Jim froze, stock still and slack jawed. She was crying; had obviously been crying for a long time. Momentarily he considered turning and running right back through that door. He knew instinctively that the source of these tears of hers was significant, whether Roy or something stupid Michael had said, or....no, he couldn't let himself believe THAT. But he knew whatever it was, it was going to be too much to handle. That it was going to set him much further back on his unchartered course of getting over her. He knew he could not afford that.
But in the end he knew it didn't matter. He could no more walk away from her in this state than he could shed his own skin, no matter what it cost him.
He reached into his pocket and offered her his handkerchief, held it out to her silently.
And she smiled, tearfully, and then snickered, wetly.
"You carry a handkerchief?"
"Yeah...who doesn't?"
"Me, obviously". She twisted his hankie in her hands, already soaked with the tears she mopped off her cheeks.
He sat soundlessly on the bench next to her. It had always amazed her how he had been able to handle that impossibly long frame so gracefully.
"So....what's new?" His voice was even deeper than usual.
And later, even years later and wisdom gained, this moment would never cease to astound her. Where did this courage come from? Why in the world, after such a little prompt from him, did she now find these words falling from her lips as if she were doing nothing more than reading the take out menu for the lunch order?
"Oh, you know. Nothing much." She did pause. And that's when the dam broke. She still did not look at him, but continued to twist his hankie in her hands. "It's just that I'm in love with a man who used to be my best friend. I've been in love with him since I met him really, and he once loved me back. But when he told me, I was afraid and involved and I did a really bad, stupid thing." She let out one sob, took a shaky breath and kept going. She knew at that second she had to keep going. "And now he's moving on with someone new. And he should. But it doesn't make it hurt any less."
She broke down again, scrunching that white square of cotton so deeply in her eyes that it hurt. She wanted to lose herself in that grief until he went away, as she knew he would; until he unfolded himself up from the bench and said something kind but slightly dismissive, putting off the rest of this discussion for another day. Another day that she knew would never come.
But he didn't move. He seemed to not even be breathing.
And since she already was riding this newfound wave of courage, she mustered the last bit of it to look up at him.
He was staring straight at her. His eyes....she thought that she had seen just about every look of his expressive face, every nuance and shading that always gave away exactly what he was thinking. But this, she had never seen. Not even when he was standing in a dark parking lot in an even darker sweater, not after he had kissed her beside his desk, not even as he let go of her hands and walked away.
It made her breath hitch in her throat. She could not look away. He kept looking in her eyes, until finally his eyes dropped to her lips, briefly. And his face did not soften one bit.
"Tell me."
"Wh---what?"
"Tell ME, Pam. Not third person."
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And it was so easy in that moment, because it was all right there, begging to be said. I turned on the bench, knocking my knees against his now. Turning fully into his face.
"I love you. I'm in love with you. I always have been." A shaky breath, then "..and you have no idea how sorry I am, how badly I messed up..."
His eyes softened ever so slightly and he crooked one side of his mouth. I started to say some more things about how sorry I was, but he leaned in and gently, so carefully, kissed those words from my lips with his. It wasn't a drunken peck like the Dundies, and it wasn't the desperation of Casino Night. It was the Inventory Kiss, the one that could be gentle and slow and purposeful, because we knew that there would be many more to follow. Of all forms and types and implications and meanings.
I was still a little dizzy, a little off-balance, but I heard him say "....not once."
I blinked. My eyes were really hurting.
"What?"
"Not 'once', Pam. I still do. Love you. I never stopped. I don't think I ever could."
And it was my turn to look dumbfounded, I guess. At least I think I must have, because it made him smile, that teasing smile that I used to see so often. I smiled back, until I saw the cloud pass over his face, and I knew what it was.
He stood and offered me his hand. On shaky legs I stood next to him. He was serious as he looked down at me. For some reason what was between us, while beautiful, at the beginning had to cause so much heartache for those around us.
"I have to talk to Karen."
"Yeah". Then, "I'm sorry about that. I mean, I really am."
He sighed, "me too". I read his face carefully; there was regret, but no indecision. I loved him all the more for it.
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I tucked that handkerchief in the waistband of my skirt, like I had seen my grandmother do so many years before. It made me smile as it rode, somewhat damply, against my side for the rest of that joyful, but difficult day.
Later, I washed it and folded it carefully, keeping it in my sock drawer. The socks wandered in and out, got old and stretched out and holey and were replaced. But that handkerchief remained until a couple of decades later:
"I should probably tuck some tissues in my bouquet, don't you think, Mom? I know I won't be able to hold it together through the ceremony."
"No, you need a handkerchief. A bride needs a touch of class on her wedding day, not disposable tissues."
"Who in the world has handkerchiefs in this day and age?" She giggled. "Other than Dad, of course."
I smiled. Well, I'm sure I beamed, actually. Because her smile....as her dad said, so like my own, widened unexpectedly.
"I have one you can use."
Author's Chapter Notes:
So, this is it. Starts with an alternate ending to Back From Vacation, and then a glimpse into the future. Thanks for reading!
Chapter End Notes:
Ah, fluffy and angsty too. Or, angsty and then fluff. But it's fun either way. At least it was for me.
Recorderalways is the author of 7 other stories.
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