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Pam pulled on a sweater and hugged her arms around her chest. She had turned her heat down this morning, but as she rubbed her hands together for warmth, she began to wonder if she could have come up with a more comfortable plan to get Jim over to her house. She had spent the last three hours cleaning her tiny apartment, part out of an urge to impress Jim, and part out of nervous energy.

She jumped when her buzzer rang. She ran over to the door and pressed the intercom. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

The familiarity of the greeting sent a chill up her spine. On one hand, their friendship was so superficial—he had never called her on the phone until this morning, they never saw each other outside a big group—but on the other hand, they still felt so connected.

“Great. I’ll buzz you up.”

She looked around one last minute, and wondered what he would think of her place. Her studio apartment was small. The bed was pushed up against her refrigerator—not an ideal location, but the only place it would fit. She had a desk underneath a large window that faced Third Avenue. It was loud, and she heard trucks and cabs honking all day and night, but the window let in great light during the day. She loved to sit at her desk in the sunlight like a cat and draw in her sketchbook. She had filled two sketchbooks in the last few months of just scenes from outside that window. Besides her desk, she just had a lumpy recliner and footstool, a dresser, a bookshelf, and an old television with rabbit ears. Not exactly the big house she always thought she would share with Roy, but it was home.

Jim knocked on the door. “Who is it?” she called, with a sing-song voice.

A falsetto voice came from the hallway—a voice with a very bad French accent. “House-keeeeepingggg! Fresh towels? Meeents for your peeelow?”

Pam had to laugh. She had once told Jim about a summer job she had had in high school as a maid at the Hyatt in Wilkes-Barre. He had teased her about the French Maid thing for weeks.

“Where are the towels?” she asked as she let him in. “Really—I desperately need clean towels, and I’m in no mood to haul twenty pounds of laundry down the block.”

“What—now I’m your on-call handyman and maid?” He was laughing as he said it, but she immediately turned red. She suddenly felt so needy. Had she actually turned down the heat in her apartment and asked him to come fix it? She was so pathetic.

“Jim, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you to waste your Sunday with me. I can handle it.” Her expression had fallen from joy to embarrassment in just moments. She was even more mortified when she realized that she had said “waste your Sunday with me.” She had meant to say “with this.”

“Hey, Pam, don’t even think about it.” Jim looked concerned. “We’re friends, you have no heat. I would never let you freeze.” As he said the last part, he brought his hands up to her arms and rubbed up and down quickly, trying to warm her up. She tried to smile, but now she felt really guilty for lying to him.

“So where is this infamous heating pipe?” He held up a small duffel bag. “I brought some wrenches, just in case it was tight.”


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Jim had to stand on the footstool to reach the lever on the heating pipe. As he was reaching up, he felt the footstool shift underneath him, and his left foot slip. He was stretching for the pipe to steady himself when he felt her hands on his waist. They burned like embers on his skin. The two of them stayed like that for a moment—his sweater riding up slightly as he reached for the steam pipe, with her hands resting above his belt.

He looked down at her and gave her a lopsided grin. “Guess I need to lay off the donuts. I don’t know if this old footstool will hold me much longer.” She snatched her hands back quickly and gave a small laugh.

He finally reached the lever on the heating pipe, and he found that it was easy to turn it onto the “on” position. The duffel bag of tools was overkill. He liked to feel useful, but this one didn’t really take much skill on his part, just long arms.

“Give it twenty minutes, and it’ll be a sauna in here. You might have to fight off some old fat sweaty guys in towels, but at least you won’t freeze.”

“Thanks—I think.” She gave him another smile, the kind that used to make his stomach do somersaults. Those days were over, although he did detect a small tumble deep inside his chest.

“So . . . now what?” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. It was just something about that smile, and the fact that he could still feel where her hands had been on his skin.

“Oh, um . . . I guess that’s it,” she said, looking surprised.

An awkward moment of silence followed. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted her answer to be. He told himself he should just go, just get out of there. Without thinking, however, he started to look around her apartment, drinking in her details. It was small, but she had put her special touches on it. She had plants and framed pictures of her family on the window sill. There were colorful prints of artwork on the walls and an old record player on her bookshelf. Records? He wondered what she listed to now. She had eight pillows on her bed, and her comforter seemed old and worn down. It had faded into a light indigo, and Jim could tell just by looking at it that it was just as soft to the touch as his old University of Scranton t-shirt. His mind suddenly conjured up an image of Pam, lying in that bed on a lazy Sunday morning, with that soft old comforter curled up around her . . .

It was tough to get out that picture out of his head, but he tried valiantly. He tore his glance from the bed, and his eyes settled on her small kitchen. He was trying to figure out how she managed to get by without a microwave when his eye caught something on the stove—a small green teapot.

He cleared his throat. He realized that he sounded nervous, but went through with it anyways. “Well, I freed up most of my afternoon to wrestle with that heating pipe of yours, so I’d be up for it if you want to get a bite to eat or something.”


