NOTE: The quote at the beginning is from chapter two, when Pam and Jim talk immediately after the kiss.
After so many months – years, actually – of building up to it, he couldn’t believe that he had finally told her. He didn’t even know what to make of the way the night had unfolded; on one hand, when he remembered her responses when he’d kissed her – when she’d kissed him -- and when he considered what he’d overheard when she was on the phone with her mother – “I think I am” – he felt an almost irrepressible hope loom large within him. So many things she’d done tonight confirmed that she felt it, too.
But then, so many things she’d done over the course of the past six months had all but screamed that she felt it, too, and yet she still didn’t seem any more willing or able to let go tonight than she ever had.
“Are you going to marry him?”
“I have to.”
Hope was what had sustained him over the past year and a half, when the crush he’d been harboring suddenly morphed into a love so deep that it completely conquered any sense of logic or reason in him; hope had been the reason he was able to get out of bed in the morning, what had given him the motivation to actually feel happy as he drove to work each morning, despite the dead end job that had become monotonous years ago.
Hope is what had led him to this night, to the sudden revelations he’d made.
He’d begun to see hope, the thing that had once sustained him, as the thing that was slowly but surely destroying him.
The strange thing was that he’d almost skipped the whole Casino Night event entirely. He’d had every intention of not going, whether that meant that he had to fake an illness or simply risk hurting Michael’s feelings outright. (He really had a soft spot for the guy, despite himself; ever since that night on the Booze Cruise, when Michael had looked him in the eye and had said so earnestly, so thoughtfully, “Never, ever, ever give up,” he’d begun to recognize Michael as someone who was lonely, vulnerable…. It’s just that his loneliness and neediness manifested themselves in the most inappropriate, obnoxious behavior sometimes.)
But when it came down to it, he ended up going. …Not true: didn’t “end up” going. The sick truth was that it was an opportunity to see Pam outside the office, to spend more time with her in excess of just those eight hours they spent at work each day. He was starting to feel a silent countdown in the air between them, as if they both knew that things would change irrevocably once she was married, so time became a precious thing.
He’d known that Roy would be there, too, so he figured it would turn into yet another one of those aggravating evenings when he was forced to sit next to them, to witness in mute frustration the way that Roy was so…careless with her, oftentimes leaving her to go hang out with the warehouse guys or dragging her home early.
He had tried to be “bigger” than that, tried not to dislike Roy so vehemently, tried to pity Roy for not being smart enough to recognize what he had in Pam, but he failed miserably. The closer their wedding came, the more he hated the guy. Couldn’t help himself.
As luck would have it (Lady Luck being the theme, as Michael so ingeniously pointed out), he ended up at a poker table with Pam toward the end of the evening, Kevin dealing. In his memory, it was almost as if Kevin hadn’t even been there; up until the end of the night, it had been the most surreal fifteen minutes of his life. It was as if they’d stepped out of themselves, out of their forced roles; as if they really were in a Casino in Vegas, far away from anyone they knew…anyone who knew them.
She’d been gorgeous that night, absolutely stunning. She had the kind of beauty that was subdued most of the time, hidden under her oftentimes drab clothing, her hair pulled back messily in the same way every day. Even then she was pretty. But when she chose to go all out, which she so seldom did (it was another of the things he loved about her; she could be a complete knockout, but she rarely used it), she was quite literally breathtaking.
In fact, he’d had to look away when he’d seen her for the first time that night, so taken aback was he by the sight of her in the dress that showed off her curves, her hair in soft waves around her face. He’d taken one look at her and had immediately decided that he needed to just avoid her at all costs; he didn’t know that he’d be able to maintain any semblance of normality when she looked like that.
But there they’d been at that table, Kevin dealing their hands, both of them seemingly oblivious to him. Her eyes hadn’t left his, causing his pulse to quicken. When she’d looked at her cards, she’d rolled her eyes in a coquettish way that fascinated him. In fact, as he sat there gazing at her stupidly, he felt completely mesmerized, as if she’d slipped something into his drink that left him in a haze, unable to tear his eyes from her. It really took serious effort to act normal around her.
