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“I thought we were taking 84,” I said suspiciously as he pulled onto I-81 northbound.
“This way is faster. Why don’t you pick out some music?” he suggested, reaching behind me for the CD wallet he kept on the floor behind the passenger seat.
Hmm. What’s he up to? And letting me pick the music? Not too subtle, Halpert. Obvious diversionary tactic.
Still, I’ll work with him. He’s got something up his sleeve and the anticipation is eating me alive. I can’t help it; I’m getting impatient. It’s killing me to think he’s got that ring, just sitting there… waiting… but it’s more than that. There are practical considerations too. My lease is up at the end of June and I have to make a decision about where I’m going to live.
I really, really don’t want to sign another lease. Jim’s apartment is bigger, and has newer appliances, and a nice roomy bedroom closet. And a long counter in the bathroom. And Jim.
And I don’t want to wait anymore.
********
I always fall asleep on road trips. Jim teases me that I’m a lousy road companion but I think he secretly likes having control of the radio, so he always offers to drive.
This trip was no different; I zonked out somewhere around track seven of the Jehro CD I’d picked out, but when I woke up I was startled and disoriented to see a sign for Cayuga Lake. That’s wrong. Where are we? We were no longer on the highway but some narrow little back road winding through pine trees and little cabins.
“Welcome back,” he said, smiling over at me.
I cleared my throat. “Jim…I know my geography is a little sketchy, but I’m pretty sure Cayuga Lake is not in Vermont.”
“You are absolutely correct.” His grin was huge and self-satisfied.
“So you wanna tell me where we are?”
“We are just outside Ithaca, New York.” He pulled off onto a dirt driveway, turned off the engine, and pulled out the keys.
“Isn’t Cornell in Ithaca? Did you bring us to some sort of Andy alumni thing? Because I have to tell you right now, I have no intention of sitting through any type of acapella production or theater revival or—”
“Pam,” he interrupted gently. “This is my family’s summer cabin. It is unfortunately close to Cornell, but there’s not really anything I can do about that. And I have no idea what Andy is doing this weekend. Now are you gonna help me unload the car or not?” He cocked a challenging eyebrow at me and slipped out of the car before I could answer, disappearing behind the open trunk.
I sat dumbfounded for a few seconds, staring up at a quaint little brown cottage with white shuttered windows tucked in among the pines. A wraparound deck ran the length of the outer perimeter, and a flight of stairs led down to a little private dock. Flecks of golden sunlight glittered on the lake below.
Wow.
Jim had pulled our bags out of the trunk and set them on the ground by the time I made it over to help him. “How come you never told me about this place?” I asked faintly.
He shrugged in a very poor attempt at nonchalance; he was loving every second of my reaction. “Just thought it would be a nice surprise,” he said casually. “Are you surprised?”
“Uh, yeah.” I picked up my suitcase. “I have a few…hundred…questions though.”
“Go.” He picked up his suitcase and shut the trunk, gesturing for me to go ahead to the door.
“Okay…let’s start with why did you tell me we were going to Vermont?” I’d overpacked in a seriously Kelly fashion for this little trip…hiking clothes and boots, swimsuit and cover up and sandals and shorts, jeans and sweater for the cool night, fancy he’s-gonna-propose-to-me-tonight sundress with strappy heels… I needed two hands to heave my bag up the short flight of steps to the door.
“Again, that would be part of the ‘surprise’ theme I was going for.” He put his suitcase down on the porch and thumbed through his keys until he found an old and slightly battered-looking brass one. “Doesn’t Vermont sound more romantic than New York?” he asked, twisting the key in the lock and putting his shoulder to the door. “Sticks a little,” he grunted.
“I dunno, ‘my family has an awesome cottage in the Finger Lakes’ sounds pretty good too.”
He waved my hand away when I went to pick up my bag and then let out an oof of surprise. “Holy cow, Beesly, what’d you pack, cinder blocks?”
“And sandbags.”
He grinned. “Always prepared, aren’t you.” He pushed the door shut with his hip and set both our bags down in the entrance. “I haven’t been up here in a couple years. My folks mostly rent it out to vacationers but we all try to make it for fourth of July or Labor Day when we can.”
