"Damn, lost another file. Going to have to reboot. Again." You smile, loving what's coming next. Your computer plays that annoying little noise (more annoying now due to the fact that you've heard it about ten thousand times in the past few weeks), and you hold up your little tin of mints. "Dwight, do you want an Altoid?"

Your moonfaced desk mate looks up at you, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed. Ah, you think. The famous...or infamous? "I hate Jim" face. Awesome. Even though the contempt your coworker has for you is clearly etched across his features, he holds out his hand. "What do you think?"

You just smile, letting him take mint. Wow. Next time, I'll see if he does it on his own. Man, it'd be such a let down if it didn't work, after all this preparation. I wonder if I can get Pa-no. Ugh. You hate that you still think of her when you're planning a prank on Dwight. You hate that you catch yourself looking over your shoulder more often than not, trying to get a glimpse of her. You hate that whenever you do look, she's almost always looking back at you, and that she had an adorable way of ducking her head down to avoid meeting your eyes. Most of all, though, you hate that you don't really hate any of that. You especially hate that you only felt a little guilty about the fact that whenever Karen asks you what you're thinking about, you reply with:

"Oh, nothing. Nothing important, anyway."

But that was a lie. She's the most important thing in your life, in the world. Yeah, you and Karen had talked it out, sorted everything through. As far as she knew, your feelings for Pam were long gone. You're kind of perversely proud that you're able to keep up such a good front, such a good lie.

You still love Pam. It's a burn, an ache, and it's killing you.

The worst part of it was that she knows. At least, you hope she does. You think she does. You'd be devastated if she didn't. Does she really think that after everything we've been through....after everything we've shared, all the times we've laughed, the times we've cried...well, the times that she's cried and the one time I have... You shake your head. Memories of that night are always in the back of your mind, and while you like to think about the way her lips felt on yours, you don't like to remember the rest. After everything, all those years...does she really think that everything I felt for her is just...just gone?

You realize then that Karen is looking at you. Shit, you think. I hope I don't look depressed or anything. You smile and wink at her, and she grins, looking satisfied. She bends her head back to her work, and you can't help it--you turn your head slightly, hoping to catch Pam looking at you.

She is. She ducks her head down behind the counter top, a delicious pink blush rising up to stain the tiny bit of her forehead that's still visible.

You want to get up, walk over there, and just kiss the hell out of her. Take her away, anywhere, somewhere away from the office and from Karen and from everything that keeps making it so wrong for the two of you. But you don't, and you know that you never will. You've already made the first move, and the ball was in her court now.

God, you think. She's so fucking frustrating sometimes. Why couldn't she have at least emailed me, sent me a text message, something? Something to just say, 'Hey, Jim, I called off my wedding. It might be because of you.' She had every opportunity in the world to say something that one night that we talked...and she didn't. It wasn't hard to convince yourself that she didn't care. Now, your mind just swims with everything you could have been with her, had with her...all the possibilities. They're the elephant in the room.

Actually, make that elephants.

The clock says 9:42 AM. It's going to be a long, long, day.

That evening you pick Karen up for Phyllis' wedding. She looks beautiful, professional, sexy--just like always. And just like always, you find yourself longing for a striped button down, paired with sensible flat shoes, and curly brown hair pulled half back. Karen talks about how much she loves weddings, how much she loves receptions (you think about how much you love the receptionist), how she can't wait to hear Kevin's band. You just nod, grateful that you don't have to talk. Talking to Karen always reminds you that you're not talking to Pam.

On the way in, you can't help but to look for her. You don't see her, and immediately think: Shit. What if she's not coming? But that's stupid, of course she'll come. You want to scream, but you don't. Instead, you chit-chat with Stanley about wedding presents.

Karen continues to talk once you make it inside, commenting on the flowers. She asks you what 'P & R' stands for, and you tell her Phyllis and Robert. You realize that it also stands for Pamela and Roy, and you thank God you're not at that wedding.

Then you see her. She's standing ahead of you in line, wearing a brown dress that's hugging her curves in a way that makes you feel like it's doing that just to drive you crazy. Her hair isn't as curly as it usually is, but softer and fuller. It's longer that way, and you have a desire to push through the line and touch it, smell it, run your fingers through it. Fruit? Coconut? No, too plain. Strawberries? No, that's Karen. Flowers. Yeah, I bet her hair smells like flowers. Lavender, maybe jasmine. She turns her head down and to the side, sticking an ankle out to as though to inspect it. Your heart breaks. The line of her leg, the curve of her waist (God, she's so impossibly tiny) and her face...she's just too fucking beautiful.