He’d forced himself to laugh at her expression, managing to say, “Yeah right!”
She’d smiled innocently at him then, asking, “’Yeah right’ what?”
“What was this?” He’d then mimicked her eye roll, prompting her to giggle for a moment.
“I have good cards.” She’d said, shrugging just a little, those eyes locking in with his own.
“Really?” He didn’t look away, holding her eyes with his own, unable to wipe the enormous grin from his face, even chuckling at her.
She’d nodded, then said, her voice lower and throatier than usual, “Yes, and I’m going to take you all in.”
He’d tried to appear nonchalant, when in reality, her words had actually sent a chill right through him; he could feel the hair on his arms, the back of his neck standing up. God, I wish you would….
He was sure there was a definite subtext to those words – he’d have absolutely sworn to it, his eyes searching hers. But she’d looked away from him, glancing at the table briefly before she’d stacked some chips in front of him.
“Wow,” He finally said, knowing that she’d take it to be a response to her bold move, when it was really in reaction to what she’d said, the way that she’d said it.
“I think you’re bluffing,” He added, playfully squinting his eyes, staring at her mockingly, as if he were searching her expression to see if she were bluffing or not. She’d burst out laughing in spite of herself, still never breaking eye contact with him.
He continued for a few seconds to struggle to regain his composure, and then he’d just given up. He couldn’t do it anymore; he just wanted for once to be able to drink her in, to revel in the joy of being with her, to pretend for just one minute that she was his. Because she was looking at him as though she wanted to be his.
The very thought was exhilarating, emboldening him. He knew immediately what his next move would be.
Without breaking eye contact with her, his hands sought his chips, pushing them together clumsily in a pile. He deliberately made sure he had every single chip in his reach before, eyes locked with hers, he’d shoved the chips toward her. He was sure she could see on his face everything he was feeling, and he didn’t give a damn; he sat back in his seat and smiled at her, letting himself bask in the feeling of gazing at her with open adoration, all the while thinking to himself: Do you really want to take me all in? Because I’ll give you everything – all that I’ve got. All you have to do is say the word, and I’ll do anything that you want. I know you feel this, too.
Was that a flush that deepened the color on her cheeks?
She turned over her cards then, saying in a soft voice, “Straight.”
He’d nodded at her, unable to tear his eyes from her, still smiling at her tenderly, unable to shake the sudden gloom that settled over him. She’d taken everything from him as he’d just sat there gazing at her…so how symbolic was that of their lives?
Like a vision, she stood, giving him one last smile before she drifted away from the table, presumably in search of Roy.
He’d excused himself then, too, suddenly unable to breathe, feeling the need for air. When he’d stepped outside, he’d seen Jan leaning against her car, smoking a cigarette.
They’d talked for a few minutes, initially about Michael (and he was beginning to doubt his powers of perception, because he could’ve sworn she was disappointed that Michael had a date).
Then she’d suddenly asked him, “So, have you told anyone about the transfer?”
When he’d shaken his head, she’d paused, then said softly, “You should.”
He’d always wondered how much Jan knew about him, about Pam. It seemed like everyone knew that at some point, he’d had feelings for Pam; some of them still knew – Ryan, for example, gave him a knowing smirk whenever he caught Jim watching Pam, while Phyllis always gave him the sweetest, most encouraging smile.
This was the first time that Jan had ever let on that she had picked up on anything, but somehow, he knew that she suspected…that the “someone” he should talk to about the transfer was Pam. He was reminded again of the fact that, despite her cool, sometimes overly professional demeanor, he genuinely liked Jan; he suspected that there was a lot more to her than the icy executive façade she wore.
And so he’d wandered off in search of Pam, but only halfheartedly. He didn’t think he’d find her alone, for one thing, and he wasn’t about to have that conversation with Roy standing there; he felt like it would be cruel to give her that news when she’d have to stifle her reaction, because he knew she’d be upset…probably very upset. He didn’t want her to react that way in front of Roy, for fear of making him jealous, which would in turn make life difficult for her, most likely.
