Everything is going to be okay.

She’s been holding on to Jim’s words as tightly as he’d held on to her hand, and for the first time in a while, she’s starting to believe them. Maybe things aren’t fantastic right now, or even very good, but she’s feeling better than she has in some time. 

Ever since Roy was fired, there’s been a massive shift inside her, real conviction that she’s finally back on the right path. The last couple of weeks hadn’t held some of her proudest moments (especially with the benefit of hindsight) but she is relieved that she will never again have to wonder whether or not she did the right thing last June. 

Something good has come of all of this, at least, which is that she and Jim are on somewhat friendlier terms. It’s nothing approaching where they used to be, but right now, it’s the most she can really expect.

The light coming through that crack in the door isn’t exactly what she’d been hoping for but it’s better than being in the dark room. She’ll gladly take it.

It’s been a few weeks since her breakup with Roy, and she’s at her parents’ house for a visit. Her dad is in the backyard cleaning out the rain gutters, and her mother sits her down at the kitchen table for a long overdue chat. 

“How have you been, honey?” her mom asks. “You know, since the breakup.”

Pam sits back into her seat and lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m fine, I guess.”

“Better or worse than last time?”

“Not helpful, Mom.” 

Her mother grimaces. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know. And to answer your question, I’m not really sure.”

Last time. Pam closes her eyes. After she’d called off the wedding, she’d desperately wanted to tell her mother the real reason she’d gotten cold feet. And it wasn’t for lack of trying on her mother’s part; she’d always been one of Pam’s closest confidants. But after what had happened, her walls had begun to rebuild themselves so quickly she found it difficult to reach out to anyone. And every time her mother attempted to find out what happened, Pam had shut her down. 

There had been that phone call she’d made as she leaned against Jim’s desk, his confession still reverberating in her mind. At that moment, she was confused. At that moment, she was looking for guidance. But afterwards, she could only feel shame for what she’d done; both for allowing herself to participate in that kiss and for letting Jim walk out of her life. Even though she’d made her decision, the shame had lingered, and she’d never wanted to revisit the topic of her best friend’s unexpected declaration with her mother. 

Her mom sighs and offers the same comforting advice she always does when her daughter closes off.

“Well, this too shall pass, honey.” 

Pam opens her eyes. “Can I ask you a question, Mom?”

“Of course.”

She takes a deep breath. “Did you like Roy? I mean… did you like him for me? Honestly?”

Her mother looks thoughtful, considering her question, and Pam is relieved she seems to understand that now is not the time for politeness, now is not the time to mince words. 

“I did like him, honey. I thought you were well suited for each other. But I guess I didn’t really have a reason to think otherwise, until…” She pauses, gauging Pam’s reaction. It feels like she wants to say more but isn’t sure whether or not she should broach the subject. 

Pam reacts, her eyes darting up to her mother’s then away again so quickly she’s unable to hide her uneasiness. Her first instinct is to retreat, to shrug off her mother’s attempt at fishing and hope it never comes up again. But the weight of her troubles has been so heavy, she’s desperate for someone to help her carry the burden. Her mom has always been a source of strength, and right now she really needs some.

“Until I called you that night about Jim,” Pam says, completing the thought. She looks up at her mom, knowing there’s no more turning back from this conversation. They were probably always going to have it, be it twenty years from now over a game of Mahjong or right here, right now, over a couple cups of Earl Grey.

Her mom nods, then takes a sip of her tea, looking at her daughter over the edge of her mug, carefully considering her next words. “Right. So… are you ever going to tell me what ended up happening with that?”

Pam sighs. “Nothing happened, really. I told him I couldn’t return his feelings, that I was going to marry Roy. Then he moved away, and that was that.”

Her mother looks at her closely, knowing full well that was certainly not that. 

“You told him you couldn’t return his feelings,” she says slowly, trying to understand. “But you told me on the phone you thought you did. Remember?”

Yes, she remembers. Of course she remembers. Every single moment of that night is carved into her memory like an epitaph: her dearly departed chance with Jim Halpert. Rest in peace. 

“I did say that. But then… he kissed me, and I just…” she doesn’t even know how to talk about this. The last time she uttered any of it aloud, it ended in screaming and shattered glass. “He kissed me and I kissed him back. I wanted to kiss him. And I felt guilty for wanting to.”

Her mother is now gaping, her mouth slightly open, the mug halfway from the table to her lips.

