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12 Months or One Year
August 2012, Part One
“Hey,” she says with a mouthful of toothpaste, standing in the entryway to their bathroom. “Did you lock the door?” she asks, lifting her glasses higher on her nose.
“Huh?” he asks, turning his head but not his eyes from the television.
She moves closer to the bed, one hand on her hip, scrunching her oversized stained t-shirt. Her baggy blue and white checkered pajama pants swallow her feet and swish as she walks. “I said, did you lock the door?”
He nods. She walks back inside the bathroom, gurgles loudly with some mouthwash and shuts the light.
“Hey, Pam, we have to pay the cable bill tomorrow,” he mumbles.
She stops in her tracks, hand on her hip once again as she narrows her eyes and says through gritted teeth, “I thought we did that already.”
He moves his head around her rigid frame for a better view of the television as she crosses in front of it, making her way onto the bed. “Nope,” he says evenly, “I just made the mortgage payment.”
“Fine,” she sighs heavily, getting under the covers. “But we're going to be a little tight on money for the next week then, are you sure you can't live without the TV for one week?”
He eyes her, shaking his head. “College football is starting,” he almost whines.
She purses her lips, choosing to ignore what he just said and she asks, “Is Cece asleep?”
He nods. “I put her to bed an hour ago, read her her favorite book.”
She leans over to shut her bedside lamp, rubbing hand cream on her hands and arms. “Did she seem feverish to you? She felt a little warm when she came home from daycare.”
He shrugs indifferently. “She’s fine.”
She waves her hand dismissively in front of him before moving to get out of bed. “You don’t know. Maybe I should go check on her.”
He scoffs, “You’re really going to wake up the two year old?”
“You’re right,” she agrees, settling back onto the bed.
He turns the television off and puts the remote on his nightstand, closing his lamp and adjusts himself again, brushing her hand with his. “It’s still a little early,” he hints. “Maybe we could … you know…it’s been … a month… and,” he trails off, moving his hand around her waist as they lie facing one another.
She lets out a yawn, turning onto her back, her expression clearly showing disinterest. “I don’t know. I’m tired. Gabe made me do all of this paperwork today, and …”
Before she can finish her protest, his lips are on hers. He pulls back, stares at her and tries not to think much of it that her eyes are closed.
“Alright,” she shrugs, lifting her shirt over her head. “But let’s be quick.”
“M’kay,” he mumbles into her neck as he trailes kisses below her earlobe as his hands slide around her bare stomach. Her stomach rises as she inhales, her lips quivering as if she were masking a yawn. With her eyes still closed she puts her arms lazily around his shoulders.
She lets out a short groan, her eyebrows knitting together as his hands slide down to her breast, his lips replacing his fingers on her nipple. Almost lifeless in his arms and her head to the side, she lets out a sigh as he begins to work his way from her breast to her navel, dipping his tongue in her bellybutton.
“Mm, Jim,” she mumbles and pats his head lightly. His fingers dip below the waistband of her pajama pants and he massages the inside of her thigh before skimming his fingers inside the elastic of her underwear.
He kisses his way up the inside of her thigh, his fingers rubbing just below the spot that makes her moan the loudest. Licking his lips before his mouth moves to where his fingers had been, he presses his finger into her core, feeling himself harden beneath his pajama pants. It’s then that he realizes she hasn’t moved an inch since he started working her over. He lifts his head, hoping to see her smiling. What he sees instead takes his breath away.
“Pam?” he lifts his eyes to find her eyes closed and her mouth hung open. “Pam?” he asks again, rubbing her hip. “Well, that’s perfect,” he grouches, drawing her pajama pants back up and moving himself back to his side of the bed.
With a shake of his head, he picks up the remote control and puts the television back on, placing his hand behind his head as he watched some man on the Travel Channel eat his body weight in pancakes.
**
“You fell asleep,” he whispers as she walks in front of him, through the lobby door he holds open for her.
She steps quickly toward the stairs as they make their way toward the office. “It was fine. I … finished,” she mutters, her head bowed down as they step inside.
“I didn’t,” he says, louder than he planned to, glad that no one else was on the other side of the door he held open for her.
They settle in at their desks, both ignoring the grin Dwight wears as he stares at both of them. She lifts the receiver of her phone and punches in some numbers, immediately immersing herself in her work.
He grits his teeth, trying not to stare daggers into her skull as he also pretends Dwight doesn’t exist. Inadvertently slamming his finger in his desk drawer while reaching for a pencil, he winces in pain, noting his wife of almost three wonderful years could clearly care less.
