On a particularly chilly Tuesday night in mid-January, Pam decided to leave Roy. She lay in bed for hours, her head pounding, wondering how she had convinced herself for so long that this was the life she wanted. Roy had fallen asleep as soon as she’d told him she wasn’t in the mood, and as she watched his large form swell with each heavy breath, she began to feel sick. As quietly as she could, she got dressed into clean work clothes—not bothering to iron them or to even shower—and crept into the living room. She intended to sleep on the couch, but just looking at the ratty green tweed fabric made her want to vomit. She’d never wanted a tweed couch. It was scratchy, ugly, and dated. But, it was practical and economical—that was always the clincher with Roy and Pam, wasn’t it?

She tried the floor instead, but the scent of spilt beer and cat piss from the previous owner soon convinced her otherwise. She wanted old, beautifully refinished hardwood floors, not tan shag carpeting. God, how had she ever thought she wanted to live here? To think she was lucky to get to live in a rent-to-own split-level home with avocado appliances? To think she should be grateful that Roy wanted to live there with her? The thought actually did make her vomit, and she had to rush into the kitchen on her toes to make sure she wouldn’t wake him, even though she knew any half-assed explanation she might come up with to excuse her strange behavior would appease him.

She stepped outside, thinking maybe the fresh air would make her feel better, but the cold air just made her shiver uncomfortably, and she hated how the winter wind blew her hair into her face. Resigned, she went back to the couch.

Sleep evaded her, and she worried that if she didn’t move out immediately—that if she even spent one more night with him—that the timid, fearful, practical voice within her would win out and maybe she would never leave. That just couldn’t happen. The thought made her laugh, really. People didn’t just up and decide to leave their partners of ten years, did they? Maybe they did. She had, anyway.

All night, she considered her options. Part of her wanted to catch the first train out of Scranton on a one-way ticket and never look back, but that was too romantic. Driving would make more sense, anyway, since she’d probably want to keep her car. Plus, she wasn’t that brave yet. Maybe she’d get a motel until she could find an apartment. It’d be expensive, and if she wanted to make it on her own, she needed to save her money. Her mom lived too far away to make a reasonable commute to work, and to be honest she didn’t really have any friends she’d feel comfortable asking to for a place to stay. Her friends were Roy’s friends, and even they weren’t really her friends at all.

Well, she did have Jim. Maybe he’d put her up for a few days? She thought that might be strange, but she didn’t see the harm in asking. It’d just be temporary, anyway. Yeah, maybe she’d ask Jim.

These thoughts occupied her mind all night, until she heard Roy stirring and quickly made her way to the kitchen to look busy. Roy made some comment about her getting up early, but he didn’t even look at her—didn’t even notice anything was wrong. He ate Frosted Cheerios and watched ESPN highlights in the living room while she sipped her tea silently in the kitchen, contemplating the ways she could tell him she was leaving.

--*--

While Roy hadn’t noticed anything amiss, Jim certainly did. He didn’t even have to see her greasy hair or crumpled clothes to know; he’d known as soon as he’d walked in the door.

“Are you okay, Pam?” He asked once he reached reception, just loud enough for her to hear.

“Yeah,” she replied tiredly.

“You sure, Pam?” He questioned skeptically, genuinely concerned, and she thought for the hundredth time that this was why she couldn’t be with Roy. When was the last time he’d actually cared how she was feeling? Even when she was sick, Roy just told her that that ‘sucked’ and maybe brought her some medicine, but only if she specifically asked him.

She looked up at Jim, her eyes brightening a bit. “I’m going to be.” Her tone was almost wistful, and she attempted a small smile.

He gave her nod and said, “If you need anything, you know where I’ll be.” He pointed to his desk, and added, “Seriously.”

She thanked him, and thought that maybe staying with Jim wouldn’t be a bad idea at all. It still took her all day to actually muster the courage to ask him, worried she might not get the words right. She had to hurry; she was leaving early to pack before he got home. She’d taken her own car to work, telling Roy she had a doctor’s appointment (she was sure she’d mentioned it before), and gave Michael the same excuse. When Jim walked into the break room, she knew she had to act or she’d lose the opportunity, and she really didn’t want to stay in a hotel.

