She closes her eyes, opens them, closes them, opens them again. She knows she's wearing her contacts, but the sales report looks blurry in front of her eyes. Meaningless numbers and words she is making half-a-dozen copies of. 

Karen's report is stellar, she doesn't need to see the numbers to know that. Jim probably is, too, though his sales are the last thing she considers when thinking about him.

As she carefully files the reports, making sure they look good because she is thorough that way, she considers slipping there a note. A small post-it, just for Jim to see. A good luck wish.

Her eyes focus on a yogurt lid, half-hidden behind her monitor… there is nothing wrong with her eyes now, because it shines clearly. Half a dozen times Pam has considered throwing it away, only to decide to hide it deeper on her desk. Maybe she could… no. It's silly. She won't. Jim and her had been as honest as they ever had that night near the lake. Or at least she has. There is nothing to add, there is no need to try to bring back the past, because that’s a ship that sailed a long while ago. 

And there is no reason to wish him good luck because she doesn't really want him to do well. It’s petty, and selfish, but she’s trying to be honest, isn’t she? So, in all honesty, she wants him to fail the interview. She wants him not to get the job and to come back, a little defeated, but here. 4 feet from her desk.

She sighs, and hastily fakes a cough because Dwight is looking at her and sometimes she has the impression he knows. 

With a decisive motion she closes Jim and Karen’s files, and stands up. Jim is not at his desk and she is relieved to just leave the documents there. Karen is at hers, though, and it’s with as much good-will as she can muster that Pam wishes her good luck, as she gives her the sales reports.

“I’m happy for him. I hope he gets the job.”

Pfff.

And the camera guy actually looked as if he believed her. Such a lie so perfectly said after months of practice. Pam thinks she deserves an Oscar really, and she means the statue, not the accountant.

Aimlessly walking through the frozen food aisle at Walmart Pam recalls the end of the day. Karen and Jim leaving early to spend the night in the big city - ugh don’t think about that - the talking head in which she could have been somebody else not giving a damn about nothing at all, and quoting Popeye. She really hopes the team would leave that part out of the final cut.

She pauses in front of one of the ice cream freezers, opens the door and moves tubs around, looking for a flavour that matches her current spirits, until her hand feels numb. They are probably in New York now. Having dinner. Or watching one of those Broadway shows. Or just walking, hand in hand.

She grabs double chocolate and closes the freezer. Her cart is almost empty. Crackers. Instant coffee. Ice cream. She leans on the handle and keeps on walking.

Maybe they decide not to go tonight and just make an early start tomorrow. 

She knows that’s impossible. Karen looked like a woman on a mission when she told Jim they could leave early. And he agreed. As much as Pam would like to believe he was a little reluctant, she knows it was not the case.

The light blue bottles seem to try to tell her something. Softener. Does she need softener? She pauses. “You use fabric softener?” a voice from a past life echoes inside her and it feels as if she is shrinking a little. Maybe it’s the cold from the freezers.

She looks at the bottles again and grabs a big one, although she usually buys it at the dry cleaner’s. 

Without really thinking, she grabs a couple of other things and pays. She really needs to go home and rest, because if Dwight is going to be in charge of the office tomorrow, she will need to be awake and ready for anything. 

It’s curious how silent her tiny apartment seems. Or is just the plastic bags, making more noise than usual as she takes her stuff? Ice cream, spoon. Clank. She sits in front of the TV and doesn’t know what she’s watching, as the ice cream meets her frozen insides. She doesn’t recognise the flavour either and she doesn’t even realise the moment she falls asleep.

With a start Pam wakes up. The only light comes from the muted TV and she has no idea why it is set on the History Channel. The ice cream rests on her coffee table, with the spoon half sunken. 

She looks around for her purse and grabs her cell-phone. It’s 11.27. Rubbing her eyes, she takes the ice cream and walks to the other side of the partition to the kitchen. She tries to stretch. It was a very bad idea to fall asleep on her work clothes. She feels stiff, and even a little dirty. Mechanically she puts her shopping in place. The coffee. The noodles. The softener.

