Wednesday, December 26 -

The flurries were already thick in the air by the time Pam and Jim got on the road to head back to Scranton.

“I'm sorry I let Stephen keep talking me into game after game of Pokemon Yahtzee,” Pam said guiltily as she watched the wipers scrape the snow from their view. “I know you wanted to leave before lunchtime.”

Jim glanced over at her, an indulgent smile forming. “Not a problem, Beesly. Really. I know how you get when you aren't allowed to keep playing until you win.”

“That's not true,” she protested with a laugh. “I did win a few times.”

“I believe I was sitting right next to you when you said – and I'd use air quotes if I thought it would be wise to take my hands of the steering wheel – 'Nobody leaves until I get my chance to come back.'” He peered over at her. “Sound familiar?”

Pam rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. I might have said something like that.”

Jim briefly patted her thigh. “I'm teasing. You know I don't care. How often do we get to see your nephews? I was having fun too.” He noticed her fingering the edges of the multi-colored striped scarf he'd given to her yesterday. “I'm glad I got you that scarf. I think it suits you.”

Pam smiled up at him. “I think it does, too. I really love it. Thanks again.”

He smirked. “And now I don't have to hunt for my blue one every cold morning.”

“Maybe,” she replied thoughtfully, “I got attached to that scarf more because it was yours than because I was that crazy about it.”

“Ah,” he nodded. He thought for a moment before continuing. “So you're saying that I should wear your new scarf for a while and then you could steal it from me.”

“Not necessary,” she said simply. “Besides, I don't think I shall ever take it off.”

Jim shook his head sceptically. “Really?”

“Really,” she nodded.

“Not ever?”

“Nope.”

“Not even for a shower?”

She made a dismissive sound at him. “You know what I mean.”

“In bed?”

Pam didn't miss a beat. “Well, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he repeated dryly, trying not to smile. He reached back over and ran the edge of the scarf through his fingers. “Could be kind of itchy though,” he added. “I'm pretty sure it's wool.”

“Where's your sense of adventure?” She teased. “It's all about indulging the senses.”

“I'm not sure the urge to scratch is one of my particular favorites at a time like that.”

Pam giggled.

“What?” Jim asked, grinning. “It's not!”

“Hmm,” was all she replied. “We'll see.”

They had been driving for less than thirty minutes when it became clear that the weather was getting worse.

“Do you think we should go back to my mom's?” Pam asked.

Jim pulled off I-81 and into a gas station at the exit to East Hanover as he thought about it. He glanced up at the sky as he filled the tank, as if somehow it would tell him what to do.

“They said the snow was supposed to stay south of Hazelton, and the heavier stuff was headed for Philly,” he said as he climbed back in the car. “I think we'll be okay.”

“Okay,” Pam replied.

“Unless you want to go back,” he added.

Pam shook her head. “No, not really. I was looking forward to sleeping in my own bed tonight.”

“I thought we were sleeping in your bed at your mom's.”

“No, I mean my newer, bigger, softer bed in Scranton. I'm pretty sure the bed at my mom's is the same mattress I've had since seventh grade.”

“Wow – that old?” He teased.

“Shut up. You know what I mean.”

Jim leaned over and kissed her before pulling out of the station. “I do. And I'll be happy to go back to our regular bed, too.”

Despite their intentions to make it home, it appeared the storm had other ideas. As the wind picked up and the snow continued to fall, the conversation in the car dwindled. Eventually Jim even switched off his iPod so he could focus on the road.

“It's beautiful,” Pam said softly, as the whiteness blanketed everything.

“Yeah,” Jim mumbled, “and slippery.”

Pam wasn't worried, but she could see Jim gripping the steering wheel tightly, and watched as the muscle in his jaw tensed and untensed repeatedly. She resisted the urge to lean over and rub his shoulder in support. She just hoped he didn't end up with a huge migraine from the stress.

“Do you want to stop for a bit?” She suggested.

“No,” he replied. “We've got to meet my family for Christmas dinner tonight. It's got to let up soon.”

Jim wasn't naturally a fast driver to begin with, but the weather definitely tempered his usual conservatism even further. Still, as they continued along I-81, they found themselves traveling at slower and slower speeds. They were on the road for nearly another hour, barely covering thirty miles when Pam let out a big sigh.