“You and Jim… kissed?”

The shame returns with intensity. 

“I was so confused, Mom. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how I was supposed to feel.”

“Forget how you were ‘supposed’ to feel, Pam,” her mother implores. “How did you actually feel?”

“I don’t know!” Pam explodes. 

She really can’t put into words how she actually felt at that precise moment. She’s beaten herself up about the consequences of her actions that night every single day for nearly a year, but even now she finds it so hard to understand why she did what she did, why she said what she said. The last thing she wants is to be grilled about it. 

Her mom eyes her. “Honey, I know you must have your reasons for never sharing any of this with me. And I’ve been trying to be respectful of that. But… you told me you thought you were in love with Jim. That’s what you said before you hung up the phone.”

“I thought… that I really did feel something for him, but maybe I was just getting caught up in the moment. All I could think about was that I’d made a commitment to Roy. That… I loved Roy, and I couldn’t do that to him. I couldn’t throw away nine years just like that. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“Sweetheart,” her mom says with a sort of maternal compassionate exhaustion on her face. “You can’t love someone out of duty. That’s not how it works.”

“The wedding was three weeks away,” is all Pam can think to say by way of an excuse. “Three weeks.”

Her mother raises an eyebrow. “But the wedding doesn’t matter, Pam. That’s just one day. Marriage is for the rest of your life.”

Pam can feel her face getting hot, latent tears ready to fall. She knows this, of course, and it’s not as if she didn’t know it back then. But Roy had been ‘the rest of her life’ for so long that it was difficult to imagine anything else, even when that something else was standing right in front of her. 

“Pam,” her mother continues. “You’re saying you got caught up in a moment, but it must have been more than that. It was more than that before you even called me.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because honey, I know you,” her mother says gently. “And if you were as sure about Roy as I thought you were, as sure as you’re supposed to be when you’re about to marry someone, you’d have never made that call in the first place.”

It’s more simple than she expects, and she feels a deep wave of regret crash over her that she hadn’t realized this at the time. 

“You’re right,” she says. “I should have known.”

Her mother looks at her for a very long time as they sit together in silent contemplation. She can hear her father walking around on the roof above them. 

“Pam… now is the time to be honest. Do you love Jim?”

Courage and honesty. Not Pam’s strong points.

Oscar’s words from the night of her art show have haunted her ever since. She didn’t want to believe it, even then, but she knows he’s right. And maybe if she’d been honest with herself from the start she wouldn’t be in this mess right now.

She’s so tired of keeping her feelings in, of being afraid of that honesty. And though telling her mother is a small step forward, it’s still a step she needs to take. So for the first time since this entire thing started, she says it out loud: the truth.

“Yes,” she says, so quietly she can barely hear it. “I do love him. I think I’ve always loved him. At a certain point I guess I realized I was in too deep to even acknowledge it. So I pretended I didn’t. Convinced myself I didn’t, even.”

Her mom nods, listening.  

“As long as I kept telling myself we were just friends, it was okay to enjoy his company. To like the way he always made me feel. There was this time once, when he came up to my desk and warned me not to eat my stupid expired yogurt. It was so weird but I remember thinking it felt so nice to be seen. And that I was so glad it was Jim who was seeing me.” She smiles a bit, remembering. “One day he was getting a Coke out of the vending machine and it was the last one. It's so silly, but he just turned around and handed it to me without a second thought.”

Her mom smiles. Pam knows she remembers Jim fondly. There were only a couple of times they’d actually met, but Jim rarely made a bad impression, and her mother had been no exception.

“And then… this one time he was watching me drawing, and he said I was talented. I could tell he really meant it, you know? It made me feel so good. I don’t think Roy ever said that to me, not once. And it wasn’t something that bothered me about Roy, really, until I started getting to know Jim. Because it was like he filled all these spaces inside me that Roy just couldn’t.” 

She remembers it happening so many times: Jim saying something or doing something that would instantly shed light on areas in which Roy was lacking. Her only recourse at the time – or so she thought – was to try to ignore it, to focus instead on the good things about Roy she loved, their history and their comfortable rhythm. But most of those things were so far in their past she’d find herself making excuses: that this was just what was supposed to happen when people are together for such a long time, that maybe they’d simply gotten too comfortable with each other.

Even now, she wonders if she’d have ever realized she and Roy were wrong for each other if Jim hadn’t been there to show her what right could look like.