“I still can’t believe I’ve never heard you mention this place.” It came out vaguely accusing when really I was just a little taken aback at the idea that there were still things I didn’t know about him. About his family, his history. We talked so much…how had he never told me about summers at the lake?
“To be honest I always kind of hated coming up here when I was a kid. There wasn’t much to do, no phone, or TV… ‘we come up here to enjoy nature,’ ” he intoned in a dead-on imitation of his mother’s Boston accent.
“Not a nature lover, Halpert?” I walked over to the windows and started opening up the shutters to let the light in.
The place was amazing. Hardwood floors, windows everywhere, big stone fireplace, kitchen with all the appliances, antique white soaker tub in the bathroom, two bedrooms—one with a queen-sized bed, the other with two twins—a cabinet in the living room stocked full of games and books. “How can you have possibly hated this place?” I exclaimed, finishing my self-guided tour in the master bedroom, where he’d brought our bags.
Jim gave me a strange, sad little smile and flung himself down on the bed, patting the space next to him for me to join him. “It wasn’t the place so much, it was just…believe it or not,” he said in a low voice as I kicked off my shoes and settled myself in by his side, “I was not always this ultra-cool specimen you have come to know.”
“Say it ain’t so,” I breathed, reaching over to link my fingers through his.
“I know, I know. Hard to believe considering my current awesomeness. But,” he went on confidentially, “did I ever tell you that I was five foot two until I was fourteen years old?”
“I do not believe that.”
“It’s true. I grew eight inches that summer. And then it didn’t stop till…God, I think I was twenty. Anyway, suffice it to say, when I was a kid here, there was this family that rented the place next door, and they had these four huge boys, and they, uh, liked to pick on me. A lot.”
“Oh, Jim,” I murmured, turning to look at his profile and seeing, just for a second, a small goofy kid used for target practice by bullies.
He was staring at the ceiling, his expression somewhere between bitter and nostalgic. “Yeah. There were the three separate incidents where I got tossed into poison ivy. And the one near-drowning experience in the lake. So yeah, I didn’t really like coming here. Mostly I’d just read. I must’ve read five or six dozen books in this place.”
“Jon didn’t stick up for you?”
He shrugged. “He wasn’t really ever around. He always had girlfriends, from the time he was like eleven. I hung out with Amy a lot. Can’t you just see how cool I was, playing Sorry! with my little sister?” He turned his head to grin at me but there was still a sadness in his eyes that made me ache.
I wish I’d known you when we were kids, I thought for the thousandth time.
“So why are we here in the Cottage of Bad Memories, Halpert?” I asked lightly.
He was quiet for a long time as he ran his thumb over the edge of my hand, back and forth, back and forth. “Thought it might be a good time to make some better ones,” he said finally.
I lifted myself up on my elbow to look down at him and felt a flood of that fierce protectiveness course through me at the darkness in his eyes. His gaze flicked over my face, questioning, uncertain, until I bent to kiss him and he reached up to tangle a hand in my hair.
I climbed up on top of him and grinned down at him. He loves it when I take the initiative, and I love how sexy and powerful and irresistible he makes me feel. “Better ones, you say?” I whispered.
He smiled up at me, running his hands up and down my sides. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
********
So went Saturday. There still wasn’t a phone but his dad had installed cable TV at some point and we spent the evening watching some crappy Lifetime movie (the best kind to mock) until Jim clicked it off and we built a huge fire, curling up together on the couch under one of the many quilts stocked in the cabinet.
We polished off two bottles of wine and talked until nearly three in the morning. I pulled bad memories out of him like poison from a wound, and he seemed surprised that he could laugh about his tortured summers at the lake now; he kept glancing over at me with an expression of wonder and I felt inordinately proud to be the one to bring lightness into his memories. I did that. I made him smile. Us being together is making this a whole new place.
I’m part of his memories now.
********
Sunday we slept until noon. I made us breakfast, we went back to bed for a while, took a long leisurely bath together, and then walked down to the dock around three.
