**
Earlier in the day, Toby had let slip that Jim's bachelor party was that night, starting with dinner at the Applebee's in Wilkes-Barre. Which is worth knowing for that alone, quite frankly. Ryan takes Hunter and slips the hostess $20 to seat them near the big table where Jim's friends are.
Jim glances over as they walk up to their table, and his eyes narrow.
"Oh, hey, Jim," Ryan says. "This is a weird coincidence. What are you doing here?"
"It's my bachelor party," Jim says. There are a bunch of guys his age around – Ryan recognizes Jim's roommate from that time Jim had that barbecue, a million years ago, and thinks it's funny Jim's still in Scranton, still hanging out with the same people. He doesn't know if it's nice, or if it's sad.
"Oh, awesome," Ryan says. "Have a good time." Toby waves at him mildly from one end of the table.
Ryan had a vague idea about crashing the bachelor party, maybe tailing Jim to take pictures if there are strippers, to show Pam later… except, now that he thinks about it, Pam wouldn't really care that much, and the odds of Jim Boyscout Halpert getting a stripper are pretty low.
So now that he's actually at Applebee's, he wonders if his motivation was more his desire to annoy Jim Halpert for no good reason, or Applebee's moderately priced high-quality comfort food. It might be a tie – he never gets to eat chicken fingers in New York.
Hunter's looking at Jim. "So are you going to punch him sometime this weekend?" he asks Ryan.
Ryan blinks and looks up from the menu. "What?" he says.
"It seems like maybe that's where this weekend is headed," Hunter says. "That or pushing someone into a pool."
Ryan looks at him. "I told you to stop watching Gossip Girl," he says, then glances at Randall, who's currently interviewing Toby. "You aren't giving the documentary any interviews, are you?"
"Uh, yeah," Hunter says. "Why, was I not supposed to?"
Ryan sighs.
Hunter looks back at Jim. "I don't know if you could take him," Hunter says. "I mean, he's a lot taller than you."
"Yeah, but he's scrawny," Ryan says. "He's got chicken legs."
Hunter looks appraisingly at Ryan's admittedly scrawny arms.
"Shut up," Ryan says. "I'm scrappy. And anyway, I'm not going to punch anyone."
"That's a relief," Hunter says.
Sometimes Hunter is really annoying to have around. "So, hey, Hunter," Ryan says. "How's your band?"
"Shut up," Hunter says, blushing and going back to his menu. That always gets him, after that thing last year.
The bachelor party gets drunker and louder as the evening wears on, people up and out of their seats, moving around the table. When Ryan's about halfway through his chicken fingers (dipping them in honey mustard sauce, and oh, they are everything he dreamed of and more), Toby pulls out the chair on Ryan's left and takes a seat.
"Hey, Toby," Ryan says. "What's up?"
"Oh, not much," Toby says. He's got a mug of beer, one of those plastic frosted ones that this kind of place tends to serve. Like it's a pretend beer, at Epcot or something. "So, you're here for Pam's wedding, huh?"
"Yeah," Ryan says. He's starting to feel weird about it, like the whole thing is a stupid idea. But then he thinks back to Pam in his car, her feet on the dashboard, and he knows he can't leave, no matter how restraining-order pathetic it is. "It's weird, huh?"
Toby shrugs. "Not really," he says. "I went to my ex-wife's wedding."
"Oh yeah?" Ryan says.
"Yeah," Toby says. "For Sasha. My ex wanted us to be, uh, amicable."
"Mmm," Ryan says. "How's that working out for you?"
"Terrific," Toby says, too fast.
Ryan laughs. Hunter clears his throat and mutters something about going to the bathroom, before getting up and hurrying away. Subtlety and tolerance for other's people's uncomfortable conversations are not two of the reasons Ryan employs him.
"Yeah," Ryan says. It strikes him that Toby might be the one person who knows what Ryan's going through, even though at the same time confiding in Toby feels a little pathetic. But he's pretty sure the time for worrying about being pathetic is long past. Behind him, Jim guffaws loudly and claps somebody on the back. "So, uh, what'd you do the night your wife left you?" Ryan asks.
"Oh," Toby says. He starts fiddling with the empty place setting, undoing the rolled up napkin. "I don't know. Cried, I guess. You?"
"Like a little girl," Ryan says.
Toby laughs. "Yeah."
Ryan looks over at Jim, who's clearly bubbling over with happiness, talking to his friends. Ryan remembers feeling that way when he had Pam had first gotten together, like it was the best high ever, like nothing else mattered.