“Fuck it,” she breathes. In her tiny half a kitchen there is not even a cabinet where she can store the bottle. “Fuck it!” It is as if a dam has been opened inside her, and she feels a sudden urge to throw the bottle out of the window. To punch her thin wall. To just yell, and she does. “Fuck it, Jim! Fuck you and your life!” She clenches her teeth and actually hits the counter with her knuckles but with less force than she would have liked. 

And it finally dawns on her how it must have been, mere days before her wedding. As if the world was coming to an end. For the first time she can imagine how Jim felt, what made him stop her in the middle of the parking lot, what made him run after her and kiss her senseless. Pam feels it, and finally understands it all.

It takes her three strides to reach her bedroom, and as fast as she can she fishes for the most comfy pair of jeans and sweatshirt she owns and changes. In a small bag she throws a couple of essentials, checks that her driver’s license is in her purse, her keys on her pocket, and that she has some cash, and almost at a run, she exits her apartment.

Fancy New Beesly wants to be honest. Fancy New Beesly takes art classes and even took part at a small show. Fancy New Beesly wants to be spontaneous and take chances... she even walked over hot coals!

Pam, though, thinks that it would’ve been so much better if she’d had some time to check her destination on map quest and print the route. Of course, she doesn’t own a printer, and it’s almost midnight. There is no way the security guard would let her inside the office. 

But as she thinks all this, she is driving towards the I-80, a vague memory of that time a couple of years ago, when she took a small training program at corporate and Roy drove her to New York. She could always look at the signs, she thought. She could stop, buy a map, and improvise. With a deep breath she tries to put aside the fact that she is terrified.

The streets in the outskirts of Scranton look empty and eerie. With a slightly trembling hand, Pam turns on the radio, willing for the station to cooperate and help her pretend she is not alone. That nagging inside voice that tells her she could’ve had some sleep and waited for daylight gets drowned by Travis, and Pam is sure it is a sign.

She is happy the moment she reaches the interstate. Trucks and some cars give the illusion it’s not so late, and she even matches a car’s speed for some miles, and pretends they are in this together. It is past 1 when she finally stops at a well-lit gas station for a cup of coffee, and some chocolate. A rack displays several maps from the area and the nearby cities, and Pam browses for a long time before making up her mind and taking two she is not sure she will be able to read. 

This second stretch of the road feels very different, though. As if the brief pause has changed something inside her. If she had some doubts at first, now they seem to have grown to occupy all the available space in her small car. What is she going to do once she gets into the city? Get some place to spend the rest of the night? Maybe a motel? Where will she leave her car? One of those parking areas that cost a fortune? And most importantly, what will she do the next morning? She has no idea at what time is the interview taking place, although she trusts she can get the information from the receptionist. And then what? Show up in the middle of it and try to stop it? Call Jim? Meet him? Talk to him before? After? And what to do if she’d meet Karen? Or even Michael? That last thought makes her shudder, and a new wave of doubts assaults her.

Decisively, she turns up the volume and Britney Spears helps her drown some of them. Steadily she drives and it’s almost 3 in the morning when a faint glow at the end of the road suggests the lights of one of the the city that never sleeps.

Pam makes up her mind at the last minute. She won’t get in just now. She’s too tired to think properly, and not willing to spend a fortune in a hotel in Manhattan. Looking for the signs next to the road she finally finds a Motel 6 and exits. It’s not the nicest nor the safest of places, but there is free parking and a bed, and, for the time being, that’s all she needs.

When she finally gets inside a room that smells like boiled onions, and puts the chain on the door, she takes a deep breath that feels like the first one since Jim left the office so many hours before. Pausing just to set the alarm of her cellphone for three hours later, Pam collapses on the bed and sleep arrives almost instantly.