As soon as that thought crossed his mind, he had to shake his head at the absurdity of it, at the absolute nightmare his life had become. He wondered if he had some innate need to be self-destructive; why else had he never been able to bring himself to push Pam a little, to hurt her if that’s what it took to make her see the light? The bigger question was why he had fallen so in love with a woman who had always been engaged, for as long as he’d known her? Why hadn’t he stopped this before it had gotten so far out of hand?
But he knew the answer to that question. He just couldn’t have stopped it; it was bigger than he was.
And then he’d seen her, leaning in the window of Roy’s truck. So he’s leaving her again….
It struck him: Maybe this is a sign.
He’d headed that way, frantically trying to think of just how to broach the subject of the transfer with her, trying to ignore it when he overheard Roy chuckle at her affectionately, saying, “Try not to lose too much money, babe; we’ve got a honeymoon to pay for.”
A honeymoon….
And then Roy had suddenly called his name: “Hey Halpert!”
Feeling sick inside, he’d stepped toward the truck, leaning down as Roy called out, “Keep an eye on her for me, will you?”
He felt like laughing, one of those maniacal laughs that really masks a hysterical sob. He was just tired enough, just wary enough, to find himself tempted for a split second to just let Roy have it, to spit out the honest truth even as Pam stood by watching: Keep an eye on her? Of course I will; it’s what I’ve done for the past three fucking years. I’ve picked up your slack, been the one who loves her enough to listen to her thoughts and feelings –which, apparently, you don’t care to be bothered with. So yeah, I’ll “keep an eye on her” for you… I’d even marry her for you if you were man enough to admit that you’re not worthy of her.
Instead, he simply nodded and said, “Will do.”
His stomach began to contract with nervousness as soon as Roy’s truck had disappeared, and Pam walked toward him with a smile. He’d touched his hands together nervously, trying to force himself to say the words. So I’ve put in for a transfer….
Instead, all that came out was a jumbled, “Hey, can I talk to you about something?”
He wondered if Pam caught the fact that his voice got slightly higher than usual there at the end, that he’d said the words too fast, his tone betraying him; it was obvious he was trying desperately to sound casual, nonchalant, and to his ears, the end result was anything but.
Yet Pam seemed completely oblivious, teasing him. “Sure – what’d you want to talk about?”
“I –“
She’d interrupted him gleefully. “You mean about how you want to give me more of your money? Because we can go inside. I’m feelin’ kinda good tonight.”
She seemed giddy again, twisting and swaying back and forth like a little girl with a big secret. For once, he barely heard what she was saying.
He had shaken his head, then said, “I was just –“
He hadn’t even been able to finish his sentence or smile back at her, though she was grinning up at him, clearly in good spirits. He hadn’t been able to think as he stood there staring at her, unable to move his eyes from her face. He saw the smile slowly fade from her face at the expression on his.
And then he heard himself say, “I’m in love with you.”
He felt shocked, stunned that the words had come out. All those months earlier, he’d been trying to psyche himself up to say something, never thinking it would be a purely impulsive move like this one. But there was something about sitting at that table with her, playing poker, seeing her glowing across from him…. He just couldn’t help himself. It was time to go all in, because what else did he have to lose?
I surrender; I give up. You win.
“What?” Her entire face seemed to freeze as she stood there staring at him, seeming rooted to the spot.
“I’m sorry if that’s weird for you to hear, but I needed you to…hear it.” He’d watched her closely, praying she’d smile, she’d react, she’d do or say something. The way she was staring at him – her face so blank, having gone pale -- left him feeling slightly panicked.
He kept going. “Probably not the best timing, I know that…”
And then she’d spoken, her voice sounding cold, flat. “What are you doing?”
The question struck him as odd in that it emitted no sense of surprise at the confession, no real reaction to what he’d said, just indignation at the fact that he’d said it out loud. No, she wasn’t even trying to pretend that this was news to her. Instead, she just wanted to know why he was breaking their tacit code of silence.
He’d pursed his lips, cocking his head at her. You know what I’m doing…he’d wanted to say, but he didn’t.
“What do you expect me to say to that?” There was the faintest trace of anger, almost accusation, in her voice. He felt his heart sink.
