They were interrupted a couple more times by doctors coming in to check on Jim’s condition, and once by the nurse coming in to monitor his IV bags. Pam made sure to get out of the nurse’s way, moving down to sit by Larissa at the foot of the bed, but as soon as she was gone she moved right back up. Unfortunately, she wasn’t paying attention to where her purse was as she did so, and it caught the edge of the sketch she had done for Jim, sending it fluttering onto his bed.

Jim did not miss the opportunity to call her out on this—and in fact, he’d been intending to ask her about it all morning. “Hey, Beesly?”

“Yes?”

“What’s this?”

Pam looked over and saw him holding the sketch, causing her to blush again.

“Oh, just a get-well present from me.”

“It’s from you?” She nodded. “Oh good, I was starting to wonder if I had a stalker.”

Larissa couldn’t resist. “Well…she did sketch it and put it there when you were asleep.”

Jim nodded. “True, true. So maybe I do have a stalker after all.”

“Hey, she invited me here!” Pam defended herself.

Jim instantly conceded, not really being interested in pushing Pam away even in jest. “And I am grateful for that.” His eyes twinkled. “But I was also wondering…:”

Pam instinctively leaned in towards him as he trailed off. “Yes, Halpert? You were wondering?”

“If you could decipher it for me.” He gestured towards the sketch. “After all, it’s so…ambiguous. Uncertain. I’m not sure what message the artist was trying to convey.”

Pam looked at the pile of papers, her own reflection, and the words TOO MANY WAYS TO SAY I’M SORRY and BUT NOT ENOUGH TO SAY HOW MUCH I LOVE YOU in all caps and then looked back at Jim. She was not going to rise to this bait. “Well, Halpert, how about you tell me what it means to you? After all, they tell me the true meaning of art is in the eye of the beholder, not the mind of the artist. Art becomes public when it is displayed.”

“Who tells you that?”

“My art teacher.”

“You have an art teacher? Since when. I will be very put out if you tell me this was sixteen years ago or something, Beesly. Don’t get my hopes up.”

“No, no. Since, um, last week? I started summer session classes at the community college, actually. We meet on Wednesday nights at 8.”

“Ohmigod Pam, that’s awesome! I’m so proud of you.” Jim’s face broke into a giant smile. “You’re gonna love it.”

“Thanks. I think you’re right. I realized there were a lot of things I’d been putting off for a long time because…well, because of a lot of reasons. And so when I decided to change one thing I thought it was high time to start, um, changing the others.”

“That’s so awesome. You’ll have to tell me all about it. But, uh, it doesn’t help me penetrate the mystery that is this piece.” He waved the sketch. “So it’s public art now. Does that mean the artist meant for the meaning to be shared widely? Is this a declaration of some sort? Or am I looking at this the wrong way around, and there’s some kind of hidden private meaning deep within the details that the hoi polloi would miss? And what school of art am I looking at? Like, is this representational, or is it an abstract that just happens to look like it contains words and meaning?”

Pam looked down at him with deep love in her heart. How was it that he was always capable of injecting just the right amount of humor into the situation while at the same time revealing a deep and abiding interest in her interests? She didn’t think Jim was an artist—sure, he had artistic sensibilities, such as in the execution of pranks against Dwight or the crisp arc of a basketball shot (she thought back hungrily to the day she’d gotten to see him play at the office—all angles and curves and perfect execution), but he wasn’t someone who dedicated their mind or their life to art—so the fact that he was capable of joking around within her discipline with her meant something really deep to her. Roy hadn’t known enough about art or art appreciation to tell her more than “I like it” or “you done good.” Jim had shown her more actual awareness of the content and approach of her art in this teasing than Roy had in ten years.

“I don’t know, Jim—I made it, so it’s not mine to interpret. I gave it to you though, so what do you think it means?”

“Hmmm…tricky…” he mused.

She looked down into his eyes with all the love in her heart and suddenly saw the caution, the brokenness in him. The part of him that even after she’d told him she loved him, told him he was her boyfriend, still couldn’t fully let go of the words she’d said to him a month ago. She wanted to kick herself. She’d told him he’d “misinterpreted their friendship” and now here she was insisting he had to interpret something else to unlock the depth of her love. No. Not this time. She had resolved she was going to be honest, and so honest she would be. But she wasn’t going to let him out of his joke, either. Instead, she bent down and whispered in his ear “I promise, you won’t misinterpret this.”

She saw the surprise in his eyes as her words registered, followed by the sheer joy that she knew was mirrored in her own. “Then, Beesly,” he pronounced, “I suggest that this sketch is a public declaration. A declaration that the artist—caught here in a moment of self-doubt—is unaware of their own amazingness and unsure of how their work will come across. The paper is obviously a metaphor for art itself, and the love and the apology are both directed to the artwork itself, which the artist cannot leave unfinished but does not think worthy of being shown to the world.” He grinned up at her impishly. “So, is that right?”

She smiled down. “Of course. I told you you couldn’t misinterpret it. But I do think there’s one little thing you might be missing.”

“Oh?”

“It also says I love you.” She leaned down and kissed him.

It would be cliché to say that fireworks went off, or that the world ceased to be, or that she felt an electric shock as they kissed. Certainly none of that happened. He was still semirecumbent in a hospital bed, she was bending over from a chair placed awkwardly far from the side of the bed, and he couldn’t fully turn towards her because the pain in his ribs. So it was a little clumsy. But it was the best kiss she’d ever had—even including both kisses on Casino Night—and she was never certain, afterwards, how long it had lasted. Just that it could not have been long enough.

He gazed up at her, his eyes involuntarily flicking back to her lips, and said in a dazed voice “Oh yeah. And that.”

Larissa cleared her throat. “Get a room, you two.” When Pam looked back at her, though, she was clearly grinning despite her attempt at a disgusted face. She exchanged a glance with Jim, half-embarrassed, half-proud. He took his cue from her and responded to his sister.

“Um, I believe I already have one, and we’re in it.”

At that, Larissa broke, and the three of them were laughing like hyenas (as they were quickly informed) when Helene Beesly walked into the room.