“You okay?” Jim asked, his eyes not leaving the road. The snow was covering the road at such a rate that there was really only one lane carved through the snow.

“This is getting worse instead of better,” she said. “Do you want me to drive for a bit?”

“No, I'm fine,” Jim replied, looking to Pam like he was anything but. “Maybe we should stop somewhere. Take a break, you know?”

Pam nodded, eager for the chance for Jim to relax a bit. “Yeah, that's probably a good idea.”

“But where? I know nothing about this part of Pennsylvania.”

Pam pulled the map out of the glove compartment and tried to remember where she had typically made stops along the journey from her place to her parents. Most of the time she never even bothered to stop. Now the blowing snow was making the landscape unfamiliar, and the map itself did nothing to refresh her memory.

“Do you remember what exit we last passed?” She asked him.

“I think it was exit 104,” he replied. “Or something around there.”

Pam caught sight of a green sign approaching. “Frackville is twenty-one miles from here,” she read.

“Frackville?”

“That's what it said,” she laughed.

“It sounds like they had to sanitize their original town name,” Jim joked.

“Or it's populated by Battlestar Galactica fans,” Pam suggested.

“Yikes, Pam,” Jim exclaimed, the hint of a smile returning finally. “Do I even want to know how you'd know that?”

“I spent a lot of nights at Battlestar Galactica marathons when you were away,” she replied.

“You did not.”

“And how would you know?”

“True,” Jim admitted, tilting his head slightly. “But I really need to believe that you didn't.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he paused, “I don't know how I feel about the idea that you're more compatible with Dwight than with me.”

“Doesn't matter,” she replied blithely. “Dwight and I wouldn't work out anyway – he's too much of a blanket hog.”

Jim make a choking sound. “Don't,” he said, glancing at her for the briefest of moments, “Don't even joke like that. Ever.”

Pam let out a laugh.

“I'm serious!” He continued. “That's just – uh --” he shivered as if cold. “That's so so wrong on so many levels.”

Pam continued to laugh.

“Take it back.”

“Take what back?”

“That whole idea that you know Dwight steals the blankets.”

“It bothers you that much?”

“Pam!”

She laughed again. “You know I'm not serious, you dork.”

“Still – that's not something to joke about.”

“Okay, of course I'm joking. But he did put his arm around me once,” she mused, watching for his reaction.

Jim grimaced. “Did he touch skin or just your clothing?”

Pam grinned. “Does it matter?”

“I need to know if you're tainted now or not.”

Pam shook her head in giddy disbelief. “We need to pull over soon. The stress of driving in this is clearly getting to you.”

A few minutes of silence passed, then Jim spoke again. “Why did Dwight put his arm around you?”

She should have known he would come back to that. He never did miss much. She thought back to the incident in question, and wondered if it was worth opening up old wounds. She decided it was probably a story worth telling.

“He found me crying in the stairwell, and felt sorry for me, I guess.” She waited for the next inevitable question.

“When was this?”

Pam twisted the end of her scarf around her fingers. “The day you came back to Scranton.”

Jim frowned. “Why? What happened?”

Pam made a soft snorting sound as she kept her gaze on the scarf. “You came back with Karen.”

“Ah,” he said softly. “But --”

“I saw her scratch your back when we were out in the parking lot, and I put two and two together,” she explained. “And it hit me that I was too late.”

“I'm sorry,” Jim said simply.

“Not your fault,” she shook her head. “Besides,” she added, taking a deep breath and looking over at him, “that's ancient history.” She smiled. “I've got you now.”

Jim couldn't help but smile back at her. “That you do,” he agreed.

By the time they reached Frackville, there was well over eight inches on the ground, and the short skid they did as they turned off the exit convinced both of them that stopping was the right idea.

As they drove toward the center of town, they were practically the only ones on the road, and it was hard to tell which businesses were opened and which were closed.

“Oh my God,” Pam exclaimed. “What in the hell is that?”

Jim looked in the direction she was pointing. “Wow.”

“Let's stop there,” Pam suggested.

“Are you serious?”

“Why not?” She grinned.

Jim shook his head and pulled into the parking lot of a painted blue building proclaiming to be Granny's Motel and Restaurant. He parked the car in a space about fifty feet from the object of their astonishment. Standing in front of the building was an enormous statue of a pioneer woman, painted orange and gold, holding a pie in her hands, while a child, holding onto a headless doll, clung to her skirt.