The alarm sounds way too soon, but Pam has heard about traffic jams entering the city and she is so close now, she doesn't want to risk it… even though she still does not have a plan.

After a quick shower she realises she didn't pack extra clothes. Clean underwear and a sweatshirt she slept on would have to do. It feels inadequate but then again, how are you supposed to dress when you're planning to ruin a person's career-defining interview? She doesn't come up with an answer but uses extra deodorant just in case.

The gloomy motel receptionist from the night before has been replaced by a chatty young man that actually helps her pointing the best way into the city and marking in one of the maps several parking spaces where she can leave her small Yaris. She follows the directions and by 8 o'clock Pam is squeezed between two suited men inside an overcrowded subway train.

Her focus jumps from finding her way to coming up with a plan and at least she manages the first because she has no clue about the second.

The only reasonable thing she manages is emerging from the subway station two stops far from her destination because she doesn't want to jump into Jim or Karen by accident, before knowing exactly what to do. Walking around she finally gets inside a Starbucks, orders a black coffee venti and a muffin and manages to find a seat amongst office men and women hurriedly swallowing some breakfast before their working hours. 

Between bites of muffin, she manages to produce an idea though, and a minute after 9 am she types in her cell phone a number she knows by heart.

"Dunder Mifflin, this is Grace."

"Hi Grace, this is Pam."

"Pam, this is not your regular number. Everything ok?"

"Uhm yeah…" at that very instant the coffee machine makes a tell-tale sound and she winces. "Quick question. There are some people from my branch com-going to the city for interviews. Do you happen to know the hours of their appointments?"

"Michael got the dates wrong again?" Grace almost whispered with a small laugh and Pam gave a non committal answer. "Let me see… I have him at 10."

"Oh," Pam said, trying to sound nonchalant. "And… the rest?"

If Grace suspected something weird, she didn't say and Pam was grateful for receptionists’ loyalty. "From Scranton… yes I have a Karen Filip-lippe-"

"Filipelli."

"Yes. 11.00. And Jim Halpert at noon.”

Pam thanks Grace effusively, but it gets drowned by her saying that "They are not very punctual though," and then both women hang up.

There is still time, Pam thinks. She could-

And again, a blank. She doesn’t know where Jim is staying, and since that had been a last minute trip, she couldn't think who would know except him. And, of course, Karen. And even if Pam knew, what could she do? Knock at their hotel room to be greeted by Karen in a robe asking what the fuck was she doing there while Jim emerged from the bathroom wearing only a towel?

Pam shook her head and finished her breakfast. No. The only place she could really get a chance, albeit small, of a one on one with Jim, was the corporate offices. And maybe it was not so bad to come in before them.

The tall building looks old-fashion and foreboding. People rush inside and Pam hides around the corner. She is not sure David Wallace would recognise her but Jan Levinson surely would and that's a conversation she really doesn't want to have, least of all while trying to keep her eyes focused on Jan's and not on her recent surgery.

Looking at her watch she finally makes up her mind. She has to do it quickly because it's almost 9.30 and maybe just maybe Michael will be early.

The guard at the ground floor eyes her suspiciously. She does have a Dunder Mifflin ID but the sweatshirt and jeans seem very out of place. When the guard calls Grace for confirmation, Pam prays that the extent of the receptionists network reaches her current predicament.

Finally, after several "mmhmm", the guard looks at her up and down and points at an elevator. As Pam almost runs towards it, she feels her phone vibrate.

"Do they know you're here?" It's from Grace.

"No. Please don't tell!!!!"

Her reply takes some time but Pam is inside the elevator so it makes sense. When she finally reaches the floor and almost ducks towards a door with the sign “fire exit”. She is standing in a small hall, a couple of supply closets to her right and the door to the stairs to her left. She checks her phone again.

"Won't tell but I want details later."

"Promise." Pam types, as she makes sure that the door does not have a built-in alarm, and enters, to take a seat in the bottom step of the stairs.

