She runs to the nightstand and checks the caller ID. Jordan.
"Hey, Jordan," she tries not to sound disappointed.
"Pam! Sorry I didn't get back to you sooner; I think my home computer killed itself."
"No problem," she feels tears stinging her eyes. "You got the e-mail?"
"Yeah, what the hell?"
"I told him the truth," she lies down and squeezes her eyes shut.
"Oh. So you wrote that you don't love him in the letter? The way you worded the e-mail, I thought maybe you were just telling me."
"No, yeah, I told him."
"Good..." He pauses, waiting for her to explain herself. She doesn't. "How's Houston? The interview? And," he sounds a little cautious, "did you say you were going to church?"
"Jordan," she laughs, "I'm not some extreme sinner. I go occasionally. And these people were really nice. It was comforting." She's glad he's not pressing the original issue.
"Good, good. One of us has to go to Heaven!" His laugh is honest and energetic.
"Mmm, we'll see. I may have a chance still to ruin that." They laugh together, followed by a moment of silence while she just listens to him breathe. Then: "Oh, the interview. Jordan, it went so well! I met the head of the graphic design, she's so nice. I mean, the internship would've helped, but --"
"Stopstopstopstopstop."
"What?"
"Stop! Dwelling on the past...You're such a downer sometimes. Don't think I don't know how badly you wish you were talking to Jim right now isntead of me."
"What? Oh, no, Jordan, I don't --"
"Pam, stop!" He laughs, she smiles. "I don't take it personally, Pam. If it's not love, then it's definitely an addiction."
"To what?" She laughs. She hears a beep, indicating her call-waiting. "Hang on, got another call. Probably Mom."
Click.
"Hello?"
"Pam?"
"Uh, uh, hang -- hang on, okay? I just...Um, other line, hold on," she stumbles.
"Yeah," he mumbles.
Click.
"Jordan? I've gotta -- it's him. I'll call you later. I gotta --"
"Shut up! Go, go, I'll e-mail from work tomorow! Bye, Pam!"
"Yeah, thanks, yeah. Send my love, okay? Bye."
Click.
"Jim?" She holds her breath.
**
They talk for twenty minutes about nothing, about everything except what needs to be said. She asks what she's missed (not much), he asks how her interview went (very well) and if she's really thinking that Texas (of all places) is right for her (probably not long-term, but maybe for a while sometime soon). Finally, finally, he feels like it can't wait any longer.
"I got your note." He sounds scared.
"Oh," is all she can think to say as she exhales.
"What was the point?" Mad, now.
"What?" Not the conversation starter she'd been hoping for. hat had she been hoping for?
"You heard me. You left me that, telling me that you don't, in fact, love me, on the way out of town? What was the fucking point --" He's raising his voice.
She starts to tremble. She's heard enough. "Oh, okay," she hopes he can't hear the quiver in her voice. "That's so much different from you telling me you loved me on your way to Stamford?"
"No, I -- Yeah, it is. I dumped Karen for you. Pam." She doesn't say anything. "Pam."
"I didn't ask you to do that. And...No, no, how is it any different? I was engaged. Engaged, Jim. At least I told you. Maybe now --"
"Fuck, Pam, don't you think I know that? I knew it then. Just as well as I ever will. I just. You deserved to know."
"So did you. Maybe it's not too late to talk to Karen, Jim." She can't believe she's saying this. "She really, really cares about you. I mean, well, I do too, but she's...She's...She doesn't come with baggage or any of my crazy BS."
"I dumped her for you, Pam."
"That's not the same thing! I didn't dump anyone for you. That was for me." He doesn't say anything. "Jim?"
"I'm here."
"I'm sorry. Sorry. Really. If I um, I didn't mean to hurt you. That...That wasn't the point. I just," she chuckles at the memory, "I just needed you to know."
"Great, fucking great, Pam. Thanks. Yeah. Laugh a little. This is fucking hilarious."
"No," and she can't fight tears any longer. "No, no, I'm...No, Jim."
"What, Pam? What? Do you hate me now? Never want to talk to me again? Wait, make my day -- tell me you've never liked anything about me. Go on," she hears what sounds like a glass hit the sink.
"I'm sorry. I don't know how many times I can say it. I'm just sorry." The room's spinning and she feels like she might vomit.
"You could've told me before I broke up with Karen."
"I know. I mean. I didn't know...Maybe I did. I'm a little late realizing some things."
He's eerily silent, then:
"What would make you stay?" She's speechless. She can see him, eyes shut tight, his free hand rubbing his forehead. His voice softens. "You don't...You made that clear, Pam. But you could...You said you could...I just...What would make you stay?"
"Why should I stay, Jim? Scranton. A paper company. Answering phones. There's nothing for me there right now. Why couldn't I stay here, and go back later? Or go somewere else?"
"I -- You could, but, Scranton's...Scranton's not that bad, Pam. Good weather, nice neighborhoods. I wish you'd at least...Come on, Pam. I never had a chance. I never..." he sighs. "Give me a chance."
"You're getting ahead of yourself." She sighs. "Jim? Can I ask you something?"
He's quiet again, then: "I should probably let you go...Um. Can we talk tomorrow?"
"Um, I don't know," she says honestly. "Call me, if I'm not doing anything I'll answer."
"Yeah, no, cool. Okay, um," his voice cracks. " 'Night, Pam."
"Goodnight," but he's already hung up.
She cries herself to sleep that night, wishing things could be easy.