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They went to Molly’s, an old Irish bar that served a great burger. It was one of Pam’s favorites, and she wanted to introduce Jim to it. It was perfect for a winter day—there was sawdust on the floor, an old fireplace in the back, and dark velvet curtains that kept the cold at bay.

They warmed their toes by the fireplace, and warmed their stomachs with Guinness. This combination, along with the darkness of the corner booth they were sitting in, seemed to open things up between them. The conversation eventually drifted to their lives in New York.

Pam took another sip of Guinness. “I mean, I guess I thought it would be all glamour and fun and excitement, but really . . . I mean . . . don’t get me wrong, I love it here, but . . . My friends back home think I see celebrities on every block and crazy ‘New York-ey’ things happen all the time. I hate to burst their bubbles, but I pretty much go to work and come home. That’s about it.”

“I know. I thought I’d have all of these OINK stories, but really, I only have like, three.”

“OINK?”

“‘Only In New York.’ Doesn’t quite translate, but close enough.”

Jim proceeded to entertain Pam with his three OINK stories— one where he accidentally became an extra in a movie filming on his block, one involving a chance encounter with Naomi Campbell (she did yell at him, but didn’t throw her cell phone at him), and one involving a drag queen that challenged Jim to a drag race.

After Pam’s laughter finally died down, she had to admit that she couldn’t think of any OINK stories of her own.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll have an altercation with a drag queen one of these days, and I better be the first one to hear about it.”

She smiled warmly at him. “You are on the very top my list.”

That damn smile again. He took a large gulp of beer, trying to calm that familiar feeling that was rising up his chest.

“I don’t think I’ll live here forever, and wherever I end up, I just hope I won’t have regrets about this period of my life. I mean, I’m trying to do New York-ey things, but sometimes I just feel like I’m wasting my time here,” she said, her voice suddenly softer.

She looked down at the table and picked unconsciously at her food. “I don’t know, I just thought it would be different here, that I would be different. I guess it just goes to show that you can’t just run away and all your problems disappear.”

He couldn’t read her. What exactly was she talking about? When had their conversation shifted? He opted to say nothing at all, and to just let her talk.

“You know, I tried to call you a while ago. Back . . . when I was trying to decide whether I should move here. I called the Stamford branch, but you had already resigned, and you didn’t leave a forwarding address. And there are a surprising amount of Jim Halperts on Google.”

“Oh.” He had no idea what to say. He found it was a struggle to find his voice. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

She finally looked up and met his gaze. Jim knew the answer—nothing more needed to be said.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” She looked down at her drink again, gripping the glass with both hands. “I was just trying to figure some things out. I thought I needed your help, but eventually I just realized that I had to figure things out for myself.”

“So what did you figure out?”

“I realized that I needed to end things with Roy. We couldn’t make each other happy.” Her words began to tumble out quickly, as if she was afraid that if she hesitated, they wouldn’t come out at all. “You know what’s strange? He wanted to have kids as soon as we got married. I never thought he would be in a rush, but he got this image of himself throwing a football around with his son in his mind, and he wanted to get started right away.”

“Really?” Jim couldn’t hide his surprise.

“Yeah, I know. And I always thought I wanted kids, always, but I found myself making all of these excuses why we should wait. Every night I would say I would stop taking the pill, and every morning I popped another one in my mouth. The thought of having kids—it was just too scary. I eventually realized, though, that it wasn’t having kids that was scary, it was having kids with Roy. I felt like once we had kids, that was it, I was trapped, I was stuck. And then I was, like, what am I doing married to this person if I don’t want to be stuck with this person? Isn’t that what a marriage is supposed to be?” She looked up at him for a moment, and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling.”

“No, don’t—you’re not rambling. So, what happened?”

“Not much else. It’s pretty easy to get divorced in Pennsylvania. We didn’t even last a year. Isn’t that so sad? God, sometimes when I think about it, I just feel like such a failure. My parents have been married thirty years, and I couldn’t even make it through one?”

Jim shook his head firmly. “No way. What would have been sad would be if you had allowed yourself to stay trapped in something that made you so unhappy.”

“I know.” She took another gulp of her beer—a big one. “What is really upsetting is that I feel like I wasted a lot of time on something that wasn’t meant to be. I mean . . .” she tilted her head a little and looked into his eyes again. “I just feel like I wasted a lot of opportunities. Like there are a lot of things I wish I could’ve done differently.”

Those words, along with Pam’s steady gaze shook Jim to the core. He turned his head towards the fire roaring in the corner. He just needed a minute to think. He had no idea where to go from here.


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“C’mere Tank,” Pam said, patting the spot on her bed next to her. Frank obeyed and jumped up into the bed, eager for a belly rub. The immediacy of his response to his new nickname got her thinking about Jim, and how they seemed to have wormed themselves into each other’s lives over the last few weeks.