“Wow,” Jim said again.

“That is the ugliest thing I've ever seen,” Pam said.

“It's not just ugly, it's scary,” he added. “Is that supposed to be a child or a very short man?”

“He looks a bit like those ventriloquist dolls that get possessed by Satan and then make their owner go out and kill people.”

“He does,” Jim agreed. “He also looks a lot like Kevin Spacey.”

“I think we've just figured out Kevin's next movie role.”

Jim laughed and leaned his head back against the headrest. “Do you seriously want to go in there?”

Pam stared at the building for a moment. “I can see people are in there, and there are a few cars here. They must be open.”

“Yeah, but if this is on the outside – what must be inside?”

Pam grabbed his hand. “Where's your sense of adventure, Jim?” She smiled mischievously. “They have a motel here too, you know.”

“Now that's too creepy,” he replied. He opened up his car door and the wind blew in fiercely. “But I think my need for coffee is going to win out.”

By the time Pam got out of the car, Jim was at her side, holding her arm as they trudged toward the blue building in snow that was so deep it was spilling over the tops of Pam's boots. They both looked up at immense figure of the woman and her man-child as they passed it, then gave each other the same look of disbelief. Pam suddenly stopped in her tracks, pulling on Jim's arm to do the same.

“What's the matter?” He asked, the wind blowing his hair into even more of a tangled mess than usual.

Pam pulled him closer so she could put her arms around him. “Nothing,” she smiled. “I just love you.” She stood up on tiptoes to give him a kiss, and he shook his head as she pulled back.

“You couldn't wait until we got out of the blizzard?”

“Nope,” she grinned, refusing to let go of him.

He glanced up again at the statue. “I'm sure Grandma Moses here wouldn't approve.”

“Too bad,” she said, pulling him down for another kiss. “Maybe that's why she looks that way.”

Jim put his arm around her as he started to move towards the door again. “Now that's just mean, Pam,” he chastised. “She can't help the way she is.”

They were still both grinning by the time they reached the shelter of the front door, a wall and an awning blocking most of the wind and falling snow. Jim leaned against the wall to catch his breath and Pam snuggled closer, not caring in the slightest that his wool coat was damp and scratchy against her cheek.

“What time is it?” Jim asked.

“I think it's around four.”

“Shit, I should have called them an hour ago.”

Pam looked up, confused. “Who?”

“My parents,” he said, frowning as he struggled to take his phone out of the front pocket of his jeans. “There's no way we are going to make it up there in time.”

“I'm sure they'll understand.”

Jim let go of her as he opened up his phone. “Yeah, I know. But I know my dad's going to think it was rude to wait until now to call.” He dialed their number and jerked his head toward the restaurant's doors. “Why don't you go wait for me inside where it's warm?”

Pam glanced at the door and back at Jim. “You're kidding right? There's no way I'm going in there alone.” She put her mittened hand on his arm supportively. “Just go ahead and call them - I'll wait.”

Jim nodded, letting out a deep breath as he put his phone to his ear. The wind was still letting loose with the occasional howl, and at times he had to double over slightly and cover his other ear to hear. Pam couldn't make out anything being said, but the crease between Jim's brow only continued to deepen as the conversation went on. She knew sometimes his dad was a bit hard on Jim, and she mirrored his frown as she wished for once his dad was a bit more laid back like hers. When Jim finally hung up the phone, he simply rolled his eyes and gave her a lopsided smirk. He put his hand on her lower back, and walked her into the restaurant.

The inside of Granny's Restaurant was striking enough to pull Jim out of his funk, at least for the moment. It was indeed like walking into someone's grandmother's house – full of old wood and lace doilies and patterned wallpaper – but it also had kitschy art work that clashed badly with the decor. Warhol certainly never intended his Marilyn Monroe series to end up on the walls of a place like this. He raised his eyebrows alarmingly at Pam as they were lead to their table, knowing he was going to be able to hold this over her head for quite some time to come.

There was a single waitress-slash-hostess, and two other tables occupied, both with old men who dined alone with their newspapers. Pam wondered why they braved the storm to come here. Coffee was quickly poured, and she turned her attention back to Jim, who seemed to be focusing all his attention on stirring the sugar into his coffee.

