You burrow under a throw blanket and nibble on some crackers as you wait for Roy to come home, feeling basically hungover by now and like you’re just a long blink away from falling asleep. But you still think you should stay up at least a little longer and try to work things out. With or without Roy.

It’s not the first time you’ve waited for him to come home, but it’s probably the first time you’ve left the anger-disappointment ombre that feels a little too familiar. The outside isn’t any better. Guilt is an ugly emotion with few friends on its side.

You wonder if Roy ever feels this way.

The garage door creaks open, and you suddenly dread the moment you’ve been waiting for. Whatever happened to the days of running to greet him when you hadn’t seen him in a while? You suppose those days are less likely to happen when you work in the same building.

You push the blanket off you and rub your eyes, willing some energy back into you. The door to the garage opens and shuts, and, memory dawning, you suddenly start to panic, wiping your hand across your lips as though the words I kissed Jim! are written there.

He’s not going to know, you tell yourself. Not right now, anyway. You stand up from the couch just as Roy makes it to the living room.

He takes a visible breath, offering a subdued smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you reply. Do I still sound drunk?

“You’re up late.”

“You’re home late.”

“Yeah, I know. It was my turn to drive.” He spots the crumpled blanket, empty sleeve of crackers, and half-empty glass of water. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Yeah.”

“That was nice of you.”

All you can do is stare in exasperated un-surprise. You stayed up for this? A forced apology isn’t much better than none at all, but ugh, you just can’t help it.

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

Roy makes a noise somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. “No. I… I guess I didn’t know how to say it.”

“You don’t know how to say ‘sorry?’”

Wow. Drunk Pam is clearly still in charge here. You would never have said that sober, but you don’t think you’ll necessarily regret it.

“That’s not what I meant.” Roy sits down on the arm of the couch and runs his hand down the back of his head. “You know I don’t want to fight.”

He’s had worse opening lines.

“I don’t either. That doesn’t make it okay that we did.”

“I know, but it takes two people to fight, doesn’t it?”

His tone stays low, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes that makes your heart ache and your voice quaver. “Are you blaming me for what happened?”

Roy stands up and starts walking over to the kitchen. “I’m just saying it wouldn’t have happened if you had just been up front with me in the first place.”

That’s what blame means, you think but don’t say out loud. You’re tired of it all at this point. Tired of Roy ignoring you, tired of telling him how you feel only to have him shit on it.

As if reading your mind and getting the letter but not the spirit as usual, Roy jerks his head down the hall and opens his arm to you. “Let’s just go to bed, okay?”

It’s better than any of your ideas. But you know this situation is wrong, and for the first time in a long time, you’re not pushing the thought away for you to find later.

You wait in the dark until you hear Roy’s throaty breathing, then quietly peel yourself away from the bedroom and build yourself a nest on the couch. Finally, you feel like you have space to think again and really analyze the mess that you’re in.

Except you do the opposite of that, and replay all of today’s Roy-less scenes until there’s a soft smile on your face. It’s enough to comfort you as you fall asleep, but as you gloss over the biggest moment of the evening, you know that you can’t keep going on like this.

***

A loud clunk pulls you from dream to reality, and it immediately hits you that you forgot to set an alarm. You sit up quickly, squinting at the shape of Roy in the kitchen. “What time is it?”

“Almost 8:30.”

You groan in response and shove your head back into the oversized throw pillow.

“Should I have woken you?”

Yes, but you can’t exactly blame him for letting you sleep since you’ve gotten mad at him for waking you up before. And he sounds legitimately sorry, so you’re not going to make him feel worse.

“You know what, it’s okay. I’m actually not feeling great,” you say, and it isn’t a lie. “I think I’m going to call in.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I have sick days left anyway.”

Roy makes a few more noises in the kitchen before walking over to the couch. “Alright, well… hope you feel better.” He gives your shoulder a pat and collects his things from around the apartment, leaving you alone once again as he heads out.

One nice thing about having Michael as a boss is that he never questions a sick call that’s definitely a hungover call. At this moment, you think that might be an even trade off for all the Dundie award ceremonies.

After leaving a message for him, you shower, find your glasses, and make yourself a small breakfast. You have a long day of thinking ahead of you.

You’re in the middle of watching The Breakfast Club when it occurs to you that Roy being around you all the time isn’t what’s keeping you from making a decision. It’s the thought that if you make a decision, you might have to actually do something about it. And you don’t know if anything will be much better than the small, familiar world you’ve created with Roy.

You turn off the movie and head to your bedroom, figuring you’ll at least get dressed today. A few minutes later and you’re reorganizing all your clothes.

Clothes you’ve had since high school, clothes you bought for your job at Dunder Mifflin, one bridesmaids dress… and that’s about it. So much for that activity.