“Jim?” She asked awkwardly. His back was to her, and he didn’t hear her over the crunching of the chips he was eating. This frustrated her more than it should have, and it took her fifty more seconds to muster the courage to approach him again. She kept telling herself to go, without ever putting a foot forward. When she finally did, she took a seat beside him.

“Hey,” he said, surprised. “I didn’t notice you were in here. What’s up?” She was a little disheartened just to hear him say ‘I didn’t notice you’, but he seemed genuinely pleased to have her company, though she knew she looked like shit, and probably incredibly nervous and weird.

“Jim, um,” she began nervously. “I’m leaving Roy.” She hadn’t meant to phrase it that way; hadn’t meant to just say it, but there it was. He was looking at her expectantly, and she almost thought he was trembling, and his eyes seemed a little brighter than usual, but he didn’t say anything. “And, um, I know this is a lot to ask, but I swear it’ll only be temporary,” she muttered, flustered. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right. It’s just that I want to leave right away, and I need a place to stay, and I would stay in a hotel or something until I can find a place of my own, but I’m still partially financially dependent on Roy, and I can’t really deal with the whole money problem right now. And my mom lives too far away and you’re, like, my only friend here. It’s weird, like I never really realized that I don’t have any girlfriends or anyone not at work or who are friends of mine and not Roy's and I just—”

“Sure,” he replied, somewhat distantly, as if not really understanding what she was asking.

“Really?” She pressed. “I mean, I can just stay on the couch and like I said it’d just be temporary and—”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’d be happy to help.” He looked at her earnestly then, as if to make sure she was serious. “Are you going to be okay? I mean, are you sure about this?” It seemed strange that he’d ask, especially since Jim had never exactly approved of her relationship with Roy, but she appreciated the concern. The fact that someone really cared about what she was going through, especially since she hadn’t called her mom or anyone yet, perhaps because she didn’t have time, or more likely because she was afraid she’d be too easily convinced out of her choice.

“I need to get out of that relationship. It’s just not what I want anymore, and now that I think about it, I’m a little ashamed I ever thought that was what I wanted.” Saying the words aloud seemed to finalize the decision a bit, like an affirmation that she was doing the right thing. She hadn’t actually done anything yet, after all, and she had to make sure she would. Maybe telling Jim was part of that; someone would know if she backed out. Someone would care if she did, and the thought brought a little smile to her lips. “You’re a good friend,” she added sincerely, her eyes getting a little glossy. She hadn’t cried yet, but she knew it would come.

“Anytime, Pam,” he replied slightly sheepishly.

And that was it. An hour later she went home, two hours later she was packed and sitting out on the porch, and fifteen minutes later Roy came how. Thirty-six minutes after that, she finally left him.

As she drove away from the place that she can’t recall now ever having been “home”, she felt liberated. Sure, she was angrily fighting back tears and was probably more upset than she’d ever been in her whole life, but she was finally free.

And it just felt right.

That evening, she found herself sitting in her underwear on the floor of Jim’s spare/storage/computer room, staring at the three medium-sized boxes she’d found in their garage. She laughed to herself, realizing that it wasn’t ‘their’ garage anymore. It wasn’t ‘their’ anything, except maybe ‘their’ broken engagement. It just seemed so strange.

She picked at the skewed, bent tape that she’d so hastily applied on one of the boxes, and thought that if she wasn’t going to unpack, she should at least put on some pants and go talk to Jim. If she could even find any pants; she didn’t want to wear her crinkled work skirt, especially since her legs were looking a little neglected. She really should have labeled.

She was going through the second box and wondering if she even remembered clothes at all when the door opened unexpectedly behind her.

“Hold on!” She screamed, reaching around blindly for her skirt as whoever opened the door quickly closed it.

“Sorry,” replied a foreign voice. “Uh—is that Pam?”