"Is it about Michael and Jan?" That message actually makes her chuckle, but it gives her a nice alibi should she need one later.

"I swear I'll tell you later. You're the best Grace."

And there is no answer. 

It's not really a plan, because she doesn't feel she's had many possibilities to choose since she made that last decision of leaving Scranton at midnight. It feels more like following the only reasonable path she sees amid a very unreasonable scenario. And then the next one. And the next one. Until she landed in this dusty staircase, where she is now pulling at her sleeves and looking at the time every 30 seconds or so.

She will take the slot of Karen's interview. It is literally her only chance. But it's still too soon, and she doesn't know what to do. Just to keep busy, she climbs up and down a couple of floors. Opens the door to check out the offices. Closes it again. Another floor. And on the third one she is facing vending machines. The healthy kind.

Yogurt.

It is still silly, and not the right brand at all, but she gets one and goes back to "her spot", four floors below. The tiny plastic spoon is inadequate and it takes some effort to finish the yogurt. But she enjoys it nonetheless. 

It is fortunate that there is a janitor closet and a sink nearby so she can wash the lid clean. Carefully she places it in her back pocket.

She won't use it. It's silly. But it helped her pass the time and it brings back memories, happy memories from which she can draw some courage.

At 10.50 she feels her heart is pumping extra hard and her leg feels jittery. At 11.05 she finally ventures outside.

She doesn't need to get close to the glass doors to hear the yells and the confused dialogue, but she can't really understand what's going on. Jan's voice seems to be the loudest and she ducks right in time before she storms out. Pam is not sure but she seems to be carrying stuff.

Back in her hiding place, hugging her knees, she waits longer. How long would it take for things to calm down and for Karen to get to her interview? 

11.30. If she takes longer, she will run into Karen on her way out. But Pam is scared. So scared in fact that she even manages two steps down, towards the ground floor and the exit. But if she leaves… if he takes the job… she tries to recreate her feelings from the night before. The fear of a world coming to an end. The fear of losing him for good.

With a deep breath she opens the door again. The hall is empty and silent. Slowly she approaches the glass doors and fixes her eyes on the Dunder Mifflin logo for a second. There are two men in the waiting room. A stranger, and next to the window, Jim, smartly dressed and perfectly groomed, reading a file.

Nobody notices her for a moment and then she realises Grace is waving at her, quietly from her desk.

Now or never.

Pam points at Jim and mouths "please". Jim's head jumps as Grace tells him something Pam can't hear and then she sees his eyes open wide and his jaw drop, as he sees her through the glass doors.

"What the-?" She sees his lips, and then he is walking towards her, looking as if a ton of bricks has hit his head.

Pam retreats almost to the door to the stairs. Now would be the worst time to be seen.

"Hey! What are you doing in New York?" Jim catches up with her and she just doesn't know what to say. Tentatively she opens her mouth, but closes it again.

"Pam?" She studies him as his features change from surprise to concern. "Is everything all right?"

She nods, but a lump has formed in her throat and, for the life of her, she doesn't seem to be able to speak.

"Pam?" He says again, almost a whisper. She looks at her feet, and at the brown ugly carpet.

"I-"

With trembling hands she reaches to the back pocket of her jeans and produces the yogurt lid. It is stupid, really, but she feels like crying or like hugging him and she knows she can't do neither.

Slowly, she shows Jim the shiny circle and he takes it. 

"Looks different," he says.

Pam just shrugs and forces her voice to come out. "I just… I came here to… to tell you…"

Jim waits for a moment but he is impatient too, and maybe thinking about the interview that's about to begin. "Yes?"

Pam swallows and looks at him again. Like that first step you take when you are about to walk on coals, her eyes jump to his and she hears herself saying: "Don't forget us when you're famous."

