The Friday before Christmas and Pam is just shutting down her computer when someone mentions drinks at Poor Richard’s.  She’s not leaving for her parent’s until tomorrow, so she decides why not, she might as well.  She tells herself that she decides to go because she wants to have fun—after all, it’s almost Christmas—and not because Jim and Karen decide to go as well.  It’s sick and twisted and breaks her heart every time, but she always jumps at the chance to watch the two of them together.

But that’s not why she goes.

She’s walking to her car when Karen calls to her.  “Pam,” she says, “Ride with us.  Jim’s designated driver for once, you have to take advantage of that.”

Pam agrees (reluctantly, she convinces herself) and climbs in the front seat.  She wants to sit in the back, but Karen insists.  Pam feels silly sitting there next to Jim, with Karen in the back—like a mother or something. 

She listens to Jim’s voice as he tells a story about what happened to him at the supermarket.  She likes the sound of it.  The pitch, the inflection, it’s perfect.  She laughs at all the right places.  Karen does too.

She watches Karen discreetly from the rearview mirror.  She notices how pretty she is.  Michael was right—she’s exotic, gorgeous.  Pam folds her hands in her lap and feels plain.

Poor Richard’s is a five-minute drive, but Pam is relieved when they arrive.  She notices (how can she not) the way his eyes keep darting up to the mirror to smile at Karen.  His eyes smile at her, they really do.  Pam can feel the crack in her heart getting larger.  It feels like someone is standing on her chest.  Something churns in her stomach.

Inside, she sits down and immediately orders a drink.  She has a ride.  She’ll get as drunk as she wants.  It’s funny how with each drink the crack seems to shrink—smaller, and smaller.  The world is blurry, but her heart feels whole, at least for the moment it seems to be glued back together. 

She laughs.  Really loud.  Was the joke even that funny?  She doesn’t think so.  She can’t even remember if it was a joke or not.

Jim says something like, “I think you’ve had enough.”  Just like that: “I think you’ve had enough,” like he’s from a movie or something.  And he’s grinning at her like he’s amused, and Pam laughs and calls him a movie star, and he makes a face and grins even more and says, “What?”

He says they should go.  He says he needs to get her home to bed.  He says he needs to get Karen home to bed too.

Right.  Karen.

She’s drunk too, but of course in an adorable way.  Pam is loud and clumsy when she’s drunk.  Karen keeps saying cute little things that make Jim shake his head and laugh.

Pam thinks she hates her.  Is that possible?  Karen is practically her new best friend, and Pam hates her?

In the car, Karen is singing along to a song on the radio in a falsetto voice.  Jim is cracking up as he drives down the road.

Pam’s in the back seat this time.

And for being so drunk, she’s astoundingly quiet. 

Maybe they forget she’s there, but Karen says suddenly to Jim, “Stay the night.”

He clears his throat.  Coughs.  Clears his throat again.  This time when his eyes dart up to the mirror, he’s looking at her.

She doesn’t meet them though, because she’s pretending to be asleep.  He’s not fooled.

They come to a stop, and Pam pretends to wake-up.  She’s getting ready to climb out of the car when Jim says, “No, we’re at Karen’s.”

He gets out of the car and opens the door for Karen.  Helps her out.  Walks her up to her door.  Pam pushes her nose against the frozen window and watches them.

When they get to her door, Jim uses his keys to unlock it.  Her heart sinks somewhere to the pit of her stomach.

They talk for just a minute.  Then Karen kisses him suddenly, urgently.  Pam knows she should look away, but she can’t.  She watches Karen’s fingers go up to his shirt collar and pull him even closer.  Jim kisses her back, but pulls away when she starts pulling him through her door. 

He says something and nods his head towards the car.  Karen pouts, but kisses him once more before going inside.

He’s back in the car.  “Sorry about that,” he says, “I didn’t mean to make you…wait.”

But something about the tone of his voice and she knows that’s not what he’s apologizing for.

They drive to her house in silence.  There’s only one thing for them to say, and even when she’s this drunk, she would never bring it up.

They reach her house and she stumbles a little as she steps out of his car.  He’s there to steady her, and she doesn’t fall.

She stands on the stairs while he stands on the ground, and for the first time ever she can see over his head.  It’s starting to snow—barely, and she can smell ice in the air.

This feeling (she doesn’t know what it’s called) where she’s taller than him and the snow’s falling and she can see the lights of neighbor’s Christmas tree through the windows consumes so much of her that when she speaks she doesn’t say thanks for the ride.

She says, “All I want for Christmas is y—”

“God Pam, please don’t’ say it.”

His voice is a strained whisper.  She stares over his head as she feels her eyes begin to water.

“Not only because you just almost quoted a Mariah Carey song—” He makes a joke (of course he does) “—but because it might just kill me.”

His voice hangs in the air, and she hears him say it over and over again.  “Because it might just kill me.  Because it might just kill me.  Because it might just kill me.”

She’s a horrible person.  He’s seeing Karen.  He likes her and she knows it, so that makes her a horrible person for kissing him.

But what does that make him for kissing her back?  He kisses her differently from the way he kissed Karen.  Soft and slow.  So slow that she can barely tell if his lips are moving.

And they’re cold.

He pulls away and this time she hears him say it again for real.  “It might just kill me.”

Her arms stay around his neck and she leans into him.  Her forehead rests against his, and she pretends they can stay like this forever.

She thinks they almost do.