both silent (and it hadn’t been about the meteor shower anymore, she thinks maybe it never was).

He’d said her name suddenly and his voice had been quiet and deep, gravely like it sounded whenever he wanted to be serious about something. She’d turned to him and his eyes had looked so dark, but still so bright, and his mouth had twitched a little but he hadn’t said anything else. He’d just gone back to tilting his face towards the stars, searching for something that she knew they’d probably not find. She remembers now that that was when she had known for sure (it had been something about the way he’d said her name).

She remembers now that it wouldn’t be the first time she’d think maybe.