"Jim and Pam," Toby says, following his look. "That's hard to compete with."
"TV Guide called them an epic love story for the twenty-first century," Ryan says.
"I know," Toby says. He's started to shred the extra napkin into tiny pieces of confetti. "Do you ever think about what would've happened if the documentary had never come to film us?"
"Yeah," Ryan says. "All the time."
Toby nods and takes a sip of his beer. "Jim's sure excited," he says as he puts his mug down. He looks kind of sad. Not that that's much of a change from his default expression, but still. "The way he talks about Pam, it's like she's superhuman."
"Got her on a pedestal?" Ryan says.
"Yeah, a really tall one," Toby says.
"Poor Pam," Ryan says, and takes a bite of chicken finger. He can see Hunter back at the bar, talking to the girl behind the counter.
A waitress walks by their table too fast and the shreds of napkin Toby's been creating swirl, some flying off the table. "Whoops," Toby says, trying to catch them. Ryan chews, watching the paper skitter out of his hands. Toby dumps the scraps he managed to grab back on the tabletop. "So," he says, in his soft, tentative voice. "What was it like, being married to Pam?"
Ryan breathes deep and tries to think. What was it like? "I don't know," he says. Suddenly he notices that he's fiddling with the wedding ring he still – pathetically – wears, and he makes himself stop. "Sarcastic, and comfortable, and… I don't know. Sometimes she'd draw me little funny pictures and leave them around the apartment. Like of cartoon frogs, or weird distortions of the Dunder Mifflin logo. One time she drew me riding a unicorn."
Toby laughs. "Nice," he says.
"Yeah," Ryan says, and looks at Jim again. Bastard's practically glowing, he's so happy. The last chicken finger suddenly seems pretty unappetizing, and Ryan drops it back onto his plate.
"Sorry you got divorced," Toby says.
"Yeah," Ryan says, and wishes his drink was stronger. Fuck you, Applebee's.
The bachelor party's going to move on to someone else's house later, Toby tells him, but the whole crashing thing isn't really working out, so it doesn't matter much. Ryan pays the bill, and gets up to leave while Jim and his pals are still sitting around the Applebee's table.
"C'mon, Hunter," he says as he passes the bar on his way out. The bartender's writing her number on a cocktail napkin.
"One sec," Hunter says.
Ryan keeps walking and waits for him out in the parking lot, leaning against the car. The warm air smells like freshly cut grass and hamburgers, and across the parking lot, a family's getting into a minivan. He watches the dad pick up a toddler and put him in a carseat, and shoves his hands into his pockets. Parking lots can be strangely lonely places.
**
Ryan drops Hunter off at the hotel, which Ryan is paying for, with instructions to consolidate the paperwork Ryan needs to sign, to write up Ryan's messages, and find out the status of the numbers on the Utica branch. If Ryan's paying for Hunter to be here, he's going to get his money's worth, and he doesn't want to get behind while he's out of the office.
After Hunter heads inside the Radisson, Ryan just drives around town for a little bit, windows down, moving slowly through the suburban streets. He's in Scranton pretty often for work, but then he's usually got his head down, hurrying in and out, thinking about business the whole time. He doesn't see Scranton quite like this anymore, aimless on a dark summer night, muggy hot air coming through the open windows. It reminds him of high school, driving like this on these same streets, nowhere to go. He stops off at a BP to fill up the gas tank, buys a Dr. Pepper while he's there, cold from the fridge. Back in the car, he's heading vaguely in the direction of Pam's house when he gets stopped by a freight train and has to wait for it to pass. The train whistle echoes through the dark, deep and mournful, and Ryan drinks his Dr. Pepper, wondering what he's going to do next.
It's so easy to break up a wedding in the movies – you just show up and be charming and she realizes she loves you after all. It's not like real life, when all you can think about is all the ways you should've been better to her, about the look on her face that last night you came home too late from the office again, the night before she left. In the movies, you don't have to wonder when she fell out of love with you, and in movies you know it's going to end happily, not with you going back to New York alone. Which, deep down, Ryan is fully aware is going to happen in this case. These shenanigans can only lead to loneliness, with an optional face-punching. And Hunter's probably right that Ryan would lose in a fight with Jim. Too bad, too, 'cause Ryan would take deep satisfaction in clocking that dude.
The last car of the train speeds past and the gates start to go up, clanging. Ryan puts the soda bottle back in the cupholder, his hand wet from condensation. He wipes his palm on his jeans and drives to Pam's house, making the turns out of habit and muscle memory as much as anything. Jim will be at the bachelor party for a lot longer, even the lame-ass bachelor party he's having – it's only nine o'clock.
