Thursday, December 20

Jim tapped his foot impatiently as he waiting for Angela to go back to her desk. She was standing at the reception desk talking to Pam, and from the look on Pam's face he had a feeling that Angela was making her usual irritating demands. She had been standing there for fifteen minutes already, and he was contemplating excuses to interrupt them when he saw her finally walk away. In the next instant, Jim was out of his seat and walking toward Pam.

“What was that about?” He asked, leaning over the desk. “You weren't looking especially happy during that chit chat.”

“Please,” Pam rolled her eyes. “I don't understand why she insists on being the head of the Party Planning Committee. She's determined to suck the fun out of everything.”

“And that's exactly the reason she wants to be head of the Party Planning Committee,” he grinned. “Because if she can't be happy, then she's going to make sure no one else is either.”

“Good point,” Pam chuckled. “But it's Christmas, you know? Even Scrooge came around eventually.”

Jim picked a few red and green jelly beans out of the candy dish. “Maybe we could arrange some ghostly visitations,” he mused. “You know Kevin would just love the chance to be the Ghost of Christmas Present.”

Pam's giggle could be heard across the room, and she bent her head and covered her face with her hands when she saw Angela peer disapprovingly over the cubicle wall at her outburst. Just then the main door opened and in walked Parma.

“Hey, Parma,” Pam said, wiping traces of tears from her eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Making a delivery,” she replied, placing a medium sized box on the reception counter.

Confusion was the dominating expression on Pam's face as her eyes darted from Parma's face to the box and back to Parma. “Isn't that the orange shirt you wore last year...?” Her question trailed off as she glanced over to Jim, who stood there wearing a look of complete innocence.

“It is,” Parma nodded. “Thought it was the right time of year to be back in business.”

“What's going on?” Pam asked.

“Just delivering a package,” Parma maintained, handing a clipboard over the desk to her. “Do you mind signing it for it so I can get moving?”

“Who's it for?” Pam questioned, seriously befuddled. She signed her name and handed it back.

“You, silly.” Parma smiled. “See you guys around.”

Pam stared at the box for a moment before standing up and placing it down on her desk. She glanced up at Jim, who was still leaning against the desk and watching her intently. “What have you done?” She asked, an smile of excitement appearing.

“Me?” Jim replied, straightening up. “Nothing.”

“Right,” she said, reaching for her scissors to open the box. “You had nothing to do with this.”

Jim shrugged. “Why would you assume it's from me?”

“No idea,” she grinned.

“Well, maybe you shouldn't go hurling accusations at people then, Beesly,” he said.

She shook her head. “My deepest apologies then.”

“You're forgiven – this time.”

“Shut up,” she muttered. She finally cut the tape around the top of the box and opened it. Static electricity held a few styrofoam pellets to the inside flaps, which then transferred to Pam's sweater sleeves as she pulled a few items out of the box. There was a bulky manila envelope and a wrapped square package. She stuck the now empty box on the floor and struggled to pick off the remaining pellets off her sweater.

“Sure you don't want to take credit for this?” She asked.

Jim shook his head and raised his eyebrows. “Just open it already.”

Pam grinned in excitement and tore the red and white striped wrapping paper off the package. She held the box in her hand as her smile grew wider.

“Snowman in a box?” She said, reading the printing on the box. She wasted no time in opening it, and found it was just as described: a felt hat, black stones for eyes, a thin striped scarf, and plastic orange carrot shape for a nose.

“Now that's cool,” Jim mused.

“No pun intended, I hope.”

“Of course not. That would have been too easy. What else did you get?”

Pam sat back down as she opened the flap of the envelope and looked inside. She carefully tipped the contents onto her desk blotter. An assortment of papers and trinkets rolled out, along with a sealed legal sized envelope. Pam's hands passed over the collection, quickly sorting things into piles.

There were a half dozen ticket stubs, a parking lot pass, and a few different receipts from everywhere from restaurants to Target. A packet of Swiss Miss hot chocolate with marshmallows, wooden scrabble tiles (letters X and T) and two unmatching gloves - one red, one pink – were also included, as were four foil wrappers from fun-sized York Peppermint Patties, each wrapper carefully pressed to remove all creases.