“I just needed you to know.” He’d barely gotten the words out; his tongue suddenly felt thick, as if he’d swallowed some sort of poison. He paused, trying to smile, but managing only to twist his lips crookedly for a moment, adding, “Once.”
“Well, I…I…can’t—“ She’d begun in a faltering tone, the statement sounding hesitant, more like a question than an assertion. Her eyes were huge, and she looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment; she looked stricken, really.
He’d bowed his head, feeling an unbearable weight in his chest, building toward his shoulders. He’d been unable to do more than mumble, “Yeah,” eyes on the ground, willing himself to hold it together, to keep standing there no matter how much it hurt.
“You have no idea—“ Her voice broke into his thoughts, her tone sounding kind…overly sympathetic.
He thought for a second that he’d have much preferred it if she’d just slapped him instead.
Immediately, he began shaking his head, mumbling, “Don’t do that.”
She’d gone on, as if it were a monologue she’d prepared that she just had to get through. “…what your friendship means to me.”
He’d looked up at her then, flinching for a moment as he shook his head again, that overwhelming ache looming in him. He’d been unable to swallow, but managed to say, “I don’t want to do that.”
Then he’d forced himself to look her in the eye, adding defiantly, “I want to be more than that.”
Their eyes locked for a pause, a silence falling between them for a second. It was as if there were two conversations happening here: the words they were saying, and the words they still couldn’t say…even now.
I’m not backing down this time, not again. You won on the Booze Cruise; I chickened out at Christmas. But I’m having my say now; I refuse to back down now. I won’t do it; I can’t do it…because you know what’s going on.
“I can’t,” She’d repeated, sounding more sure of herself now. He knew he detected an obvious note of regret in her voice, and everything just seemed so wrong. He knew the whole exchange wasn’t making sense (“I can’t” – not, “I don’t”…?), but he couldn’t clear his head enough to even process her reaction so far.
Then she’d said the words that had knocked the breath out of him: “I’m really sorry…if you misinterpreted things. It’s probably my fault.”
He’d clenched his jaw in an effort to hold it together, when he was reeling inside from what she’d just said; he worried for a split second that he was going to throw up. It was less her words than her tone that seemed to rip right through him. She’d said those words with such a…hollow ring, almost like a passive aggressive warning to him: This is the story we’re going to go with.
He knew he hadn’t “misinterpreted” anything – not ten minutes before at the poker table; not five months before, when she’d kissed him at the Dundies; not that night on the Booze Cruise when she’d gazed at him for so long, the expression on her face almost willing him to make a move, to say something or do something – never had it been as stupid or as easy as a miscommunication.
The fact that she’d rejected him actually hurt less than the way she’d somehow cheapened their relationship by implying that he’d just misread her. He’d never once thought she’d do such a thing; always, he’d braced himself for her to reject him in some way, but he’d never dreamed she’d be so cruel. Even so, he knew she didn’t even realize how cruel she was being. In fact, she reminded him of a frightened, vulnerable animal, caught in a trap, willing to do anything to break free. For the briefest of moments, he felt sorry for her, sorry that she was just too afraid to let go.
He knew he was going to cry, but he’d forced himself to look up at her anyway, jaw tensing when he saw that she was blurred by the tears in his eyes. He had no idea if he could even speak normally, but he was praying his voice wouldn’t shake.
All he could think was I can’t believe you said that; I can’t believe you actually accused me of “misinterpreting” you. I’m not Roy; I know you.
But of course he hadn’t said those words, because he knew they were the truth, and he knew they’d hurt her. She’d sent him a clear signal with her comment about his “misinterpreting” things: She wasn’t going to face this; she wasn’t even willing to acknowledge any of it, much less talk about it. She wanted to re-write history, to make it a nice, neat misunderstanding, when they both knew that was just a lie.
But if that’s what she needed, then he’d give her that.
“Not your fault.” His voice was surprisingly steady, though a little deeper than usual. Then a tear ran down his cheek, one that he tried to wipe away nonchalantly as he added, his tone as shallow as hers had been, “I’m sorry I misinterpreted…our friendship.”
He walked away from her then, hands in his pockets, trying to make himself believe that it was the last time he’d sacrifice himself for her.