He can hear laughing inside the house even from the front stoop, and when he rings the bell, the door's flung open by Pam's sister Lori, Ryan's favorite in-law. She actually beams when she sees Ryan.
"Ryan!" she says, and gives him a big hug. "It's so awesome to see you! What are you doing here?"
"Oh, you know," Ryan says. "That documentary special."
"Right," Lori says. She has a little glint in her eye, like she doesn't quite believe that reason, but she doesn't say anything. Instead she leans toward him and whispers, "I'm about to die of boredom. Pam's making us make these little table decorations. You have to come help."
"Oh, okay," Ryan says. That was easy. Lori grabs him by the hand and pulls him into the living room, where a bunch of women are sitting on the floor, surrounded by craft supplies. Ryan recognizes most of them – Pam's mom and aunt and a couple of cousins, her best friend from high school. The bridal party, he assumes.
"Look who's going to help!" Lori says. Ryan sort of waves weakly. It's a good thing Pam's family always liked him, so the looks they're giving him are more mild social awkwardness than hostility.
Pam looks at Ryan with weary resignation. "Oh, did you get tired of crashing Jim's bachelor party?" she says. So Jim called her. That... is not surprising.
"I didn't crash it," he says. "We both just happened to be at Applebee's. It's a popular restaurant, Pamela."
Lori pulls Ryan down to sit next to her, even though Pam looks unconvinced.
"I'm not sure your deep abiding love of chicken fingers quite explains it," Pam says. "And besides, there are no chicken fingers here at my house. What are you doing here, Ryan?"
"Oh, give him a break," Lori says. "If someone offers to help with your dumb party favors, you say yes no matter who they are."
Pam sighs, but doesn't say anything, so Lori starts showing Ryan how to wrap jellybeans in elegantly-colored tissue paper, and tie them into little bundles with what's essentially a fancy pipe cleaner. Pam pointedly starts talking to one of her cousins.
"See? It's easy," Lori says.
"Yup," Ryan says, and starts making his own. "Jellybeans?" he says to Lori in an undertone, just loud enough for Pam to hear.
Lori rolls her eyes. "I know, right?" she says.
"The documentary fans will be pleased," Ryan says.
When he glances up, Pam's frowning at him. He smiles at her as aggressively as he can.
"Get this," Lori says. She actually talks quietly enough that Pam can't hear, and Ryan can see Pam reluctantly go back to talking to the cousin next to her. "At the rehearsal dinner tomorrow they're doing one of those wedding videos, right?"
"Set to Green Day's 'Time of Your Life'?" Ryan says. "Including their baby pictures?"
"That's the one," Lori says. "And it includes documentary footage. And guess who volunteered to edit it for them?"
Ryan shrugs.
"Greg," Lori says.
"Oh, God," Ryan says. "The wedding the documentary built."
Lori nods. "It's pretty sick," she says, and ties up her favor with a green pipe cleaner, tossing it to the middle of the circle where the completed ones are. She grabs another piece of tissue paper and a handful of jellybeans. "Uh, so," she says, looking sidelong at Ryan. "You still in love with her?"
Ryan glances over at Pam, who's listening to a story her mom's telling, smiling and carefully dropping jellybeans into the center of a square of tissue paper. She's making sure there's a good mix of colors, he can tell, her long fingers picking them out carefully from the jellybean bowl instead of just grabbing a handful like everyone else. God, he is so in love with her.
When he glances back, Lori's watching him. "Yeah, I thought so," she says.
Ryan makes a bundle out of the favor he's making and starts to attach the pipe cleaner. He clears his throat. "I'm screwed, huh?"
Lori's smile is rueful. "I'm afraid so, junior."
"Yeah," Ryan says, and sighs. "I know."
**
They finish up all the favors in about an hour. Ryan mostly listens to the conversations around him without saying much, all about someone's new baby and the new minister at Pam's parents' church. When he uses up the last of the supplies he can reach, he pushes himself up and starts collecting plates and glasses from around the living room, the remains of earlier hors d'oeuvres, and takes them into the kitchen to wash.
He's rinsing them off and putting them in the dishwasher when Pam's mom comes in.
"Aren't you sweet?" she says, putting her hand on his back.
"Well," Ryan says. "I figured it was literally the least I could do."
Pam's mom laughs and puts the glasses she's carrying down on the counter.