“Cleaned out your junk drawer, I see,” she teased, hoping for a reaction. Jim shrugged noncommittally, refusing to be goaded. He leaned back down on the counter, his fingers interlaced. As he waited for her to open the envelope he absentmindedly twisted the silver ring he'd been wearing for nearly a year now. When he noticed what he was doing, he remembered how many times he'd seen Pam twist her engagement ring to Roy in the exact same way whenever she'd been nervous or anxious. He clenched his hands in to fists to stop the fidgeting, but not before Pam had noticed what he'd been doing.

“Nervous about something?”

“No, it's fine,” he said dismissively. “More like force of habit to play with it.”

She nodded, not quite convinced. “I'm amazed you still wear it, to be honest.”

“Why?”

“Michael did give you a bit of a hard time when he first saw it,” she said.

“You mean every time he notices it,” Jim grimaced. “The things I do for you.”

“I said you didn't have to wear it,” she reminded him, her eyes dancing.

Jim decided to change the subject. They both knew he had no intentions of not wearing the ring – it has been weird little joke between them for as long as he'd had it. “Are you going to open the envelope or not?”

Pam picked up the ivory envelope in her hands. It was of heavier paper stock than most legal-sized envelopes, and her name was carefully printed on the front in black ink: Pamela Jane Beesly. The way the letters P and B looped at the beginning told her what she already knew. The sender of this package was the man standing in front of her. What she still couldn't figure out was what in the world it all was.

“I might save this for later,” she said, running her fingers over her name. “It might be something personal that I shouldn't be reading in the office.”

“It might,” Jim agreed. “Or it might be more ticket stubs.”

“Well I can always use more ticket stubs,” she quipped. The conversation effectively ended as her telephone started to ring. “Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam.”

Jim sat back down at his desk as she went back to work, and attempted to do the same. He was, however, unable to go more than thirty seconds without glancing over at her desk, trying to see if she had opened the envelope. He told himself he wasn't nervous, that there wasn't anything to be worried about, but his inability to stop his leg from bouncing said otherwise. The only thing worse than the waiting was when he heard Michael's voice calling his name.

Pam gave Jim a sympathetic smile when he got up to go answer Michael's bellow, but in reality she was more than a little relieved. She knew he had been watching her for the last half-hour, and while she never minded any attention he paid her, she felt like insect under a microscope. Maybe it was because he was acting so strange since the parcel arrived. It was completely unlike Jim not to take credit for something he'd done. And given that it was unequivocally obvious that he was behind this, his reticence to admit it seemed even weirder. She had carefully slit open the envelope the minute he'd gone back to his desk. Despite what she's said, she was unable to wait a moment longer to see what was inside. However what she saw was not at all what she was expecting – though what she might have been expecting was unclear. But whatever the possibilities, this certainly wasn't it.

It was a letter. A handwritten letter. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of what was so important that Jim felt the need to write her a letter. Who did that anymore? There was also a small stamp-sized object wrapped in the same red and white striped paper as the snowman kit nestled in the folded pages. As the phone rang yet again, she tucked it all back into the envelope and waited for a moment where she could go find somewhere to read its contents in peace.

When she saw Michael close his office door behind Jim, she knew her chance to read the letter had arrived. She checked her email; her message to Parma asking for details was still unanswered. She glanced around the office, but no one was paying her the slightest bit of attention; nothing unusual there. She forwarded the phones to voice mail and with slightly shaking hands, picked up the envelope addressed to her and slipped out of the office and into the stairwell.

She sat on the top stair of the set of steps on half-floor down from their office. She was glad she'd started wearing her cardigans again, because she could delicately place the tiny wrapped object into one of its pockets as she turned her attention to the letter. The last time she felt this nervous about reading a letter it was the acceptance acknowledgment from Maryswood Community College. She smoothed the paper against her legs and began to read.

Dear Pam,

I used to think that summer was my favorite time of year. It was a chance to be outdoors, to spend more time in the sun, and because of so many years of education, it seemed like a time when there was less work to be done. But thanks to you, I've started to have a whole new appreciation for the winter months.

Do you remember snowstorm last winter that shut the city down and turned a normal two day weekend into a four day one? It snowed so hard even Dwight couldn't make it into work. (And why am I even writing his name in a letter to you? Scratch that last sentence from your memory – please!) The point is, I will never think of snow without remembering that January and the look of complete joy and excitement on your face when I agreed to go outside and build a snowman with you that weekend. I didn't think anyone could be that happy to be in the cold – especially someone who complains about how low I keep the thermostat set in my own apartment! (Hmm....who could that be?)