You realize that Pam has seen you; she's waving at you, and Karen's waving back. You raise a hand and crook two fingers in her direction--you're still too stunned to give a full wave, and she looks disappointed. You wonder if it's because of you.

After the ceremony, Karen drags you to a table in the center of the banquet hall. Pam is already sitting, and you want to stop and talk to her, but then you see him. That piece of shit. Who does he think he is, going to sit to her like that? What an asshole. I just can't even believe he has the audacity to talk to her, touch her shoulder, try to make her laugh, try to win her back. That fuck. You want to go on, mentally listing the things you think about and would like to do to Roy, but Karen is talking about something, and you don't want to seem rude.

You finally get your chance to talk to her at the bar. You notice again how her dress hugs her waist, her hips, and it's all you can do to not stare.

"Hey."

"Hey!"

"When are we going to get to see some of those famous Beesly dance moves?"

She blushes, and you can see that it starts at her collarbone and ends at her hairline. It's endearing, adorable, lovely. "Oh...I'm pacing myself."

"C'mon. Get out there! Give the people what they want!"

She smiles; you want to kiss her. "No. I'm such a dorky dancer."

"I know. It's very cute." You don't know why you said it, but you did, and now you have to walk away. You know that since you've said cute, you won't stop until you've exhausted every adjective you can think of that describes her. Beautiful. Intelligent. Talented. Caring. Sexy. Wonderful. Funny. Perfect.

The cameras catch up with you, asking you about Pam. They must have seen everything, heard everything. Careful, Jim, big brother is watching.

"Jim? If you thought Pam was interested?"

You sigh. You should tell them that you're happy with Karen, that you really like Karen, but you don't. "Hypothetically, if I thought Pam was interested, then...no. It's totally hypothetical."

You get back to your table, and Karen wants to dance. You don't really feel like it, but you let her drag you on to the dance floor. You recognize the cheesy 80s pop synthesizer beat, but you can't place the song. You're not really paying attention to the lyrics, but then you hear the chorus:

I'll get over you, I know I will
I'll pretend my ship's not sinking
And I'll tell myself I'm over you, cause I'm the king of wishful thinking
I am the king of wishful thinking
I refuse to give into my blues
That's not how it's going to be
And I deny the tears in my eyes
I don't want to let you see...no
That you have made a hole in my heart
And now I've got to fool myself
I'll get over you, I know I will
I'll pretend my ship's not sinking
And I'll tell myself I'm over you, cause I'm the king of wishful thinking

You want to burst with the irony of it, the ache of it, the sheer perfection of it. You stop dancing, partly because you feel like your head is going to explode, but mostly because you can see Pam across the room, dancing her dorky dance moves that she wouldn't do for you. And she's with Roy.

The song ends, and Karen is breathless. She grabs on to your arm, to laugh or ask you something, and it feels like a death grip. You force a smile, and she asks if you feel okay. You shake your head no, but you don't even really hear her question. You're shaking your head because you see Roy handing Pam her coat, and they're leaving together.

Karen has run up to the stage and is singing another wildly appropriate song, one about how every little thing Pam does is magic and how you know your love for her will go on.

You want to die. You want to do nothing but curl up into a ball and die, right there on the floor. You don't care about Karen, you don't care about Phyllis getting married, you don't care about anything. You want to do something, show some emotion, but you're frozen. Your legs have turned into lead and your stomach now seems to live in your feet; your voice is lost in somewhere in your chest and you can't get out the scream that's resounding in your mind: Stop, Pam, please, don't do this to me. Don't go with him. Go with me. I love you, I love you, I still love you.

"I don't feel good. I have to go home." Karen is asking if you want her to go with you, but you shake your head no. You just want to be alone. You'll call her tomorrow, you say, and you leave her looking sad. You can't care about it right now.

You see the cameraman before you leave. He's asking you a question, but you don't give him the time to get it out. "Here's a not hypothetical. I'm really happy I'm with Karen."