She looks up at her mom. “Is it… possible to be in love with two people at the same time?”

She’s thinking about her entire history with Jim now, from the moment he walked into her life to the moment he crossed that carpet and pressed his lips to hers. She wonders exactly how long he’d been in love with her; it’s impossible to pinpoint when exactly she fell in love with him. But she’s also wondering about Jim and Karen, too; if Jim loves her now instead, and if there’s even a remote possibility he could still have any feelings for Pam when he’s had a steady girlfriend for six months.

“I think so, yes,” her mom answers thoughtfully. “But I also think your heart can truly belong to only one person.”

Pam feels her eyes well up. “What if my heart has belonged to Jim this entire time, and I just never knew it? And now that it’s too late… what am I supposed to do with that?”

She looks helplessly at her mother, a somber look in her eyes. It feels like an unanswerable question, an unsolvable problem. 

“Maybe it isn’t too late. I think you should tell him how you feel, Pam.”

She thinks about what she told Roy in the coffee shop. It’s the same excuse she has for her mother. “I can’t. He has a girlfriend.” 

“Well, that didn’t stop Jim from telling you how he felt. Did it?”

Pam shakes her head slowly. “No, I guess it didn’t.” 

She wishes she could locate the strength to tell Jim the truth, to go after what she wants the way he had. Some days she’s angry that he waited for so long to tell her how he really felt; that maybe if he’d said something sooner, she might have been more willing to hear it. But most days all she can do is marvel at how brave he’d been to tell her at all, and how she wishes she could figure out a way to do the same.

Pam shakes her head. “He’s going to pick her, I know he will.”

“You don’t know that, honey. And if he does… at least you’ll know the truth. You’ll be free of the unknown.”

Free. She really does want to be free of all this. Knowing the truth about how Jim really feels about her would put an end to the anguish she’s endured for so long. She could start the next chapter of her life, more certain of herself, more confident in her own skin. Even if that chapter doesn’t include Jim.

“And if nothing else,” her mom adds, “maybe you can still be friends.”

Pam sighs, shaking her head. “I don’t know if we can be friends anymore, Mom. He’s not like he used to be. It’s like he went to Stamford and came back as some different version of himself.”

Her mom tilts her head curiously. “What do you mean?” 

“Just… dumb stuff, like he dresses a little different. He doesn’t pick the same drinks out of the vending machine. He doesn’t eat in the break room anymore. And then big stuff too, like… he doesn’t smile at me the way he used to. He doesn’t talk to me, or joke around with me. Instead I have to sit there and watch him with his perfect girlfriend. Work sucks every day.”

Her mother tightens her mouth into a thin line. “I hate to say this, honey, but if you feel this way now, imagine how hard it must have been for him, too.”

She can imagine it. If it hurt Jim to see her with Roy half as much as it hurts her to see him with Karen, he’d certainly suffered enough. 

Pam looks down into her mug. “I know I hurt him, and I feel awful about that. But I don’t understand why he had to change so much. There are all these things about him I have in my memory, and so many of those things are just gone. He’s here, but… he’s gone. And I just…” she can feel tears finally starting to break free, “...I miss the old Jim.”

Her mother looks at her sympathetically. “I think he probably did what he had to do to take care of himself. And I know that hurts.”

Pam wipes her cheek. “Are you saying he changed because of me?’

“We change each other all the time, Pam.”

“What do you mean?”

Her mother takes a long sip of her tea, sets down the mug and looks her daughter right in the eye. 

“Love… real love, it sort of sits with you. Forever. You can’t just forget about it. It changes you, and I guess you just have to be careful not to lose yourself.”

Pam shakes her head, so frustrated with herself for not having opened her eyes at the time. The idea of Jim losing himself is bad enough without the compounded guilt of having been the one to have caused it. She doesn’t even know what to think anymore. All she can feel is helplessness, the utter impotence of being unable to change any of it now.

“Everything is so clear to me now, Mom. So why didn’t I see it then? Why couldn’t I have just told him how I felt? Why couldn’t I have changed things before everything was too late?”

“Sweetheart, you can’t blame yourself for not knowing what to do.” She reaches out, covers Pam’s hand with hers. “Sometimes… we get so used to what we have that we forget about what we want.” 

Pam nods. As much as it hurts, it makes sense. 

