When Pam’s third session on the library computer times out, a very nice librarian is standing there to tell her that really, other patrons did occasionally need to use the facilities, and while they appreciated her enthusiasm for their services, she needs to wait four hours to log on again.

She takes this as a sign that she needs to go somewhere else to figure things out. She’s not sure what she’s figuring out—leaving Roy (terrifying thought, ten years down the drain)? Telling Jim off (her friend Izzy used to call that “kicking the puppy,” and now she’s thinking of Jim as a little tiny dog and she just wants to pick him up and squeeze him so much)? Running off into the abyss (this is right now seeming like the best option)?—but she needs to figure it out.

Of course, right at that moment, her phone buzzes.

Roy: where r u?

Roy: just got back from Darryl’s. Got a surprise for u

She guesses her mind is made up for her, as usual. She heads home. She can’t help hoping the surprise is something that will make up her mind for her: flowers! Some actual help with the wedding! Tickets to a concert! But she’s thinking on another level deep inside that it’s probably more boring, more Roy than that: a new laundry basket! Wrenches! A third freaking waverunner so Kenny doesn’t have to borrow hers!

She’s not prepared for what she sees when she comes home.

Or rather, she is. It’s a pretty normal scene, after all. Roy, sitting on the couch, beer in hand. Darryl sitting next to him. The TV on.

“Pammy!” He waves at her with a big grin. “Where were you?”

“Oh, just running some errands. Went to the library, stuff like that.” She is not telling Roy a lie exactly, but she’s definitely not going to tell him what she saw there. Not that he’s going to ask. He’s still got one hand on the Xbox controller, after all, and she can see half his attention already tugging back to the TV, where Darryl’s Madden team is executing some sort of pre-snap audible (spend enough time with a sports nut and some of it will rub off on you, she absently thinks).

Wait a minute.

They don’t own an Xbox.

They don’t own Madden.

Roy always goes to Darryl’s for Madden.

And there’s still this shit-eating grin on his face as he’s explaining, telling her how he and Darryl ran by the Walmart on their way over here and got an Xbox and Madden and they’re just christening it with their first game.

“See Pammy? You always get so grumpy when I stay over at Darryl’s to play, I figured this way we can bring the game to you so you don’t have to be so alone!”

He’s looking at her like a cat that just brought a dead mouse to her feet: he’s expecting her to jump for joy at it, and he’s already a little concerned that her face doesn’t seem to be mirroring his emotion.

“Roy. Where’d you get the money for an Xbox? We’re saving for the wedding, remember?”

“Aw, c’mon Pammy, that’s months away.”

It’s always months away.

It’s been years away.

And something inside her snaps to a new realization—one that feels like a very old realization.

“No, it’s not Roy. It’s not going to happen.”

And she’s up the stairs before he stops gaping at her, that wide wide grin still half-stuck to his open mouth.

As she walks into their bedroom (his bedroom? Hers? She figures it’ll probably become his) and starts packing the first bag she sees, she has the strange feeling that she’s watching herself from 1000 feet up. She wonders if this is really all about Jim—and if so, shouldn’t she have talked to him? But as she’s stuffing clothes into the duffle (shirts, underwear, socks, shoes…better bring some work clothes too even though tomorrow’s not a work day, who knows how long this is going to take) she realizes it’s not about Jim. It’s about her and Roy.

It’s about how he can’t remember to buy any groceries, but comes home with an Xbox. About how his big “surprise” to her is that he bought himself several hundred dollars worth of game equipment that will mean she has even less of his attention to herself even if they’ll be in the same house more often. It’s about how she’s been putting off things—like that art internship that they “couldn’t afford” because of the wedding—and he never puts anything off except their wedding. And it’s about how he doesn’t even realize he’s doing any of it.

He apologizes, sure. He’s actually apologizing right now, blundering into the bedroom with her and saying “Sorry Pammy” and “I didn’t mean it like that” and all the words he usually uses to defuse her moods. But he doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for, and she has neither the energy nor the patience to try to teach him. And frankly, if the last ten years didn’t…the next ten minutes aren’t going to either. Or the next rest of her life.

She’s moving now, into the bathroom, grabbing her toothbrush and her toiletries, and he’s still talking. Only now he’s angrier, uglier. She brushes past him and he grabs her arm. Hard. She shrugs it off and he’s so surprised that she did it that he actually lets go. But she knows she’s running on borrowed time here. He’s never actually hit her, but she usually folds before he comes anywhere close, and she needs to get out of this house now. She practically runs down the stairs to catch Darryl before he’s out the door. He’s getting up off the couch (has it really been that short of a time) but he’s still there, so she has a witness. Protection. Words she really shouldn’t need from someone who just a few minutes ago was her fiancée. Still is, technically. She grabs the Bimbo bread off the counter, stuffs it on top of her duffle (really squishy), and turns to talk to Roy.

She says, very calmly, “Roy.”

It stops him in mid-rant. He’s not used to her being quiet without being passive.

“Roy. This is over. It’s not just this moment. It’s not just this Xbox. It’s a lot of things. But I don’t think we’re right for each other anymore. I don’t think we have been for a while. And I’m going to go somewhere else” (an image of Jim flits through her head but she firmly turns it aside with a shake of her head) “and we’re going to figure out how to divide things, but this” (she gestures between them) “it’s…it’s over, Roy. I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t wait for him to react. She turns to Darryl and says “take care of him. Don’t let him do something stupid.”

And she’s gone. The car seat is still warm from when she drove up a few minutes ago. She starts it up and drives off…though she’s not sure exactly where she’s going, she knows she needs to keep this crazy momentum up. So she drives away. Not toward, but away. And it’s enough, for the moment, to keep her going.