“Hey,” Pam said softly.

Jim looked up. “Hey,” he replied. He sounded tired.

“So what did they say?”

“I don't think he believed me at first,” he mused, taking a tentative sip of his hot drink.

“Why not?”

“Apparently Scranton is snowflake free.”

Pam groaned. “Well he gets the Weather Channel, doesn't he?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jim replied. “He knew we'd had snow down here. He was just giving me a hard time.”

“Now there's a shock,” Pam said dryly.

“He said he thinks that if we can get to Hazelton we'll be fine.”

“So he still expects us?”

“No, he said we'd still not be in time for dinner, so we'll just go over tomorrow.”

Pam reached across the small table and covered his hand with hers. “That's okay, you know,” she said.

Jim nodded. “Oh, I know. It's just that he said Jonathan might have to leave tomorrow morning, and I was hoping we'd get to see him.”

“I'm sure he'll stay if it's at all possible,” she said encouragingly. “And if we miss him maybe we can go down to his place next weekend.”

He nodded again, but said nothing.

“Jim,” Pam squeezed his hand until he looked at her. “Relax. It's not like this is your fault.”

“I know.”

“And,” she added, lacing her fingers through his, “it's Christmas. It's Christmas and we're together and that's all that matters to me.”

He squeezed her hand back and finally smiled slightly. “You're right,” he acquiesced.

“Of course I am,” she grinned. "Like always."

Jim chuckled, kissing her hand briefly as the waitress approached. “I wouldn't go that far,” he replied.

The waitress took their orders, and the mood at their table finally lightened. As they chatted about nothing in particular, the soup and fresh warm bread raised both their spirits. They were further buoyed by the fact that by the time they left Granny's Restaurant, the blizzard had become nothing more than a light flurry in the air.

The roads were still snow-covered and slippery, but the further north they drove the better the conditions became. Like Jim's father had said, but the time they reached Hazelton the stress of the dangerous road conditions was like a distant memory.

By the time Jim pulled his car into the driveway of the house they were renting, Pam was fast asleep. It wasn't very late – not barely past eight – but the role of simply being a passenger for the whole trip had lulled her to sleep not long after Hazelton. He turned the engine off and turned to look at her, unwilling for the moment to disturb her. He contemplated just carrying her into the house, or at least taking in all their luggage before bothering her, but the stillness of the car seemed to set off some internal alarm clock and soon she was rubbing her eyes and stretching.

“Where are we?” She asked before she even opened her eyes.

“Home,” he replied simply.

“Oh thank God,” she sighed, smiling slightly. She remained seated in the car, willing herself to wake up more fully as Jim started to bring in the bags and presents. When she eventually got out, she surveyed with surprise that Jim's dad had been right: it was certainly cold, but there wasn't an inch of snow on the ground. To be honest, Pam felt a bit disappointed. Playing out in the snow with Jim was always lots of fun. So was the “going back in to get warm” part. As she stepped into the house she hoped the snow would soon follow.

Jim pointed to the coffee table as she was taking off her coat. “That was left in the door for you.”

She walked over and picked up the envelope with delighted anticipation. She thought perhaps it was a Christmas gift until she recognized the handwriting on the attached note:

“Sorry I missed you. See you tomorrow. Love, P.”

Pam laughed as she sunk down on the couch with her new package. “With all of today's adventures I had forgotten I hadn't gotten a letter yet!”

Jim was leaning against the wall near the hallway, watching her with a bemused expression on his face. “Well,” he said as he cleared his throat. “I need a shower.”

Pam had succeeded in opening the large envelope and nodded her acknowledgment as she started to look inside.

“You want to join me?” Jim suggested.

She glanced up only briefly, too drawn into what she might find in the package. “Uh yeah, in a minute. I want to look at this first.”

He shook his head, both amused and chagrined by her complete lack of interest in him at the moment, and wandered toward their bedroom to get undressed.

It was anything but a lack of interest on Pam's part that kept her seated in the living room. In fact she was completely interested in Jim – in the form of what he had to say about the experiences they'd had in July. Though they clearly were much better at talking about things they once would have shied away from, Pam was constantly astounded by the level of candor and sincerity these letters contained. And she remembered what a month of upheaval July had been.