“All you can do is be honest with him now, honey. It’s the only way to take control of this situation. Otherwise, you might lose yourself, too.”

She’s spent so much time over the past year looking for herself in the fallout of everything that’s happened; tiny pieces of Pam hidden amongst all the scattered smoking warfare. Separate from Roy, separate from Jim. Herself. She's proud of the person she’s found. It’s something she’s worked hard for, and she feels like she earned it. Losing herself would be even more painful than losing Jim. 

And something about understanding that feels really, really good.

Pam looks up at her mother, tears running down her cheeks, and wishes – very much like she wishes she’d done with Jim – she’d told her all of this a long time ago.

“Thanks, Mom,” she says in a quiet voice, and her mom smiles back warmly.  

Honesty and courage. 

She’s terrified, and she isn’t sure she can change that. But she’s waited long enough. 

It’s time to be brave.

***

He is her bright spot on an otherwise dull day. She’s starting to suspect she might be his, too.

Ever since Jim arrived at Dunder Mifflin it feels like things are different. The days go by a little faster. Michael is less obnoxious (well, a little). And she smiles more than she used to. Jim has somehow honed in on all the very specific ways to make her laugh. She doesn’t know how he did that, or why. But she likes it.

Her job can be fun. Not always, not even most of the time, but it has its moments, and she can’t help but notice those moments almost always involve Jim. 

Jim: her funny, tall, shaggy-haired new friend.

One day she’s visiting her sister after work, hanging out on the couch with a couple of wine coolers, telling her about how she and Jim had managed to reroute all of Dwight’s calls to Kevin’s desk at accounting. When Penny asks her why, she explains.

“Well, sometimes Jim dies of boredom. We made a deal where it’s my job to bring him back.”

Penny grins. “That’s so cute. It’s like you guys have your own love language.” 

Love language? Pam is immediately uncomfortable.

“I don’t love Jim.” 

Penny shrugs and smiles. “Call it whatever you want, but there’s something going on there. Can you honestly tell me the time you spend with him isn’t the best part of your day?”

Pam shifts uncomfortably on the couch, sets down her drink on the coffee table. “There’s nothing going on between me and Jim.” She sounds far more defensive than she intends to, but she’s not prepared for her sister’s interrogation. 

“Come on, Pam. You talk about him all the time.”

“I do not.”

“Yes, you do. Is he cute? Tell me he’s not cute and I’ll drop it.”

Pam feels herself blushing, realizing that she can’t actually tell her sister Jim is not cute, at least not honestly. Maybe she’s dropped his name in conversation with Penny a few too many times. She needs to get herself some more friends.

Preferably ones that are less… cute.

“It isn’t like that. He’s my friend,” Pam says. “That’s all.”

Penny puts both hands up and sort of smirks. “Sorry. My mistake.”

Pam glares at her sister. Penny has never liked Roy, and has never made a secret of that. She’s obviously just reaching, looking for things that aren’t there. But her comment makes Pam very self-conscious, and she isn’t exactly sure why. 

Her friendship with Jim has always come so naturally, so easily, she hasn’t really considered the possibility it might be inappropriate. She always feels like the time she spends with Jim - when they’re messing with Dwight, just playing together - is safe. She isn’t doing anything wrong. She hasn’t kissed Jim, or slept with him, or crossed any lines. They’re friends, that’s all.

But she does wonder from time to time: what would her relationship with Jim be like if she weren’t engaged to Roy? She’d be lying if she didn’t admit she’d thought about it once or twice. Okay, more than once or twice. 

Okay. Lots of times. 

But it’s just in her head, just dumb thoughts. She would never act on any of it, of course.

So why does she feel like she’s been exposed somehow?

“You know, it’s okay to love your friends, Pam,” Penny then says, interrupting her reverie. Pam looks up, realizing she's been absently twisting her engagement ring around and around her finger. She eyes Penny skeptically, but deep down she knows she’s right. Of course she can love her friends. 

Pam wants to agree with her sister, to retreat into that safe place she goes to every day where she loves Jim as a friend and nothing more. But Penny’s hit on something that won’t allow her to: the truth. A truth she is not ready to accept. 

She doesn’t have the courage to admit it, but deep down she knows: she’s the most authentic version of herself whenever she realizes she likes Jim more than she should.