I’m not generally afraid of water. Roy and I went to the lake at least five or six times a summer, even if it was usually him and Kenny hogging the WaveRunners and me on the beach with a book. But those tiny little canoes never seemed particularly safe to me and the water today appeared a little choppy for my comfort level. Jim spent half an hour trying to talk me into going out, patiently rebutting my protests and reassuring me of his rowing abilities until he finally gave up and threw up his hands. “Hey, it’s fine, we can just hang out on the beach, get some sun,” he conceded, and it was the utter lack of irritation or impatience in his tone that convinced me.
Roy would’ve gotten angry and told me I was being “stupid” or “a baby,” which would only make me more stubborn.
Stop doing that, comparing them. Jim’s not Roy. He would never bully you into doing anything you don’t want to… and suddenly I understood why he was that way, why he hated bullies so much.
“No, you’re right. Let’s do it,” I said.
Jim frowned a little at my sudden reversal. “It’s not a big deal, Pam. I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
“No, I want to. I trust you,” I added.
That was the right thing to say; he gave me a smile of such warmth and affection and love I felt it like a beam of sunlight in my heart.
I will never, ever get tired of making him smile.
********
Sunday night Jim told me to put my “glad rags” on and he’d take me to dinner in Ithaca. My hands trembled so much as I applied my makeup that I had to redo my eyeliner three times, but the look on his face when I emerged in my knee-length, sleeveless yellow sundress and three-inch matching heels was well worth it.
He was so handsome that night in his crisp blue dress shirt and black blazer and the black pants that fit him so perfectly; he was even wearing cologne, which he almost never did, and I was absolutely certain that this was the night. Everything was perfect. We were alone and in this impossibly beautiful, romantic place; we had two days of intimacy and shared secrets fresh in our memories; we couldn’t have asked for a more ideal situation. I was braced and ready to have my ass kicked.
The wine was good, dinner was amazing, dessert was decadently delicious, and by the time it was over and he was helping me into my fancy ivory-lace cardigan, I was thoroughly pissed and having a hard time not showing it. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what he was waiting for.
He’s never going to ask me. It must not have been a ring after all. He’s just Roy all over again, happy with where we are, never going to want more…
And I knew that wasn’t true but I wanted to cry. What’s wrong with me? What is it about me that screams “do not marry this girl?”
“Are you okay?” he asked on the ride back, his frown genuinely concerned.
I couldn’t keep the tinge of bitterness out of my voice. “Fine.” Oh crap. Here come the questions.
“ ‘Fine?’ ” he echoed, smiling a little. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” I clamped my teeth down on my tongue before the poisonous, irrational thoughts could spill out. At least Roy asked me. What are you waiting for? Why are you playing with me?
Don’t you want to marry me?
Tears stung my eyes and I looked out the window so he wouldn’t see them.
“Pam?” His voice was soft, hesitant. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.” But my voice quavered and I reached up to pinch the bridge of my nose. Do not cry. Do not cry. Do not cry.
He reached over to put his hand on my knee and God help me, I flinched. He pulled back immediately, sucking in a sharp breath.
We didn’t say another word on the way back.
I jumped out of the car before he could come open my door and started toward the cottage, desperate to get inside so I could hide in the bathroom until the threat of tears subsided. Fuck this, I thought angrily, and fuck him, I’ll just sign a new lease, and I’m never getting dressed up again, he’s gonna have to ask me in my sweats with a fucking mud mask on during a rerun of House if he ever—
“Pam.” He grabbed my arm before I made it to the steps. “Pam, wait.”
His grip was surprisingly strong and I stumbled a little and would have fallen in my stupid high heels if he hadn’t caught my other elbow to steady me. I glared at his chest. “What.”
“I know you’re mad at me,” he said quietly.
I shook my head no. Yes. You're an ass. Why are you doing this to me?
He touched my chin, tilting my head up until I had to look at him, and I felt the stupid tears pooling in my eyes and blinked furiously to stave them off. Still, he saw, and bent to kiss the corners of my eyelids, slipping one arm around my waist to pull me against him. For a second I stayed stiff with resistance but it was hard when he smelled so good and he looked at me with that pure, tender love in his eyes that begged me not to be angry. “Yes, you are,” he murmured, “and I know why.”
