The rest of Pam's trip seemed to fly by. At night she spoke to her mother and either Jordan or Jim. She tried to force herself to say she'd put Jordan first, that she only talked to Jim on nights that Jordan was at work. She wanted Jim to feel like she was pushing him away, like she was refusing to acknowledge anything beyond their friendly banter existed. The other side of that plan, though, was that she knew it was sadistic and she knew he didn't deserve that.
Her days were spent wandering, mostly. She'd managed to find an old friend from high school, and spent a couple of days catching up with her. They went to a Phillies game, saw a couple of movies (though the IMAX theatre was harder to find than she'd been told), did some shopping. The usual, Pam guesses.
On her last night in town, she sit outside her hotel room and lets her feet hang from the second-story walkway ("balcony"), listening to the planes flying in (how could anyone stand to live so close to an airport?) and the cars on the highway. It's all so vivid, compared to Scranton. She thinks it's brilliant and amazing and scary all at once. To have so much going on and still these people seem to be so bored.
Her phone ringing startles her from her thoughts. It's him.
"Hello?"
"Did you need a ride from the airport tomorrow?"
"Oh! Um. I don't know. I haven't been able to reach my mom tonight."
"Oh. Well, yeah, let me know if you do."
"Thanks, but I think I'll figure something out. Tomorrow's a Tuesday, anyway. You have work."
"Nope. Took the week off," he starts to crunch on something.
"What are you crunching on, Halpert? Jeez, I can't even hear the planes flying right over me," she teases.
She teases. This is good. This is easy. This is her avoiding the issue. Again.
"Mm," another loud crunch, probably deliberate; "Sunchips."
"Ooh, that sounds good. I haven't had like any junkfood since I've been down here. All restaurants. Which is why I'll be coming home in rags," she laughs.
"You should let me come get you. I'll take you to Subway. Real food, real chips. Yes!" He shouts the last part away from the phone, she can tell he's watching some sort of sports.
"Phillies winning?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah. That was a monster shot," he trails off. She stands to go back inside her room.
The soft hum of the air conditioning unit has become familiar; she sort of wonders how she'll sleep without it tomorrow.
"Want me to try to get ahold of your mom?"
"For what?"
"So I can get you tomorrow."
"Is it that important to you?"
"Uh, yeah, I wouldn't ask to introduce myself to a parent if it weren't," he makes it sound so casual.
Like anything between them could ever be casual. She begins to think, her mind racing. What, in the entire time she's known him, has anything ever been casual? When has it not had some sort of underlying thought? A motive behind it?
"What?" she sighs, when she realizes he's been talking.
"Hey. You're back," he laughs. "Call your mom and then call me back."
"Why is it so important who picks me up tomorrow?"
"It's not," he promises. "I just wanna see you."
"We're both off the next three days, Jim. You could easily see me then,"
"I plan to," he states, "but tomorrow is one of those three days. So. Call her."