***

It’s Christmastime at Dunder Mifflin, and this year is special. Maybe it’s stupid, but drawing Pam’s name out of the hat for Secret Santa felt like destiny, a sign of something. Jim isn’t sure of what, exactly. But maybe he can come up with a perfect gift, something that will impress her. Something that will show her how much he cares about her without him actually having to say it.

He should probably just say it, though.

He’s been in this quandary for months. For years, really. Should he tell her how he feels? Or should he let it be? Would telling her the truth be selfish? Or would the ends justify the means?

And the biggest question of all… what if she loves him back?

He sits in the conference room across from the camera crew, another long day of tormenting Dwight behind him. Another long day of allowing his feelings for Pam to torment him.

“How was your day?” Delilah asks, her usual way of kicking things off in these interviews.

“It was pretty good, I guess.”

“We’re excited about the barbecue tonight,” she says. “It’s okay if we come, right? Since you invited everyone from the office.”

Jim shrugs. He’s so used to their presence it barely fazes him anymore. “Sure.”

They unpack the events of the day, just chatting for a couple of minutes. It hadn’t been a particularly interesting day, so their conversation doesn’t last too long. At a certain point a lull inevitably arrives, and Jim moves to take off his mic, figuring they’re done for the day.

Delilah then turns around to the cameraman. “Will, can you turn the camera off?”

Will blinks. “I don’t… think…”

“Just turn it off, Will. And step out for a minute, would you, please? Both of you.”

Will grumbles, annoyed, but obeys. Brian the boom guy rolls his eyes and follows him. Then Jim and Delilah are alone in the room. No cameras.

“I want to ask you about something that happened a few weeks ago,” Delilah says. 

He’s intrigued, but a little anxious. Delilah has never asked to talk to him off camera before. “What happened a few weeks ago?”

“Well, when we were talking about that job in Maryland. Cumberland Mills, was it?”

He eyes her nervously. “Oh, what about it?”

“You said something interesting. You said if Pam weren’t at Dunder Mifflin, you’d take the job.” She tilts her head curiously. “What exactly did you mean by that?”

Did he really say that? Sometimes he’s amazed at what these documentary folks are able to get out of him without even really trying.

“Oh,” he says again. “Well, I was just exaggerating. You know.”

“Were you?”

Jim bites his lip. Every single day he’s here with Pam, the camera crew sees. They see how he gets up to talk to her a dozen times a day. They see the way she makes him smile. They also know she’s engaged. He’s not stupid; he knows his “secret” probably isn’t actually so secret, and the longer this goes on, the worse he probably looks to all of them. 

He isn’t trying to cause drama, or to break up an engagement. He doesn’t want to be that guy. He just wants to be the guy she would finally open her eyes and see for once.

“Can I say something to you, as a friend?” Delilah asks. “Off the record.”

“Um. Sure.” He shifts in his seat uncomfortably. Delilah isn’t really his friend, at least he’s never considered her one. But from the look in her eyes right now she cares pretty deeply about what she’s about to say, and she’s clearly wanted to say it for a long time.

“Jim, I probably shouldn’t say this at all, but I feel compelled to. And I completely understand where you’re coming from, believe me. But if you don’t tell Pam how you feel, and soon, she’s probably going to find out anyway. In a way that you won’t have any control over, if you catch my drift.”

Jim’s entire body goes cold. Has he really been that transparent? He’s been trying so hard to hide the way he feels about Pam, but if he’s been unable to hide it from Delilah, maybe she’s right. Maybe the documentary won’t tell the real story, at least, not the way he would want Pam to hear it.

He doesn’t know what to say. He’s been so conditioned to watch every word around the producer, even though it clearly hasn’t mattered. But she seems to genuinely want to help him. She’s always been kind to him, always made him feel at ease. 

Maybe that’s the problem.

“I… hear you,” he says. “Message received.” 

“Good.”

He leans forward and rubs his face with both hands, letting out a defeated sigh. “Shit.”

Delilah is quiet for a minute. He doesn’t mean to make her feel guilty. He’s actually glad she’d told him. 

“So… do all of you know?” he asks, his head still in his hands. He hears nothing, so he lifts his head up, looking at her through his fingers.

She bites her lip, giving a barely perceptible nod, and he groans. 

“You gonna be okay, Jim?”

“Yeah,” he says, even though he doesn’t feel like he is. “I just have no idea what to say. Or how to say it.”

She shrugs. “Well, Christmas is coming. And Christmas is the time to tell people how you feel. Right?”