I just stared up at him, unwilling to speak, afraid of what I might say.
“I love you more than anything in the world,” he said softly. “You know that, right?”
I managed to nod because yes, I did know that…at least I thought I did.
He lowered his forehead against mine, closing his eyes. “Do you love me?” he whispered.
I nodded again, just barely so it wouldn’t whack his forehead. “Yes.” More than anything, and I just don’t understand what--
He ducked down to kiss me, wrapping both arms around me in an embrace so tight it hurt. Then he released me with a smile but kept one arm around my waist as we went up the stairs. “Yikes, I think I forgot to lock the door,” he murmured, giving it a hard shove until it gave with a soft thwack.
I gasped.
Oh, my God.
The living room and kitchen glowed with the light of at least a hundred tealight candles scattered across every surface. Rose petals were strewn all over the floor; bouquets of red and pink and yellow roses filled the windowsills and tables and countertops.
I whirled around—how?—and he was already on his knee, looking up at me without a trace of humor in his dark, wide eyes. In fact he looked vulnerable and a little bit terrified, but he reached out for my hand and said softly, “Pam…?”
I slipped my palm into his and stared down at him, thunderstruck, tears of a different variety already threatening to spill over. The little box I’d seen a month ago was open in his other hand, and it was gorgeous, simple and gorgeous just as I knew it would be, a white-gold band with a marquise-cut diamond solitaire. Not huge, not small. Just perfect.
Ask now please ask now before I lose it…
“Pam, I have loved you for a…a really long time, and…you’re my best friend,” he whispered; he was getting choked up and he hurried on quickly. “You’re my inspiration, and I can’t imagine my life without you, and if you’ll have me I’ll do anything, anything to make you as happy as you make me, and…will you? Marry me?”
I nodded and nodded and then realized I hadn’t said it. “Yes…yes!”
There were tears in his eyes and his hands were trembling as he slipped the ring on my finger. I cradled his face between my palms and kissed him hard, unable to quell the tears now, but he was crying too so it didn’t matter. “How did you do this?” I demanded, tugging him to his feet and wrapping my arms around him.
“Got the neighbor to come in and set it up while we were out.” He grinned down at me. I’d never seen such joy in his face. God, he’s beautiful.
“What neighbor? How? You haven’t been out of my sight for five minutes,” I protested.
“Well,” he began, placing a kiss on my nose and disentangling himself to take off his jacket and toss it over the back of the recliner. “A few years ago, the neighbors with the evil sons sold their place to these friends of my parents. Paul and Ellen Ferguson. Anyway they’ve known me since…forever… and were only too glad to do me this little favor.”
“Wow,” I murmured, staring down at my ring and the way it glinted in the candlelight.
“We’re having lunch with them tomorrow before we head back. If that’s okay.” He smiled apologetically. “They want to meet you.”
“Of course.”
“Kicked, Beesly?” he teased, pulling me close again.
“Kicked,” I agreed.
“You were so pissed,” he grinned. “I was almost afraid to do it.”
I smacked his arm. “You’re lucky you did. I swear to God I’d have said no if you made me wait any longer.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” His eyes glimmered with amusement and a brand of confidence I’d never seen before.
I smiled. “Yeah…you’re right.”
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Okay, here we are! Thanks to all of you who have read and enjoyed my little story. It's been so fun to write and I am truly humbled by all the awesome feedback I've gotten from all of you. I can only hope that what they come up with on the show will be way better.
Same disclaimers apply. I don't own anything except several tens of thousands of dollars in student loans, which anyone who wants it is welcome to take off my hands.
Same disclaimers apply. I don't own anything except several tens of thousands of dollars in student loans, which anyone who wants it is welcome to take off my hands.
Chapter End Notes:
Thanks for reading! Hope you all enjoyed it. I really love hearing all your comments and appreciate the feedback. Y'all are just awesome.
callisto is the author of 22 other stories.
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