You are one of the most creative people I have ever met, and even the simple act of making a snowman brought that out in you. How long did we spend kicking around the gravel at the end of my driveway (after you made me shovel the snow off it!) until you found two equally round stones for his eyes? Sam the Snowman I know appreciated all your hard work and effort. I would have included a photo of Sam, but you never gave me a copy of the pictures you took that weekend. (Hint. Hint.)

I have to admit, if I could a moment to make time stand still, it would have been that weekend. I know I spent a lot of it just marveling at the fact that you were there, that we were together. You can't spend that much time hoping and wishing for something and not be a bit overwhelmed when your wish comes true.

That's how I spent most of January, to be honest. And problem most of February and March and April – hell, sometimes I still don't believe it. I can't believe that after everything, things really did work out. We finally worked out. It's one of the reasons I wear that ring you gave me. I can look down and see it and touch it, and know that even if you aren't with me at that moment, here's some proof that everything worked out. I don't think I've ever owned anything that held so much meaning to me.

But enough about that. I really don't want to turn this into something you could use for blackmail purposes at a later date. I just want you to remember January.

I do wish we would have taken a little more care in what movies we saw that month. I mean, we now must forever live with the knowledge that the first movie we ever saw in a theater together was Alpha Dog. Does that fact haunt you as much as it haunts me? Do you think we could maybe agree on a different movie to tell people when they ask what movie was our first movie together was? Maybe something with a bit less cringe-worthy dialog? A little less Justin Timberlake? I'd even be willing to claim it was something foreign. It could forever be our little secret.

Of course I'm not forgetting about the beginning of that month, or that night we spent at the Radisson. I can't drive past that hotel without smirking just a little bit. You totally outdid yourself with that. But in some ways it's almost like all of that happened in a month of its own, though I know that makes absolutely no sense. But you can argue it was like the true start of the new year the afternoon we walked out of that hotel.

Another thing about January was learning so many things about you. Given how long we have known each other, I liked to think I knew you so well. And I suppose in ways that matter, I did. But the little everyday things – the quirks that make you you, you could say – surprised me every day. Things like how you can't go longer than a week without losing a glove.

Or how you like to put candy in the freezer – especially those damn York Peppermint Patties! I still say you're awfully lucky I didn't chip a tooth the first time I bit into one without knowing where you'd been keeping them.

Or how you can be a graceful loser when playing board games (TOXIC for the win, thank you very much!) if there's kissing involved. Why couldn't I have learned that one sooner??

Or how you can call a trip to the supermarket a “date”. Maybe I should thank Roy for keeping your expectations so low. (Kidding! Sort of....)

The list goes on, and even now you continue to surprise me. I just hope your memories of that month mean half as much to you as mine do to me.

Anyway, thanks for helping me appreciate winter just a little more. I wish I could say the same about your cold feet, however.....

Love,

Jim

Pam folded the pages back up and and smiled softly. She stared down the stairwell in silence, her eyes not seeing the concrete walls or the metal steps, but instead replaying the images of January that he had awakened. It had really been a fairytale month for her – going so quickly from their estrangement to being together nearly every single day. She understood completely about that surreal feeling of not quite believing things were working out between despite all the evidence. She even felt a sudden craving for frozen peppermint patties.

She tucked the letter back into the envelope and was about to stand up when she remembered the item in her pocket. Carefully pulling off the gift wrap, she found a silver snowman charm. She laughed and studied it closely for a moment, then put it back in her pocket as she got up. It was well past time to get back to her desk, and she just hoped she hadn't been missed.

When she walked back into the office, Jim was already at his desk. His eyes drifted from her face to the letter she held in her hands and back to her face, his eyebrows raising comically. She stopped at her desk to put down the letter, then headed over towards him, conveniently forgetting to turn off the phone forwarding.

“Hey,” she said, leaning back against his desk as she'd done so many times before.

“Hey,” he replied, leaning back in his chair to look up at her. “Where did you disappear off to?”

“Oh, I was around,” Pam replied smoothly. She put her hand in her pocket, and felt the charm nestled there. “Hey I heard we might be getting snow this weekend.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she nodded. “I just thought you'd like to know.”