He wonders if there’s any possible way the producer could know he’d picked Pam for Secret Santa. He doesn’t like worrying about the possible ulterior motives of a documentary camera crew, he’s got enough on his mind as it is. But regardless, Delilah is right. Maybe somehow, this could be the perfect excuse to let Pam know how he feels about her.

Delilah calls the crew back in, and they wrap up the interview. She asks him about his barbecue, and things feel normal again. But when he leaves the conference room and sees Pam talking to Roy at reception, another chill runs through his body, an anticipatory sense of dread.

What would she say if he actually told her the truth? How would she react? Would she be happy? Would she be surprised? Would she be upset? Maybe she’d slap him for interfering. Maybe she’d tell Roy and he would beat him up.

Maybe everything he thinks they have between them is all in his head.

It was prudent of Delilah to warn him, and he’s grateful for it, but if she’s to be believed, he’s running out of time. And even though a date has yet to be set for Pam and Roy’s wedding, it’s going to happen at some point. There’s no telling when the documentary will air, or what they will decide to show. How they’ll edit it together.

Days pass, and his latest struggle shifts from finding the words to tell Pam how he feels to finding the perfect gift. He’s spending the afternoon one weekend at the mall with his mom – he’d promised to take her to lunch – when he sees it: the teapot. It’s simple and elegant, and most importantly, it’s the color of Pam’s eyes on those days he can pretend her smile is just for him.

“Perfect,” he says quietly to himself.

“Who’s this for?” his mom asks, even though she probably suspects. He’s tried to be careful around the crew but he hasn’t bothered to hide his crush from his mom. 

“I got Pam for Secret Santa at work,” he explains. “Been wondering what to get her. But I think she’ll like this.”

He picks up the teapot and turns it around, inspecting it for any cracks or imperfections. His mom leans over, peering at it.

“I think she will, too.”

He lifts the lid and looks inside.

“You should find out what her favorite tea is and put some in there,” his mom suggests. He nods, because it’s a good idea.

But then he thinks of a better one.

And now he knows exactly how he will tell her how he feels.

Pam,

I’ve waited for years to tell you this. I’m not sure why. But with the cameras and everything, it’s been harder and harder to keep my feelings inside, and I figured maybe now is the time to tell you. So here goes. 

Ever since you told me to take that job in Maryland, I can’t get it off my mind. I’ve been wondering why I didn’t apply. I probably should have. On paper, everything about it makes sense. But the truth is that no job, or anything else for that matter, could ever compare to the way it makes me feel to be here with you. And there’s no opportunity in the world that I want more than just a chance to make you mine.

You are the reason I get up every day. You are the reason I want to do better, and be better. But you are also the reason I stay. Because if I get to see you smile, or hear you laugh, or believe for even a second that you could feel the same way I do, it makes everything else — all of this — worth it.

No matter what happens, I will love you forever.

Jim

***

Forever.

He hadn’t thought about the note he’d written to Pam in a long time. Until now, it had existed as a near-forgotten memory, an unanswered question in his mind. But when he starts working on his taxes, sure enough, it falls out of the file he’d tossed it in over a year ago – plunk – right into his lap. 

And now he’s thinking about it.

Reading it again would probably be a mistake, especially considering all of the very real progress he’s been making with Karen over the past few weeks. It seems like every time he gets closer to moving past Pam, closer to forgetting about all of it, the universe can’t help but remind him of the way he used to feel about her. But his hands have minds of their own as they carefully slip it out of the envelope to read the words he’d written two Christmases ago– and he remembers.

He remembers the way he felt when he’d written it, how full his heart had been of Pam and only Pam for so long that even now he can’t be quite certain when it began. 

Or when it will end, for that matter.

Jim shakes this off – tries, at least – and sets the card down on his desk, trying to focus on deductions and capital gains. But I will love you forever and its persistent promise outweighs everything else.

He snatches the card and gets up, making his way over to the wastebasket. The shredder he’d borrowed from the office sits next to it, tiny confetti-like bits of last year’s unused tax documents peeking out at him through the window. The Jim of last year. 

He holds the note over the shredder but very quickly withdraws his hand, pulls it back like the thing might bite him. The idea of the machine’s teeth violently obliterating his tender words for Pam is a revolting image. He tosses the card into the wastebasket instead, then goes back over to his desk. But it doesn’t take very long for him to wander back over and pluck it out, shoving it angrily back into the file for 2008. 