You've never lied to the camera before.

Typically, you're not much of a crier, but tonight? You can't help it.

There it was again--that irritating computer noise. Jim seems to be obsessed with rebooting his desktop lately. You've been trying to figure out what exactly he's been up to, seeing as how he doesn't really include you in his pranks anymore. You know it has something to do with Dwight and Altoids, and you're dying to have just one little clue, but you know that Jim won't tell you. He doesn't even come up to get jelly beans anymore. You're thinking about just throwing them away.

You see Karen look up at him out of the corner of your eye. She's beautiful, funny, smart, successful--everything that any guy would want in a girlfriend, and nothing that you are. You're happy for Jim. He's got Karen, a successful sales reputation, a new job title, and brand new apartment, and a nice new car. He's happy, therefore you're happy.

Except for the fact that you're miserable. You hate that you're not the one allowed to step out from behind your desk and walk over to rub his back or play with his hair. You hate that when he goes to the vending machine, he comes back with a bag of Herr's instead of a bag of Sun Chips. You hate he sits at the lunch table he used to share with you, eating his ham and cheese, sits next to her at Michael's meetings, and leaves with her every afternoon. You hate the knowledge that you talked them through their first argument together, and you hate knowing that she's always within walkting distance of him. Way to go on that one, Pam, you think.

As for Karen? Well, you want to hate her, but you can't. How could you? She's your friend. And it's not like she did anything wrong. It's not like she could have helped falling for Jim--any single woman in her right mind would have done the same. He's perfect. And you rejected him, crushed him, let him slip away, and didn't do anything at all to try to get him back. You never had a claim on him, and even if you did, you sure as hell didn' t anymore.

Damnit, Pam, why didn't you call him? Why didn't you say something during that one phone call? 'Oh, Jim, by the way, I didn't get married to Roy. It's because I love you, too.' So what if it sounded corny, Pam, why didn't you just let him know? You feel like things are never going to get back to normal, and all you can think about when you're not reliving the night he confessed everything to you is that you pushed him away. You told him no, and let him walk out of your life. You were lucky enough to get him back, but the relationship you once had, the best friendship that you'd ever known, was just a shell. A laughable sham of what had once existed between the two of you.

And it was all. Your. Fault.

You realize that you've been peeking over the top of your desk to look at him. He's bent over his desk, a hand on his forehead. You realize that stature. He's thinking about something important. It's just one of the things you've learned by studying Jim's back, because that was pretty much the only interaction you had with him these days. When he's doing a sales call, he always leans back and cups his neck with this right hand. When he's frustrated with Michael or Dwight, he runs both hands through his hair. When he's embarassed, usually by Kevin coming over and making a remark about how hot Karen is, he neck flushes bright red.

You would much rather be able to see his face, but hey, you take what you can get.

Karen is still looking at him; she looks worried. Immediately your mind begins to race: Why does she look like that? What does his face look like? What could he be upset about? Karen is smilling now, so you relax a little...but you're still worried because Karen doesn't look very satisfied. God, Jim, please just turn around. We might not be anywhere near as close as we once were, but I still know you better than anybody. Please, just let me see your face.

As if he can hear your thoughts, Jim turns his head and looks over his shoulder at your desk. You gasp, hoping to God that you weren't doing something like thinking outloud. You quickly duck down so that he can't meet your eyes over the top of your countertop, and you can feel blood rush to your face. After a few seconds, you decide that it's safe to raise your head and see if he's still looking. He's not.

You sign and swivel your chair to look at the clock behind you. It's only 9:42? This is gonna be the longest day of my life.

-*-

You only have an hour or so before Phyllis' wedding starts. You need to just go ahead and pick out a freaking outfit already--it's not like what you wear will have any affect at all on Jim. But you can't help it. You try on what seems like every article of clothing that you own and finally decide on a silky brown dress. It cuts off at your knees, and the metallic brown sandals you bought ages ago but have never worn match it nicely. You spend less time on your hair and makeup than you would have liked to, but you're pleased with your reflection when you step back and examine yourself in the mirror.

You rush out of your apartment, hoping that you'll make it to the church on time, but your neighbor stops you. He's a sweet older gentleman that you normally would love to stop and chat with, but tonight you can't. "I'm sorry, Mr. Roberts, but I've got to get going. My friend is getting married tonight."