There was little in the envelope this time beyond the sealed letter. There were five grease-marked receipts for Calabria Pizza – all stamped “take-out”, an empty sparkler box, a stars and stripes paper napkin with the words 'World Champion' written in Pam's own neat lettering, and a folded sheet of Dunder Mifflin's own twenty-pound, recycled pastel color paper – in goldenrod. She shook her head slightly as she unfolded it, the homemade application she'd given him bringing back more memories. She wasn't surprised he'd kept it, but she had to admit she didn't expect all the anxiety of that time to still feel so fresh. She took a deep breath, slid the items back in the manila envelope, and opened the letter.

Dear Pam,

Wow – half a year in letter form! I hope you've been holding on to these so when we're old we can save our memory for things like where we left our house keys and how the microwave/DVD/other-futuristic-technology works.

You are saving these, aren't you?

So, July. Welcome back to it! Now that was a month, wouldn't you say? Who knew our first real fight – complete with shouting, door slamming, and that unbearable wall of silence – would have been over what was supposed to be a good idea? I guess we still had a lot to learn about each other...

I'm not even quite sure how to start talking about that. Maybe I should remind you that the beginning of the month went more than well enough. The Halpert family reunion over the weekend near the Fourth was a lot of fun, which I have to admit was a first for me. Yes, I love my family, but usually I'm stuck keeping the older aunts company, or herding the kids into volleyball games so they'll leave their parents alone. I guess maybe this time was the first time I got treated like one of the adults – and I'm nearly thirty! And that, I am sure, was due to the beautiful and amazing woman I had by my side for the whole thing. Really, you should have come – she was quite impressive.

(I'm kidding!! Sheesh....)

You already knew my mother liked you, which was why I found it so funny that you were nervous about attending. I mean, who cares what anyone else would have thought if you've already got the ace in the hole? My mother is nothing if not the most loyal of defenders, so your acceptance from the rest of my family was already predetermined. (Or else!) But you? You would have won them over without assistance from anyone anyway. I swear I am not exaggerating when I tell you that I don't think I'd ever seen Great-Aunt Vi smile – ever! But when you raved about her daughter's deviled egg salad, the woman practically beamed at you. Did I mention how she told my mother that it was nice to know there were still “considerate young people” with manners? I'm pretty sure she was talking specifically about you. (You know she wasn't talking about my cousins from Albany!)

Oh, and you were a hell of a bocce player. You are definitely a permanent member of my team at all other events.

So yeah, the month was off to a fantastic start. And I couldn't see how that could possibly change. Even work was less painful than usual, with Michael taking every Friday off and Angela taking “family time” because one of her cats was sick. A never realized how pleasant a week without Angela in the office could be. I don't think Kevin ever had such a good time at work, either. Think she ever figured out what happened to that cat-shaped pencil holder she had?

But – well, there's really no good way dive into what was obviously the biggest thing to happen that month, so maybe I should start by saying that I'm sorry. Still sorry, actually, since I know we spent a lot of time on apologies back then. All I thought I was doing was suggesting the obvious – your lease had run out at the end of June, and you knew you didn't want to stay there forever, so you switched to a month-by month lease. Then you discovered that this raised your rent twenty more dollars a month on top of a twenty dollar initial rise. So July's rent cost you forty dollars more than June did, and you were spending less and less time there. It just made sense to me for us to live together.

I admit that it never occurred to me that you might NOT want to move in with me. We spent so much time together (and thankfully still do!), and we liked it that way, so when I told you that night that I'd be happy to help you move your stuff in as soon as you wanted me to, it was more than a little stinging to have you turn down my offer so quickly. I really thought you were joking, Pam – at least until you left that night in tears. Then I had no idea what to think.

I know this is sounding rambling – I guess I still have a hard time thinking about it all. Maybe I should just stop with the storytelling – you know what happened – and tell you more on why I was so angry. Basically – well, I guess it should come as no surprise that it all came back to Roy. Looking back now, I can better understand your hesitation to move in with someone, but if I'm being honest, it still hurts a bit. I mean, I know you felt moving in with a Roy was one factor that lead to that relationship's stagnation – but I wasn't Roy! I never was! And not wanting to move in with me because of your past experience with someone else felt completely unfair. Especially since I was painfully aware of how hard I was trying NOT to be Roy.