She zipped up her skirt and told him he could open the door. “Hi, sorry, I just—wait, did, uh… did Jim not tell you I was staying here?” She was incredibly flustered, and attempted to smooth her skirt as he stared rather incredulously at her.

“No, he failed to mention that,” he replied, seemingly hiding a smile. “I just got back."

“Oh, okay,” she mumbled, feeling anxious.

“So, you’re staying here?” He asked, as if mentally putting pieces together in his head. Something about his tone bothered her.

“Yeah, um, I am.” She was silent for a moment, and then realized he was probably expecting a bit more explanation. “Oh, it’s only temporary! Don’t worry, it’s just… well, I don’t know if you remember or know or whatever, but I am—was—engaged and I realized I wanted to end it. So Jim offered—well, I asked him if I could stay with him, and so I’m just here until I can find an apartment or something. It’s just, um, complicated for me right now.” She was embarrassed about making such a poor impression on Mark, but he didn’t seem to care or notice. He still had that weird, sly almost-smile on his face.

“Oh, okay. I was just going to use the computer, but it can wait. I just need to check my email sometime tonight.”

“Oh, yeah, totally fine!” She responded quickly, afraid of imposing. “I’m sorry about all this, I guess I kind of forgot Jim had a roommate. I mean, I knew, but I didn’t think about it when I was trying to figure out a place to stay.”

He smiled warmly at her and just as he walked out the door, proclaimed a bit too cheerily, “Stay as long as you want!”

Pam let out a heavy sigh as soon as he left, wondering if he’d been implying anything. She brushed the notion off as silly, and got back to staring at her boxes. Realizing she didn’t have anywhere to unpack her things to, anyway, she ripped open the third box and pulled on the pair of ill-fitting cords that were lying on top. After taking a few steps, she thought she should probably put on something that didn’t expose her ass whenever she moved. She really needed to just get rid of a lot of her weekend clothes, anyway. She didn’t have much, as it was generally sweats around the house. As a guest, perhaps that wasn’t the best option. She dug through and found her favorite pair of well-worn jeans, and decided to change into a t-shirt, too. She didn’t anticipate her situation getting any more comfortable, so she figured at least her clothes should be.

She walked down the hall to the living room to find Mark watching ESPN in the living room, and she laughed quietly at the familiarity. “Jim’s in the kitchen,” he told her, not looking away from the T.V.

“Hey,” she said timidly, raising her hand for an awkward wave as she walked into the kitchen and found him busy at the stove.

“Hi,” he replied, turning around with a happy grin.

“Nice apron,” she giggled. “Very domestic.”

“Hey, no need to mock, Beesly.” Although he tried to sound severe, they both just ended up laughing. It felt good, even if it was just a temporary break from the stress and tension.

“So, what’s on the menu, chef?”

“This evening we have fried plantains, topped with our finest Western Family sour cream, as well as grilled cheese and Campbell’s tomato soup.”

“Your famous grilled cheese sandwich,” she corrected him. She paused for a moment. “What exactly are plantains?”

He smiled, and then turned back to his frying. “They’re basically bananas. Cooking bananas.”

“Cooking bananas?” She questioned skeptically, walking over to peer over his shoulder.

“Whoa, Pam, patience. They aren’t ready,” he explained, shielding her from his culinary creations.

“You’re frying bananas?” She took a step back, as if the entire notion was ridiculous. “I don’t know, Jim. You’re lucky your grilled cheese is so good.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, you haven’t tried them yet.” He tossed the plantains with impressive ease to punctuate his point.

“I guess I’ll have a bite,” she resigned. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

“All day?!” He exclaimed incredulously. “I better hurry up, then. In the meantime there are some grapes on the counter over there.” He pointed her over to them, and smiled to himself when her eyes lit up with exaggerated enthusiasm.

“You better hurry up or I’ll spoil my appetite,” she proclaimed as she picked out a particularly juicy one.

He did hurry up, and surprised her when he insisted on making her plate himself, telling her he was shocked she’d expect anything less at Casa de Halpert. She laughed, genuinely appreciative. She told him she did like the fried plantains.

“Seems like an odd choice to go with grilled cheese and canned tomato soup." She took another oversized bite.