"Sorry for crashing your girls' night," Ryan says, as Pam's mom starts helping him load the dishwasher.
She puts two glasses in, then says, "You're doing a lot of apologizing today."
Pam really does tell her mom everything. Ryan shrugs. "No more than necessary."
Pam's mom looks at him, like she hasn't quite figured him out after all this time. "Mmm," she says.
He rinses another plate. He can see his own reflection in the window over the sink, pale and kind of sad. He wouldn't take him back either.
"I'm sorry about all this, sweetheart," Pam's mom says.
God, he wasn't expecting sympathy. It makes him feel worse. "Well, it's my own fault, mostly," he says.
Pam's mom looks thoughtful. "Mostly," she says.
In the dark windowed reflection, Ryan sees Pam come into the room behind them and stand in the doorway for a few seconds, watching their backs as they work together. For a second it's almost like they're married again, hanging out with her family on, like, the Fourth of July. He wonders if Pam's remembering that too, all the times he helped her mom with the dishes, how well they know each other, each other's families. Pam keeps watching them, a strange look on her face.
"Hey, Ryan," she finally says. "Can I talk to you for a second?"
Ryan finishes rinsing the last plate and hands it to her mom, shutting off the water. "Sure," he says, turning towards her as he dries his hands.
He follows her out the back door, where she sits on the stoop. He sits down next to her, the space so narrow they're shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, and rests his arms on his knees. A mosquito buzzes past his ear.
"What are you doing?" Pam asks, her voice low.
Ryan shrugs, suddenly feeling very tired. Her body's so familiar, sitting next to him, the way she holds her shoulders when she's not sure of herself, the homey way she smells, laundry detergent and the garden-y smell of her conditioner. "Isn't it obvious?" he says.
"Yeah, actually," Pam says. "It's kind of bumming me out."
He takes a little gamble and lets himself lean into her, just a bit. "Yeah, me too," he says. She doesn't move away. He can feel the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. Moonlight's shining on the white arch, dim in the middle of the yard.
"Remember the night before our wedding?" Ryan says. They'd snuck out to sit on this same stoop, escaping from the crowd of relatives inside to drink a beer. The yard had looked just the same. The house had been noisy, but outside it was quiet, and they'd talked about nothing in particular. Ryan remembers he held her hand.
"Yeah," Pam says, and hugs her arms around herself a little bit. "That was a long time ago."
"Yeah," Ryan says.
He can hear muffled voices inside the kitchen, Pam's mom, then someone else answering.
"Are you really going to live in Scranton?" Ryan says.
Pam shrugs. "It's not as lonely as New York."
God, rip his heart out. He rubs his face with the palm of his hand. "I know," he says. "I'm really sorry."
"Oh, stop apologizing," Pam says. "It's driving me nuts. Almost as nuts as you showing up everywhere I go today."
"Sorry," Ryan says. Then he hears himself and laughs.
Pam shakes her head, smiling. The wind picks up in the trees overhead, and somewhere in the distance a car door slams shut. "You staying at your parents'?" she asks.
"Yeah," Ryan says.
"Tell them hi from me," Pam says.
Ryan nods. He wants to kiss her. "I will," he says.
He remembers the first time he saw her, sitting behind the reception desk at the Scranton office. He knows at the time he didn't think much of it, but retroactively he loves her then, how young she was, how young they both were. When he got hired permanently as a salesman there, it was his first real job, and on the weekends he went to parties with kegs, in apartments without real furniture. Now he wears thousand dollar suits, has an assistant, and goes to catered cocktail parties thrown by CFOs. He's divorced from the top graphic designer in the company. It's pretty much exactly the adult life he envisioned for himself as a college student, divorce included, but somehow it's more depressing than he thought it would be. Like his life is narrowing, potential turning into actualities, and the actualities turning sad. He feels vaguely middle-aged, old and tired, wishes he could go back to that receptionist he hadn't really noticed and start it over, with better priorities.
"Well, I still love you," Ryan says, because it's dark out and they're alone, and because he has to say it sometime. She's not looking at him and she doesn't really react, just keeps breathing the same slow breaths. He slows his own lungs so they're breathing together, in and out. "Just thought I'd throw that out there," he says.
"Yeah, I know," Pam says.
He doesn't know if she means she knows he loves her, or that she knows he's just throwing that out there, but he guesses it doesn't much matter either way. They sit there side by side. The ribbons tied to the wedding arch flutter in the night air.
**
TO BE CONTINUED
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© 2006-2023 More Than That | Skin created by Kali