But what was worse than your refusal to move in? Worse than the argument of that night? How we went a whole week without talking. It was like the longest week of my life. And I was terrified. I felt worse than I did when I moved to Stamford, because now I knew what I was missing. And I know I should have stepped up and tried to talk to you about things, but I was torn between my frustration that Roy still was able to overshadow me, and the fear I'd say the wrong thing and lose you for good.

So I just stepped back and waited for you, which wasn't exactly fair to you either. I don't know how to explain it, but when it comes to you there doesn't seem to be a middle ground for me. I trust you with everything, Pam. I have for such a long time now. But my instinct when there is trouble between us is to clam up – to close myself off – to not be the one willing to try again. We both know what experience I've had with that. You think I would have recognized the signs. I'd like to think that if we ever have such a disagreement like that again I won't do that. Or if I do, you'll not be afraid to call me on it.

You've always been braver than me. Always. And you proved it again by being the one to make the first move, five days after our fight. And being the jerk I can be, I know I brushed you off at first. That was just my pride talking. You should know that he and I no longer keep in touch when it comes to you. You win every time now – and I don't mind telling you that.

The day after your first attempt was Friday, and you asked me to go out to lunch with you. I should have said yes, I know that, but I was still afraid. I had the idea that if you wanted to go somewhere public, it was because you wanted to break up with me. You knew I wouldn't make a scene if you told me in a public place. So, yeah – I really did have the business appointment anyway – but it wasn't the real reason I said no. You know, looking back I don't think I've ever been so paranoid. I am SO lucky you put up with me.

Did I ever tell you how many sales I made that week we weren't speaking to each other? None. Not one. Half the time I sat with the phone to my ear the line was dead. Or I was calling the weather number. I couldn't focus on anything, except to make myself look anywhere but in your direction. Of course every time your back was to me, all I could do was stare at you. Stare at you and feel sorry for myself. Yeah, I do that pathetic loser thing pretty well by now.

And the evenings? Even worse. The first two nights I didn't even eat. Drank though – drank plenty. Then after my second day in a row waking up with the headache from hell, I started picking up pizza after work every night. Didn't slow the drinking down much, though.

When you showed up at my door on Saturday morning, I was sure I was either still drunk or dreaming. We stared at each other for what seemed like years, and it was then I knew that you were as miserable as I was, and that I was a huge jackass for letting things go on like that for so long. I was about to say something – I don't remember exactly what, but probably something along the lines of “I'm sorry/I love you/Please don't leave me” but then you handed me a piece of paper, said “you look like hell” and walked away. It took a good minute or so to focus enough to read the what you'd given me.

My question is: How did you get to be so awesome? I mean really – your “rental application” to move into my place was so classic you. I barely glanced at it when it hit me what it was – my chance to make things right again. I have to say, I don't think I've ever had a better time approving an application.

That's not to say we haven't had our adjustment issues. I still wish we would have kept my couch, for starters. But such little things compared to how right it feels to come home with you at night, to look up on a Sunday afternoon and watch you chewing your nails over the crossword in the paper, to see your stuff and my stuff all mixed up together in the mess we both call home. I really wouldn't want it any other way. So thanks for not giving up on me, and taking a chance you weren't sure you wanted to make. I hope it's been worth it.

Love,

Jim

Pam folded up the letter carefully, then wiped tears out of the corners of both eyes. He was so willing to take the blame for that fight, when she knew that she was just as guilty, if not more. She had overreacted to his offer and then felt too embarrassed to address the issue until the days of being without him became unbearable. She knew Jim could never be anything like Roy, and truth be told, that was only part of her hesitation at the time. The other, more stubborn part was that she had grown to love the autonomy of having her own place, even if she spent almost no time there. The fact was she COULD if she needed to. Moving in with Jim was removing that net, and even if it was a net she knew deep down she didn't need, it was scary to do without it. It was only through being reminded of what life was truly like without him did she know what she wanted more.

She stuck the letter back in its envelope, exchanging it for the small wrapped sure-to-be charm. It was: a tiny set of silver house keys. She lifted her head and could still hear the sound of the shower running. She smiled and stood up, carefully placing the package back on the coffee table. If she hurried she might still catch Jim in the shower.