“Yeah, well, I planned on just having the plantains and some Easy Mac; I wasn’t expecting company,” he countered. “I need to go to the grocery store. If I don’t, I think plantains and Easy Mac might be our only option for tomorrow.” The way he said ‘our’ and ‘tomorrow’ gave a weird sort of thrill, and she only managed to nod in response, wondering why that made her anxious.

“Wait, why do you have so many plantains?”

“They were on sale. And I just really like plantains, I guess.” An adequate response, she decided, and quickly finished her food. “Are you still hungry?” He asked, noticing her empty plate.

“I don’t need anything—I mean, I don’t want you to go to any trouble or, like, eat all your food or anything—”

“So that’s a yes?” She giggled and confirmed that indeed it was. “I have some cinnamon ice cream that’s pretty good, if you’d like that. Or I have mixed berry yogurt.”

“You have mixed berry?”

“I picked some up on my way home. I figured I ought to have something you like. I thought maybe Ben & Jerry’s would be a better comfort food, but I couldn’t remember if it was Fish Food or Cherry Garcia that you hated,” he explained, and although his tone was joking, she knew he was serious.

“You went out of your way to get me mixed berry?” The thought made her heart swell up in an uncomfortable sort of way, making her nervous.

“Well, we were out of toilet paper, too.” She laughed then, and when she realized he was done eating, went to pick up both there plates. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Why? I mean, I said I wasn’t going to impose, and here you are making me dinner and going out of your way and—”

“Pam, seriously. You’re going through a lot right now and the least I can do is make it easier on you.” He took the plates from her. “And that’s what friends do, right?” She sensed a hint of remorse in the last bit that she couldn’t quite explain.

“Oh,” she murmured, unable to manage more of a response. As he turned on the sink, she added, “Jim?” He turned the water off and looked at her. “Thanks. Really.” She wanted to elaborate, wanted to tell him that she didn’t know if she could have done it without him, or that nobody else save her mother would have done this much for her, even if he acted like it was nothing. But there was a knot in her stomach and she could barely stand up with the way he was looking at her, and the way she wasn’t used to feeling like this.

“No problem, Pam,” he replied earnestly. “I’ll get the dishes and you can go unpack or watch T.V. or whatever you want.  Mixed berry's in the fridge."

She nodded in response, exiting with a sort of awkward goodbye gesture, thinking it might be nice to lie on the couch for a bit and forego dessert. She saw Mark was on it, though, and took to the chair instead.

“Do you want to watch something else?” He asked as she seated herself. “I’m guessing you’re not to into boxing.” He tossed her the remote, though she failed to catch it, and her cheeks burned red as she scooped it off the floor.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” She asked timidly, not knowing what else he’d want to watch and afraid to subject him to something he wouldn’t like.

“Yeah, I wasn’t really paying attention, anyway.” She nodded and began flipping. She bit her lip when she saw Romy & Michelle’s High School Reunion—one of her favorite guilty pleasure movies—but skipped past it to save her embarrassment. And she figured Mark wouldn’t appreciate it too much, either. She settled on a Simpsons rerun, and hoped that would be an acceptable choice. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen this one,” he told her.

She murmured an awkward ‘yeah’, and settled down into her chair, careful to pay attention to the show and not let her mind slip into the scary, painful kinds of thoughts she had thus far been quite good at avoiding.

Jim came in a few minutes later, commending Pam on her good taste in reruns. When the show was over, Mark excused himself to check his email, telling them he was probably going out after that if Samantha called him back. Jim provided some witty repartee on the subject, which just ended up frustrating Mark because he was never very good at that, and left telling them that he didn’t expect to be back until really, really late, or morning.

Somehow the thought of being alone with Jim all night sat both really well and extremely uncomfortably with Pam. She tried not to think about it.

“Okay, so I know you probably want to watch some lame action movie or Law and Order or something, but Romy & Michele’s High School Reunion is on, and since you already know my affinity for Legally Blonde, I hope you won’t be too offended if I tell you I love that movie and want to watch the end of it.”