He smiles, and it's remniscent of the lopsided grin that you used to always see on Jim's face. "She better watch out, Ms. Beesly. You'll be the prettiest woman there. You be careful to not break her new husband's heart, you hear me?"

A heartbreaker? Me? His statement surprises you, but you don't take the time to think it over. "Thanks, Mr. Roberts, that's sweet of you. I'll stop by this weekend and see you, okay?" Mr. Roberts just nods and shuffles off, still smiling.

You manage to arrive at the church on time, beating most of your co-workers there. You look around the parking lot but don't see his car. What if he doesn't come? What if Karen suggests something else? A better way to spend their Friday evening? But you know Jim better than that. Even if Karen did mention a change of plans, Jim wouldn't skip out on Phyllis' wedding. He wasn't that type of guy.

You walk into the atrium of the church and step in line to sign the guestbook and drop off your wedding gift. Everything around you looks somewhat familiar, and then you realize that this is your wedding. The same flowers, the same decorations, the same everything. It makes you a little mad at first, but you get over it. Oh well. At least it's not my wedding.

You see Kelly out of the corner of your eye, and she looks gorgeous. She's wearing white, which is sure to upset Phyllis, but Kelly really looks stunning. You begin to second guess your brown dress and metallic sandals, and you can't believe that you wore your hair half pulled back. Sure, the curls are a little different than they are every other day, but still. Kelly looks like a movie star.

You extend one leg to the side, pointing your toes, studying your shoes. I should have just gone with the same kind of thing I wear all the time--a linen button down and grey skirt, sensible black shoes.

Then you see him. He's standing a few people behind you in line and Karen is with him. Your heart melts at the sight of him; he looks so devastatingly handsome. Karen sees you and waves, and you wave back. He does nothing more than cock two fingers in your direction, a glazed look on his face. It hurts, and you turn away.

-*-

You're one of the first ones to arrive at the reception. Kevin's band is still setting up, and you have nothing better to do than sit and listen to their sound check. People begin to filter in, and you see the one person you expected the least: Roy Anderson. What is he doing here? He hates weddings. He sees you and smiles, and you feel only a little guilty for breaking his heart like you did. He moves across the room towards you, and you look away, unable to deal with the fact that he's coming to sit at your table.

When you turn your head, you catch sight of Karen pulling Jim through the room. They walk right past your table and Jim looks at you like he wants to stop and talk, but he doesn't. His expression changes and he looks away, following Karen to a table in the center of the room.

"Hey, Pam." It's Roy. You don't have much to say to him, and even if you did, you probably wouldn't say it. Talking to Roy always reminds you that you're not talking to Jim. Talking to Roy brings up memories of that night, where Jim put his heart on the line for you and you said that you couldn't. Talking to Roy makes you think about all the things that made it so wrong for you and Jim: your engagement, your wedding plans, your refusal, his transfer, and now Karen. You shake your head to clear your mind. Roy is still waiting for you to say something, and you don't want to seem like a bitch.

"Hi, Roy. You look nice." And he does. He's lost some weight since you broke off your engagement, and his new beard suits him. He's an attractive man, but you prefer someone long and skinny, with messy hair and a different tie every day. You look across the room, hoping to catch is eye, but he's talking to Karen. He has a serious look on his face, and you wonder what it's about.

You finally get a chance to speak to him later, at the bar. He grins at you, and your heart melts. That lopsided smile hasn't been tossed your way since before...since before that night. "Hey," he says.

I love you, I'm sorry, let's get out of here. "Hey!"

"When are we going to get to see some of those famous Beesly dance moves?"

You blush, hating the fact that he can see that you turn pink from the top of your chest to the tip of your forehead. He must think that you look like an idiot. You look down at your toes, tapping one shoe against the bottom of the bar. "Oh...I'm pacing myself."

"C'mon. Get out there! Give the people what they want!"

You smile. God, does he have any idea the control he has over me? I'd do anything he asked me, anything at all. You want to throw yourself into his arms and cry your eyes out, tell him that you're sorry and that you'll whatever he asked if he'd just be with you. Just love you. But you don't do any of that, and you never will. He's with Karen now, and you have to accept that, so you suck in a breath and reply: "No. I'm such a dorky dancer."

