She is standing in front of his living room window, thinking about how her life could be divided into two parts, Before Jim and After Jim. How he is that pivotal moment in her life, really a series of moments that keep changing her, shaping her.
She is standing in front of his living room window, thinking about all of this and feeling the thunder roll and knock against his apartment building. She is waiting for the rain to start, but the clouds just sit there, heavy. Lightning flashes briefly behind them. She likes storms in the summer. The day gets so hot, the air gets so thick, that all it can do at the end of it is break down and, with relief, weep. So she stands in front of his window and waits for the rain.
She hears him whistling his way down the hall to her. She can’t remember him whistling before, but now he does it incessantly. She likes to think that she did that, that each breath he pushes through pursed lips is because of her just being there. He whistles tuneless melodies, those intrinsically buoyant songs that come with most absent whistling. He stops when he’s near her.
As much as she loves his whistling, she loves all the sounds accompanied with his next move: the sound of his hands on the cotton of her shirt as they come around her from behind, palms resting flat on her hips, the deep inhale of breath through his nose, the deep internal ‘mmm’ as he settles his head against hers.
Her heart beats like hummingbird wings whenever he touches her. She’s always surprised when she comes out of it alive.
She closes her eyes on the heavy clouds for a moment and leans back against him. She does so with more weight than he was expecting and they stumble backwards together. His arms tighten around her, and she feels the rumbling of his laughter all over her as he says, “Whoa, easy there,” and presses his face into the crook of her neck. His smile stretches across her skin and then he kisses her there.
She turns her attention back to the window. The sky has darkened considerably, turning the trees a thrillingly alive sort of green. His voice is low in her ear, “Anything yet?”
He can see clearly for himself, but she shakes her head in response anyway. Part of her mind is still on Before Jim and After Jim, wondering if he thinks of his life as Before Pam and After Pam. If he ever thinks of himself as two different people, the one with her and the one without her. She sometimes feels split in two, trying to reconcile her old self with this new self. She finds the two have one constant: he has loved them both. That thought helps put her back together.
She turns her head and finds his mouth. Their kiss is soft, but like always, he gives it this pressure, like he wants to hold onto her, like every kiss is as important as the last, because he is grateful and she is grateful and they are lucky.
And then, suddenly, it happens. The clouds let loose and the rain comes down hard, fast. She loves the roar of it, how the branches move with it, how it so quickly washes over everything. He says, “There it is,” in his deep, smiling way as he presses his cheek against hers, watching the rain soak the street outside.
There is a loud tumble of thunder, a sharp flash of lightning, and she feels all the muscles in his body react, instinctively wanting to surround her, safeguard her. They relax in an instant, realizing there is no real threat to protect her from, but she grins and all she can think is: During Jim.
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