“Why weren’t you already watching it?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“I was embarrassed,” she sheepishly replied. “But now I’m not, so we’re watching it.” She felt a little silly, being so determined on such a stupid issue, especially since it was Jim’s house, but he didn’t object and they sat down the last hour or so of the movie.

“I heard that snicker, Halpert, I know you’re enjoying this,” she scoffed halfway through.

“I was laughing at how lame it is.”

“Right. And you know next time it'll be You've Got Mail or something."

"So I should be thankful that this time it's only Romy and Michele?" He asked with that just-barely-teasing tone he sometimes took with her when they were really getting along.

"Count your blessings, Halpert," she replied with much less moxie than she'd intended, leading them into a brief awkward silence.

“You know you can join me on the couch if you like; that chair is going to give you a killer backache if you sit there too long.” There was something a bit off in his voice, like he was afraid she’d be offended or something.

“You’re taking up the whole couch,” she pointed out. He let out an exaggerated groan and swung his legs off. “Hey, you’re the one who offered! Don’t give me that.” She playfully kicked him over to make room for herself, and found her shoulder just barely brushing him, making her painfully aware of the heat he was radiating. It made it hard to watch the movie, and she was reminded of that barbeque he’d had a few months ago, and the way she’d been surprised at how conscious she was of him next to her, even then. How she’d wanted to lean into him, and how she’d resisted and then so strongly felt his absence when he’d gotten up to do that stupid duet with Michael. The memory made her want to laugh, and she struggled not to show it.

“Is this movie almost over?”

She shook her head, giving him a teasing grin. “Don’t even pretend you’re not loving this. C’mon, we’re almost to the best part.” She leaned into him just a little when she saw the helicopter arrive, thinking Jim might appreciate the coming choreography. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen this before.” But it was hard to focus when she felt him lean in just-maybe-ever-so-slightly, too. Her breath caught, and she couldn’t tell exactly why such minimal contact was getting her so worked up. Maybe she didn’t want to think about it.

“Oh God, is this ‘Time After Time’?”

“You know it!” She leaned into him a little more then. Strange that no matter how close they were, they shared very minimal contact. She hoped this was okay, that she wasn’t being rude or clingy or weird or something.

They stayed like that past the end of the credits, and into an infomercial. “I guess it’s getting late,” Jim said.

“Yeah.” She crumpled further into the couch, and maybe a little into him. “Hey, um, I know you set up that blow-up mattress for me, but I was wondering if I could stay on the couch tonight?”

“Sure.”

She sensed an unasked ‘why’ behind his acquiescence. “I think the T.V. will be a nice distraction. I’m worried about thinking too much.”

He smiled down at her. “If you sleep on the couch, you’re going to have to sleep with the obligatory couch blanket.”

“Obligatory couch blanket?” He got up and pulled a well-loved quilt from under the coffee table, and presented it to her. “That’s a quilt,” she corrected. “And an impressive one at that—are those pirates?”

“First of all, I know it is a quilt—it is a blanket in name only. Second, yes, Pam, those are pirates. And the giant green thing? That’s a dragon.”

She narrowed her eyes at it. “Are they supposed to be fighting it?”

“Yup. It’s from a picture I drew when I was eight. My mom kept it up on the wall and then one day it wasn’t up anymore and I thought she didn’t like it, but then four months later she presented me with this for my birthday.”

Pam snuggled it up around her. “I’ll take good care of it, then.”

“Do you want the lights off?” He was already at the switch.

“Oh, I should brush my teeth and stuff first… probably not good guest manners to just crash on the couch in my jeans.” She made to get up, but he stopped her, assuring her it could wait and that she looked far too exhausted.

“You want me to change the channel or do you want to learn more about the Gazelle?”

“Tony Little’s a fox,” she mumbled into the couch. She heard a laugh from across the room.

“G’night Pam.” He flicked off the lights.

“Night, Jim.”

She pressed her face further into the pillows and fought back that aching what-the-fuck-am-I-doing feeling, and eventually willed herself into an almost peaceful slumber, dreaming of dragons and plantains.