It was just small things, like Pam starting to call Frank “Tank.” That nickname had started when she and Frank had met Jim out for a walk along the East River Esplanade. They played catch in the dog run, and then took a break on a sunny bench facing the river. Frank had put his front paws in Jim’s lap, and Jim grabbed hold of the shaggy dog’s ears, and started chanting “Frank the Tank, Frank the Tank!”

Pam had looked at him like he was crazy, and Jim had responded with an equally incredulous look.

“Please tell me you are a Frank the Tank fan. It’s only the best character in a true classic. You might have heard of it—Old School?”

The thought of Will Farrell funneling a beer immediately popped into Pam’s mind, and she had begun to laugh. “We’re going streaking!” she proclaimed, and unzipped her winter parka.

“Pam—don’t get carried away,” Jim had said, with mock seriousness. “I think you just gave that old guy sitting two benches down a heart attack.”

Pam had looked over at an elderly gentleman sitting ten feet away, who had indeed looked very shocked. And interested.

It was just little things like that. Like how now he called her at work whenever he was bored, which was surprisingly often for a supposedly exciting job. And how natural it was when he stopped by her place unexpectedly last Saturday, and they spent the day eating popcorn and watching the Eagles get creamed. And how he called her before he went to bed most nights—most nights when Amy wasn’t staying over.

And last week, when she finally had her first OINK moment, her first thought was, “I’ve got to call Jim.” After she finished telling him her story involving a homeless man and a six-foot long paper mache horse, he couldn’t stop laughing. The next day, she found a small ceramic pig in her mailbox, with a note that said, “Congratulations on your first of many OINK moments. Every time you see a belligerent person talking to paper mache horse, or really, any inanimate object, you can look at this pig and think of your buddy Jim. And always remember, it’s not a true OINK moment until you share it with someone. Preferably me. Love, Jim.”

That ceramic pig was sitting in the sun on her desk now, one of her most treasured possessions, along with her small green teapot.


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“Hey Pam!” The female voice was chipper on the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

“Pam, it’s me, Amy!”

“Oh, hey Amy, what’s up?” It seemed a little strange talking to Amy on the phone, especially since she had sensed some tension between Amy and Jim the last few weeks.

“Well, a couple of us are getting together tonight for dinner, and I wanted to know if you wanted to come. You know, it’s just a group thing.”

“Oh, sure, I could use a night out.” She was a little confused as to why it wasn’t Jim that was inviting her, but just assumed it was Amy’s event to organize.

“Great. See you at eight. We’ll meet you at Lombardi’s.”


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Pam was a little early, so she put her name down for a table. She had no idea how many people would be there, but she assumed it would be around six people. At eight o’clock, she saw Theo, a member of the Pictionary team, come in the front door. She waved him over to the bar.

“Hey, how’s it going?”

“Hey Pam, great to see you again.” He greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, which Pam considered a little odd, but she just let it go as one of Theo’s many quirks. He was a bit of a flirt, but Pam had never taken him very seriously.

“So who else is coming tonight?”

“Oh, I think it’s just us and Amy and Jim.”

Pam was surprised. “Really? I thought more people were invited.”

“Nope, just us!”

Pam and Theo made conversation at the bar for the next twenty minutes. When Amy and Jim finally arrived, Pam was relieved. Theo was alright as a Pictionary partner, but to be honest, he was a bit obnoxious. She didn’t know if she could take one more story about his big important job on Wall Street.

“Hey you two!” Amy said, enthusiastically. “Hope we aren’t interrupting anything!” She seemed overly perky again, and gave Pam an obvious wink. When Pam saw the wink, it finally dawned on her what was happening. It was no accident that it was just the four of them—this was a double date.

“No—well, not yet anyways!” Theo said, laughing, and returned Amy’s enthusiastic wink.

She was really shocked. Things had been going so well with Jim lately. Could he have set this up? She knew he was still with Amy, but still. Had she totally misread him? Pam was devastated at the thought, but one look at him assuaged her fears. He looked simultaneously confused, furious, and disappointed, and it was obvious that he had been just as in the dark about the evening as she had been. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, but kept on looking from Amy to Theo and back to Amy.

At that moment, the hostess motioned for them to follow her to a table, and Theo and Amy left the bar.

Jim finally looked at Pam, and grabbed her arm. “Listen—I don’t know what’s going on here . . .”

“I have no idea either.” She needed for him to understand. He couldn’t think she wanted to go on a date with Theo, could he?

The relief in his expression was palpable. “Okay, good. I was just worried that you wanted to, you know . . .”

“No, I never would.” She became aware that his hand was still on her wrist.

“Great. I mean, Theo’s a good friend, but he can be a real sleaze, okay? So, please, just don’t . . . ”

His eyes were locked on hers, and she heard a hint of pleading in his voice.

“Of course. You don’t need to say another word,” she said softly.

He gave a little nod of his head and finally dropped her arm. She followed behind him into the dining room. Her last phrase kept on running through her mind. “You don’t need to say another word.”

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