"I know. It's very cute." He walks away, leaving you shocked and surprised. Cute? What? Did he just say that to me? He did. Oh, my God, he did. You get excited, giddy almost, but then your heart sinks. Come on, Pam. A five year old missing their two front teeth is cute. A puppy is cute. Jim putting you in the same category as preschoolers and baby dogs is not exactly a compliment. You walk back to your table, dejected.

By the time you make it back to your table, Jim and Karen are in the middle of the dance floor. They look happy, like the perfect couple. Karen is smiling up at him in total adoration, and you want to scream. Your heart plummets to your feet and a grapfruit-sized lump is welling up in your throat.

"Pammy?" You flinch. You hate that nickname. Roy never seemed to notice the fact that your jaw clenches every time he says it. "Pammy, do you want to dance with me?"

You don't, but it's not very often that anybody asks you to dance. And Roy looks so nice tonight, and he's trying so hard to impress you, it seems. You'd be a bitch to say no, so you let him lead you onto the dance floor. Your heart isn't really in the dancing, but the song has a good beat. It's and cheesy, very eighties. It kind of makes you smile, but then you hear the lyrics:

I don't need to fall at your feet
Just 'cause you cut me to the bone
And I won't miss the way that you kiss me
We were never carved in stone
If I don't listen to the talk of the town
Then maybe I can fool myself
I'll get over you, I know I will
I'll pretend my ship's not sinking
And I'll tell myself I'm over you
'cause I'm the king of wishful thinking
I am the king of wishful thinking

The tears previously threatening to ruin your mascara begin to pool in the corners of your eyes. That song, those words, they're just so damn perfect and ironic and awful that you don't know what to think. You don't want to think. You just want to collapse, right there on the dance floor.

Roy is smiling at you, though, and it would be mean to stop dancing, so you keep going. Across the room, you can see Jim, but he looks away before you can figure out if he was looking at you or not. You hope that he was.

Karen is onstage now, dancing and singing. She looks goofy, but a beautiful, sexy goofy. A kind of goofy that you could never be. She's singing about how every little thing she does is magic, and you're willing to bet that every thing she does just turns Jim on.

You can't remember a time that you've physically felt worse. No illness, no injury, nothing compares to this feeling. It's as though every horrible emotion you could ever feel is welling up inside you--sadness, angst, guilt, self-hatred, jealousy, everything. They fill you up inside and you're going to burst at the seams.

"Hey...do you want to get out of here?"

God, yes, please, get me out of here. You nod and Roy leaves, getting your coat. He returns and give you a concerned look: "Pammy? Are you okay?"

You nod. You're not okay, but you lie. Because what would be the point? You've already hurt the man standing in front of you enough for one lifetime, so why say anything? Why make it worse? Maybe you were wrong. Maybe Roy can change, maybe you just didn't give him enough of a chance. You ignore the voice in the back of your head telling you that you gave it ten years; what does that voice know? It also told you that you and Jim would be together, had to be together, belonged to one another. That voice was wrong then, so it sure as hell could be wrong now.

You walk with Roy out of the banquet hall, your stomach sinking lower and lower until you can feel it in every footstep you take. You glance over your shoulder, searching for Jim in the crowd. You find him, and he's talking to Karen, shaking his head about something. Karen's eyes are shining, and for one crazy second you think she's crying. But no. She's just happy...incredibly happy, because she's with Jim.

For a moment, you contemplate stopping and running back onto the dance floor. The things you want to say to him, need to say to him are rolling around in your head, begging to be released: Please, Jim, don't do this to me. Just talk to me, yell at me, do something, something to let me know that you still care. I don't care if you hate me, Jim, but I'll die if you just don't care anymore. Please, Jim, I love you, I love you so much. Be with me, please, just be with me.

Instead, you walk outside into the cold night air. Roy is asking you if he can come over to your place, and you want to tell him no, but you can't because you're crying.

"Pammy! What's wrong, babe?" He's trying so hard for you, and you feel like a bitch for completely cutting him out of your life.

"Nothing, Roy. Weddings just make me cry, that's all. I'm just happy for Phyllis. And sure, you can meet me at my place. I'd like that." He smiles and squeezes your shoulder before walking off to his truck.

Typically, you hate lying, especially to someone as honest as Roy...but tonight? You can't help it.