Pam woke with a start, her heart pounding. She was momentarily frightened before realizing where she was. In Jim’s apartment. On Jim’s couch. Fuck. Her head began to ache and she decided maybe she needed to get a glass of water.

By the time she reached the kitchen, she could do nothing more than collapse into one of Jim’s dining chairs. She hadn’t cried yet, and she couldn’t find the strength to hold back anymore. Before she could think to do otherwise, she was sobbing right in the middle of the kitchen, her tears landing clumsily on the formica tabletop.

She didn’t even know what, or who, she was crying for, which only upset her more. It was mostly just too much to take, and her body needed some sort of outlet for all her pent-up emotion. She wondered briefly it was a poor decision to come here, but she thought again and realized it didn’t really have to do with Jim. This had been a long time coming. At least that’s what she had to tell herself.

When she ran out of energy, she realized she looked like a mess and decided to shower. She didn’t know what time Jim got up, and she was too emotionally wound-up to consider going back to sleep, so she thought might as well get it over with. Maybe it would cleanse her, like some sort of spiritual rebirth. She doubted it; such poetry never seemed to come to fruition in real life.

As she walked up the stairs and past Jim’s bedroom to the bathroom, she was careful not to cry. She realized the sound of the shower risked waking both Jim and Mark, if Mark had ever come home, but she was too distraught to worry too much about that. Jim would understand. Jim would always understand. That thought alone was enough to make her eyes sting again, and she quickly started up the shower to drown her sniffles.

When she stepped under the hot water, the unfamiliarity of the showerhead made her really lose it, and she was surprised she even had it in her to start again. It’s just, she was so used to the way the old showerhead felt; it was just the right amount of pressure to get all the soap out of her hair and off her body, but not enough to be uncomfortable. But, she thought, maybe she had just convinced herself that it was perfect; that every other showerhead just wasn’t right. Because this one, though a little softer, was more even, and it made a nicer pitter-patter when the droplets hit the tile.

She quickly pulled out her shampoo, and laughed bitterly at the thought that she was thinking about showerheads when she’d just made the biggest decision of her entire life. Her head spun again, and she turned up the heat, even though it was already making her skin red.

No matter how hard she scrubbed, she didn’t feel any better. She thought of Macbeth, and all those other stories where one of the characters just can’t wash off the guilt of what they’d done. But Macbeth was about murder, and she hadn’t murdered anyone. She didn’t really have anything to be guilty about, though she certainly felt like she did.

With a sigh, she set down her loofa and turned off the water, feeling fatigued from the heat. She wanted to lie down on the bathroom floor, but that didn’t seem like an appropriate thing to do as a guest. Plus, it looked a little skuzzy. So she sat on the toilet, a towel wrapped tightly around her, and thought to cry. She was surprised to find she didn’t really need to anymore.

After brushing her teeth and putting her hair up, she realized she hadn’t brought anything new to wear. She cringed at the thought of putting on old panties, and decided to forgo them, but she did put on her bra, just in case she ran into Jim or Mark. Unlikely.

She thought to go into her room—or the room she was staying in, whatever—but she saw a light from downstairs and realized she ought to turn it off.

It was from the kitchen, and she nearly toppled over backwards when she saw Jim.

“Woah, careful,” he said with a light chuckle.

“Sorry, you scared me, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here.” She paused, noticing his attire. “You sleep in jeans?”

“No,” he replied, rummaging through the fridge. “I put them on before I came downstairs. The shower woke me up and I felt like a snack.” He pulled out a pack of mixed berry. “Hungry?”

She nodded, and said, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. I don’t even know what time it is, I just, uh, really needed it.”

“No problem.” When he bent over to find spoons, she saw his t-shirt ride up and came to the immediate realization that he was not wearing underwear, unless they were lower than his jeans, which from her vantage point seemed unlikely. That meant that he probably slept naked, which for some reason made her incredibly uncomfortable. Her anxiety increased when she realized she wasn’t wearing underwear, either. Stupid, she thought, that something like that would be so unnerving.