Pursing his lips, and trying to get started on some work, Dwight begins to giggle, forcing Jim to turn around and finally acknowledge him with a very short, “What?”
“I’m going to be a TV star,” Dwight says, his chest expanding, his hands holding to the lapels of his suit jacket.
“That’s nice,” Jim replies, raising his eyebrows, his focus remaining on his computer screen.
“Hopefully,” Dwight continues, “the producers will do the right thing and edit to feature me and not the rest of you idiots.”
“What are you talking about?” Jim asks, only half paying attention as he reads through a client email.
Dwight grins widely, “You don’t know?” he says almost gleefully.
Jim glances at Dwight’s pleased expression for a moment before wordlessly getting back to his emails.
“Well, maybe you should read your memos, Jim.”
“Maybe you should go sell some printers, Dwight.”
“Idiot.”
**
It’s been almost a full year since Michael and the cameras had gone. Things had gotten back to normal. After seven years, both Jim and Pam had forgotten what it was like to work in a quiet normal office. Kelly and Ryan went off to start their own computer software company, so not only did the gossip train leave town, the noise level did as well.
If Jim were completely honest, some days he would miss Michael popping out of his office with a random joke, or to call some pointless meeting about what tasted better – Jif or Skippy peanut butter. It was nice to finally not have a camera shoved in their faces at every turn. Most definitely, neither Jim nor Pam missed the documentary crew.
But for some reason, today everyone was buzzing, high-fiving and whispering excitedly. Something seemed off. It felt like it did on those days when Michael would just appear with some random assignment and everyone would either be into it or against it. A fond memory, it was not.
By the time lunch rolls around, they’d witnessed Kevin primping his suit, asking Oscar if he smelled okay, and as Jim and Pam walked to the break room for lunch, they both witnessed Meredith mentioning something they wished they hadn’t heard – that she needed a new bed, and that she hoped she could find a hair stylist on such short notice.
“Hey,” he asks, setting his lunch on the table and taking a seat next to Pam. “Is it just me, or are our coworkers acting weird?”
“You mean weirder than normal?” she asks, stabbing her fork into her salad.
“Yeah … And the phones are ringing off the hook.”
She shrugs, “Maybe it’s our sale. Buy two, get one free ink this month.”
He gives her a disbelieving smirk and shakes his head.
“What?” she asks, “We can have a good business day.”
He shrugs, uncaring, “Who knows. So, did you pay that bill?”
“Quit nagging. Oh and when we get home, clean out the vacuum.”
“It’s your hair,” he mumbles, keeping his eyes focused on his sandwich.
**
They both remained in their state of oblivion, not really caring what was going on with their co workers. Instead they finished their days work, picked up Cecelia from daycare and made their way to the grocery store.
Standing at the checkout counter, her eyes gliding over their grocery list, she tilts her head to the side and asks, “Did you get diapers, I don't see diapers?”
“I thought we were working on potty training her.”
“We are, but she still needs diapers for now.”
“Fine,” he rolls his eyes, “I’ll go get them.”
The conveyer belt fully loaded, she steps forward and begins to rifle through her purse. “I have a coupon in here somewhere,” she mutters to herself.
“Mommy, mommy look,” Cecelia pumps her legs, moving the cart.
“Not now, honey,” Pam disregards her and continues looking through her bag.
“Look,” Cecelia points to another customer. “That’s my mommy and daddy,” she squeals, clapping her hands and moving her legs out of the partition in the cart to stand up. “Look mommy, it’s you.”
“Cecelia Marie, sit down,” Pam scolds, bringing her hand out to hold Cece instantly.
“Mommy it’s you and daddy, look,” she whines, this time trying to wriggle from Pam’s grasp on her.
“What…” Pam asks, following the direction of Cece’s pointed hand. Her eyes widen in horror as she sees a giant poster of her, Jim, Ryan, Dwight and Michael hanging from the ceiling.
“What kind do you want, name brand or the cheap,” Jim asks, holding up two different brands of diapers for Pam’s approval.
“Daddy, look!” Cece says delighted.
“Oh my …” he trails off, dropping both bags of diapers onto the conveyer belt. He lifts Cece out of the cart. “I never thought it would happen.”
“Co-Workers.” Pam reads aloud, “Coming this fall.”
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Chapter End Notes:
More soon, stay tuned!