I will love you forever.

He wonders if it’s true, if there will always be a part of him that’s in love with her. 

Forever.

A couple of evenings later, he and Karen raise their glasses to six months. It’s a far cry from forever, but he knows that’s what she’s hoping for. And he’s hoping for the same, even if he can’t say it yet, even if he can’t feel it yet. Even if he’s still thinking about that damn Christmas card.

“Cheers,” Karen says, and he taps his wine glass against hers. 

He’s amazed they’ve made it this far at all. What he thought would be nothing more than a rebound from Pam has actually evolved into something real against all the odds. He’s genuinely happy with Karen, and he can remember a time where he was convinced it wasn’t even possible. So that’s something worth celebrating. 

They sit at a table in the corner of Anna Maria’s, one of Karen’s favorite places. The only decent Italian food in Scranton, she’d called it, and he’d deferred to her expertise on the subject without further comment. 

“Six months. Not only for us, but for your relationship with Scranton,” he teases. “Think that one can last?”

She scoffs. “Please. First opportunity out of here, we should take it.”

The energy between them shifts a bit. Karen has made no secret of the fact that she doesn’t really care for Scranton. She’s more comfortable in a fast-paced environment, somewhere like New York. Jim has lived here pretty much all his life, and though he knows Karen doesn’t mean to give offense, he always takes her jabs a little personally.

“Ouch.”

Karen raises an eyebrow. “You can’t honestly want to stay here forever, Jim,” she says, as if any answer to the contrary would be absolute madness.

He shrugs. “It’s not so bad. I grew up here, you know. I turned out alright.”

He vaguely recalls his surprise back when the branches had merged that Karen had even been considering moving to Scranton. It had seemed so unlike her at the time, and even more so today. He knows now the main reason she’d moved, obviously, but the long term effects of that move hadn’t really been something he’d contemplated until now. 

Now that he’s starting to wonder about forever.

“Yes, Halpert,” she grins. “You’re the best thing to come out of Scranton by far.”

He grins. “Well, just wait until Beach Day next week. You can’t beat those Scranton beaches, Karen. They’re Michael Scott-approved.”

“Can’t wait,” she says, as good-naturedly as possible. 

A couple tables over, a small child starts crying, and her mood turns sour. Oddly enough, he’s reminded of his very first impression of her: unamused and unimpressed with pretty much everything around her.

“Do they have to bring their kid here?” she grumbles under her breath. “It’s a nice place.”

Jim raises an eyebrow. He turns to look, then turns back. “Yeah, and he’s clearly not meeting the dress code. Slob.”

She sighs in frustration and takes a sip of her wine. 

“Karen. Are you being serious right now?”

“Oh come on, you know what I mean,” she says. “I like kids, just not with my penne arrabiata.”

He wonders if she actually does like kids, or if she’s just taking the temperature of the room. It occurs to him that he’s never contemplated having kids with Karen, not once. Six months into this relationship and the possibility never crossed his mind. What does that mean?

Maybe now is the time to find out.

“I can’t really believe we’ve never talked about this, but… do you want to have kids someday?” he asks her.

She shrugs, as if he’s asked her if she’s interested in ordering dessert. “I don’t know. I mean, maybe someday. It’s not really part of my plan right now.”

Not really part of her plan. Maybe the question should have come up much sooner. 

“Really?” He can’t hide his surprise, and he can tell from her expression she’s clocking it and recalibrating as they speak.

“Well, I mean… I’m not opposed to the idea, I’m just really focused on my career right now. I have goals I’d like to meet, and kids would probably get in the way of that.”

For the first time in his entire relationship with Karen, he feels a sinking sensation in his gut that’s completely separate from the Pam problem. He wants kids, he’s always wanted kids. Can he be with someone who isn’t as sure about that as he is?

The waiter comes over and asks them if they’d like another bottle of wine, and Karen declines. Suddenly the only thing he wants is a grape soda.

“Is having kids… important to you?” Karen asks after the waiter leaves.

He considers telling her the truth. Having a family is something he’s imagined in his future for as long as he can remember, but it was always something he’d envisioned happening in Scranton. For a while, he’d even been able to picture their faces: they’d have his ears, maybe his mom’s smile. Hopefully her nose. Her eyes.

Pam’s eyes.

He looks across the table at Karen, and the images fade away. 

“Nah, not really.”