“You okay, Pam?” he asked, offering her the snack.

“Yeah,” she replied, a little too enthusiastically. She quickly busied herself with the yogurt, trying to stave off further embarrassment. It was useless; she nearly spit out her first bite when she caught sight of Jim.

“What are you doing?”

He stared at her incredulously. “What? Don’t tell me you never lick the lid?”

“Not in front of people!” She stared at him, mouth agape.

“C’mon, Pam, if you don’t that’s just a waste of yogurt,” he countered, and proceeded to finish off his lid to punctuate his point. She couldn’t help her laughter then; he just looked too ridiculous. “Thanks.”

“I’m sorry, that’s just… wow, I never thought of you as the yogurt-lid-licking type.” A playful smile remained on her lips, and she reveled in how normal this felt; how easy and good, just like always. She needed some consistency—some distraction.

“The lid is the best part. Especially ice-cream lids.”

She nodded eagerly. "That's true, but I still eat those with a spoon.”

“Naturally; it’s too messy to do it any other way.” She laughed and contended that he was right. “So, didn’t sleep well, I take it?”

She swallowed down a bite of yogurt. “No, I did, I just woke up all of the sudden. It was kind of weird, but then I wasn’t tired anymore, so I took a shower.”

“Ah,” he responded, and she relaxed when she realized he wasn’t going to press the subject. “You planning on going back to bed?”

“I don’t know, I don’t even know what time it is.”

“The microwave says 4:30, but I can never remember if it’s an hour ahead or an hour behind.”

She was momentarily distracted when she noticed just how low his jeans were; she could see a hint of hipbones and just a little hair from beneath his shirt. What the fuck! she thought angrily, and absently blurted out, “You should get on that!”

“What?” he asked, amused.

“Your, uh, microwave clock. You know, the time.” Her cheeks were burning, and she could feel his eyebrows rise even as she stared down at her half-eaten yogurt.

“Yeah, I guess I should.” He walked across the room and glanced and something, adding, “For the record, it’s 5:30.”

“Oh,” she said, trying desperately to think of something to distract them from her mortification. “Then I guess I won’t go to bed.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he replied, “because I make some pretty amazing pancakes.”

“Do they take an hour and a half to make?” She hadn’t even meant it to be witty, but she was glad to have said something to take them back to that non-awkward and non-sexual, friendly sort of place they were before.

“If you want fresh apple sauce with them, they do.”

She gave him a curious look, not convinced he was serious. “I can’t have you making fresh apple sauce and pancakes at 5:30 in the morning. Don’t you want to go back to bed?”

“Nope,” he said with finality, already rummaging through the cupboards. “We’re making pancakes.”

She shrugged and muttered, “Okay”, hoping he couldn’t tell how much her heart swelled. 

While the pancakes had been nice at the time, Pam regretted her decision to eat rather than sleep at about ten o’clock, as she could barely keep her head up as Jan droned on about “Women in the Workplace”. She tried not to look too out of it, and resisted resting her head on her hand.

When Michael announced the guys were heading the warehouse, she immediately perked up. Nothing was going on with Jim; this wasn’t about Jim, but she knew that the whole building, practically, was aware of Jim’s “crush”, and even if Roy didn’t know, she didn’t want them together. It would… well, it just wouldn’t be good.

“Uh, would you excuse me?” she asked, not waiting for a response before getting up and following the group.

“Hey, Jim” she said, trying to catch him alone.

“What’s up?” he replied, staying behind. Kevin turned and gave her an unsettling smirk, but she otherwise went unnoticed.

“I don’t know if Roy’s going to be down there or whatever, but I haven’t told him that I’m staying with you and he’s already accused me of seeing someone else, so just, don’t mention it, okay? I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

“Yeah,” he replied, and she thought she heard a hint of sadness in his voice. “No, I won’t mention it.”

“Thanks. And I’m going to tell him, just—not now.”

“Okay. No problem, Beesly.” He gave her an affectionate smile, although he seemed apprehensive. “I’ll see ya,” he added, and then he disappeared around the corner.