He smiles a little, but there is also a small crease over an eyebrow that shows a little confusion. But Pam feels drained. She is not a person who makes grand gestures and this simplest of lines is all she has. Managing a small smile, she gives him a quick squeeze in his forearm, over that fancy suit she doesn't recognise, and finally turns around to the safety of the now familiar fire exit. 

Without looking back she climbs down the stairs, two at a time, and the moment she reaches the busy street she takes a deep breath that sounds a lot like a sob.

Pam closes an eye, opens it and closes the other, thinking about what the art professor said once, on modern art and points of view. 

Christina's World has never been a favourite of hers but she's looking at the real thing now and yes, that feels different.

Plus, her eyes feel puffy and in a sort of masochistic way, opening and closing them makes her aware of the fact.

Christina's body seems to echo Pam's thoughts about her own actions. Reaching for something distant, but her soul not really into it. Half-heartedly reaching. As her stupid attempt to talkt to Jim, an hour ago.

Some tourists speak animatedly in what seems to be German and she lets them stand in front of the painting. Still Pam is drawn to Christina and her world and maybe she'll get a postcard to take back home with her.

Her steps took her around streets and avenues for a while, as she tried to remember every one of Jim's gestures while forgetting all her lame ones, not really paying attention to the buildings, the hot dog vendors or the tourists until finally she reached Bryant Park and she gasped.

She was there. In New York. With a day ahead of her or maybe even two. She fished one of the maps in her purse, looked at the tags over squares representing buildings, and finally made a real decision. 

Now, roaming the halls of the MoMA she feels oddly detached from everything. As if the Starry Night and Jackson Pollock were the only real thing, and Jim and Dundler Mifflin a figment of a crazy person's imagination.

And maybe it's for the best. Fancy New Beesly likes to paint, likes art, and she should enjoy it. 

Her rumbling stomach makes her leave the museum several hours later, only pausing at the gift shop to get the postcard and a magnet for her fridge. And then a sandwich and a muffin from Au Bon Pain.

Angst aside, it wasn't really difficult to drive here from Scranton and she swears she will do it more often.

She is surprised that it is late afternoon and for a moment considers getting a room in an overpriced hotel and giving the Met a go in the morning. But she shouldn't miss another day of work.

Calmly, she climbs down the stairs of the nearest subway station and imagines her home, and her easel and the half eaten tub of double chocolate ice cream in the fridge.

Pam drives home with her mind almost blank. As if she used the I-80 every day and this was not a big deal. As if her hopes didn't lay forgotten at some point between Scranton and New York.

Road. Trucks. Cars. Sun setting. And just silly music, soft on the radio.

It is dark when she finally makes it into the parking lot. It's been some weird couple of days but at least she's seen some art, and the city, and she’s glad she has a postcard and a magnet to remind her of this. But above all, she's glad to be home.

As she walks to her front door she sees a figure sitting on the steps. He raises his head the moment he hears her.

"Jim?" if she wasn’t this stunned, probably her heart would be beating madly at this point.

"Hey," he says, standing up and showing a smile that looks happy and relieved. He is still wearing that suit, but his hair is not as groomed and he looks tired.

"What are you doing here?"

"I uhm…" he scratches her neck and takes a deep breath. “I had this speech rehearsed, a smooth line I was going to tell you once I see you.”

He is quiet and she wishes she could read his mind. “And…?” 

“Well, you took some time,” he shrugs, still smiling. With a small step he approaches her. “It doesn’t make sense anymore.”

“I was at-” Pam started to explain, but it’s not really important. “Why don’t you tell me anyway?”

Jim’s smile is shy and he even ducks his head a little bit.

"Oh well… I know it's kinda late but… Pam, are you free for dinner tonight?"

Pam chuckles and it feels as if a knot on her throat loses. 

"Yes," she answers, her heart finally jumping inside her chest.

"All right then…" he takes one last step forward and takes one of her hands. "... it's a date."

Pam feels his arms circle her, finally, and she sighs in incredulous content.