Pam still felt uneasy as she made her way back to the conference room, offering a meek apology as she sunk back into her seat. Jan was going on about where they saw themselves in five years; what they wanted to be doing; and Pam immediately panicked. She didn’t know anymore; didn’t have a plan. She realized she didn’t have to settle into domesticity in Scranton; she could go back to school, get a job in another town, or do whatever she wanted. The thought was as thrilling as it was terrifying.

She was so lost in contemplation that she didn’t hear Jan address her. “Pam? I asked you where you saw yourself in five years.”

“Oh!” she responded quickly. “Sorry, um, I was just thinking about that. I don’t really know. For a long time I saw myself as married, maybe doing a little graphic design on the side. But since that’s over, I’m not sure. I guess I have a lot of possibilities. I’d still like to get married, I think, but I don’t know if I want to stay in Scranton. And I love to draw. I did a little in college, and I’d love to do something with art or graphic design.”

She watched Jan brighten, and explain that there was a graphic design program with corporate.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied timidly. “I have a job here already, and I really need to make money right now since I’m—”

“It’s only on weekends and a few weeks in New York; I’m sure corporate could help you out.”

“Well, yeah, it sounds really great, but right now I’m still trying to find a place to live and figure out my own finances and—”

“There are always a million reasons not to do something,” Jan interrupted, and Pam was surprised at what good advice it was.

“Yeah, you’re right,” she agreed, with a rush of uncharacteristic conviction. “I’d love to get more information.”

The rest of the meeting passed slowly, but Pam’s mind was racing with possibility. Maybe she could. Maybe she really could; this wasn’t going to be just another thing she’d be momentarily excited about and then give up on when Roy pointed out it wasn’t “practical”.

When she noticed Jim in standing at his desk, she excused herself again to tell him the good news. Her spirit immediately dampened when she saw his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“So, Roy knows you’re staying with me.” He looked at her, watching her heart sink. “I’m sorry,” he added, looking at her with such sincere intensity that for a moment she had trouble breathing. “He specifically asked,” he explained, “and I—well, I thought it would be worse to lie if we was going to find out later, anyway.”

She nodded, solemn, and asked, “How did he take it?”

“Well he didn’t kill me.” She tried to muster a smile. “I explained it was just temporary; that you needed a place within reasonable distance to work until you figured out something else. I think he half-believed me.”

“I’ll talk to him,” she murmured, staring at her shoes. She didn’t want to think about it. “Hey, um, this is like a totally different topic, but something kind of cool—there’s this internship in graphic design…”

--*--

She found it hard to concentrate when she eventually got back to work. Fear of what Roy would do; what Roy would assume neutralized any excitement she felt over the art internship, leaving her mind numbingly blank.

Each time the phone rang, it startled her, and she answered it absently. “Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam.”

“What the hell, Pam, you moved in with Halpert?” Fuuuck. She was definitely alert now, and tried not to cry. She did not want to deal with this right now.

“I am not going to talk about this right now; I’m at work,” she responded as calmly as possible, though she could hear the inhibition in her own voice.

“You don’t take my calls! What the fuck do you expect me to do, Pam? Just answer me, are you fucking him?!”

“I said I am not going to talk about this with you.” She tried to keep quiet; void of emotion, but she knew at least Jim was paying attention; could feel those fucking sympathetic eyes upon her.

“Are you?!” She heard him repeat the question twice before she could respond.

“No. I’m not.” She tried to muster as much severity in her tone as she could. “But what would it matter if I were? We’re over. Look, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“C’mon, you’re fucking killing me, Pam! I know you’re screwing him!” Anger burned low in her stomach, and she clutched the phone with a quivering hand.

“Roy! Is it so impossible for you to believe that I’d leave you because I’m tired of you? That you’re the reason I left? There’s not anyone else, Roy, just you, and—No, I am not going to discuss this with you now. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She heard Roy begin again, but she couldn’t handle it and slammed the phone down with enough force to chip the plastic. Her eyes burned.

She stole a look at Jim, who mouthed ‘nice’, and suddenly she didn’t want to cry anymore.