Your cell phone rings and it startles you, making your heart skip a beat. Half of you hopes it’s Roy and the other half of you is absolutely positive it’s not Roy.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Jim.”

“Oh, hi!” Just as your heartbeat is returning back to normal, it falls again.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. I’m just hungover.” You sit down on your bed and cross your legs in front of you. “You’re shocked, aren’t you? I held it together so well.”

Jim chuckles. “Yep. Definitely shocked.”

You twist the bedspread in your hands, trying to think of something else to say. “How’s Dwight?”

Jim doesn’t hesitate. “Oh, he misses you so much.”

You can’t hear exactly what’s happening on the other end, but you can tell it’s Dwight in the background.

“He said that he’s not going to make it through the day if he can’t talk to you.”

“Well, then I think you should put him on.”

You hold back a laugh as the phone is passed to Dwight.

“Hi Pam, I do not miss you.”

“Oh, it’s okay. You don’t have to pretend for me.”

“You sound awfully perky. Should I come make sure you’re really sick?”

Thinking quickly, you reply, “Jim will just think you’re trying to skip work.”

Dwight pauses. “Dammit, you’re right. Okay. See you Monday.”

You hold your breath, expecting Dwight to hang up, but you smile in relief when Jim speaks a moment later.

“Hey, it’s me again.”

“Hey.”

“So…”

“Yeah?”

All you hear is a breathy exhale, the sound of a smile.

You never knew how nice it would be to just be on the phone with Jim. You’d had a similar thought before, sitting next to him in meetings or looking across the bullpen to make eye contact with him. You didn’t think it would translate outside Dunder Mifflin and the shared experiences of your unique workplace. But you could stay on the phone with him for the rest of the day. Just existing at the same time. Breathing, listening, waiting.

Only, as much as you want to preserve this moment, you can’t wait around to see if he does too.

“Did anyone…” you begin, changing your mind halfway through the sentence.

“What’s that?”

You clear your throat. “Nothing. I’ll see you on Monday.”

He pauses for so long, you almost wonder if he hung up. “Yeah. For sure.”

“Have a good weekend.”

“You too.”

You look at the pile of clothes on the floor and the midday sun filtering through your bedroom curtains, and try not to think about Jim seeming like he didn’t want to end the conversation, either.

***

You watch the rest of The Breakfast Club and make a bowl of Cap’n Crunch so you can really be one with Ally Sheedy. They’re the peanut butter kind, but it’s okay. Ally gets it.

The movie isn’t as enjoyable as you want it to be. You have a little nagging thought bouncing off the walls of your brain, reminiscent of knowing you have an upcoming test that you’re not ready for and doing nothing about it.

Roy will be home soon. The test day is approaching whether you like it or not. Sitting around and dreading his return isn’t the most enjoyable thing to do, but it is the easiest.

The garage door opens at 5:26. You run your fingers through your hair and push yourself to your feet, trying to think of how you can begin a conversation when you’re not really even sure what you need to talk about.

Roy gives you a little wave and shrugs off his jacket as he walks into the bedroom.

“Hey baby, I’m just here to change really quick. Darryl and I are heading to Mickey Gannon’s.”

You can’t think of anything to say in response, even though you thought about this interaction all day, and you have no reason to feel so stunned by this new information. You slowly walk into the bedroom, weighing the few options that come to you. “Really? You’re going out?”

Roy tosses his work shirt in the hamper. “What do you mean, ‘really?’”

Yeah, that wasn’t the right word to use, now that you’re thinking about it. Because you’re not surprised he’s going out. You’re not surprised he didn’t call you today, or check on you when he got home, or ask if you wanted to come with him tonight. What surprises you is that this is the first time you’re doing something about it.

The last thing you want is a repeat of last night’s argument. And you decide right away that that won’t be happening. You’re trying something new this time.

“Do you still want to get married?”

Roy stops in the middle of pulling his sweater on, and you might laugh if it weren’t so serious. His face emerges at last, looking stunned and a little bit offended.

“Yeah?” he replies. “Why are you asking that?”

You can’t quite bring yourself to list everything he’s done that made you question your engagement. Over the years you’ve said it all before, and he’s ignored it like it was wind in the air. Your plan to sit down and discuss things with him goes out the window, and you say what you’ve been thinking all along without letting yourself admit it.

“Because…”

Are you really going to say this? What happens after this sentence ends? What if there’s nothing better than you and Roy?

“I don’t think I do.”

You know that was a cheap move, but you’re breaking up with him, so you can’t dwell on it for long. You pull off your ring and set it on the dresser, then take a step back into the hallway, fearing the worst reaction. Last night’s argument ended with you twisting out of his grip, and now you’re saying you want to leave his life, not just his evening plans.

But Roy seems more shocked than angry. He finds a seat on the edge of the bed, shaking his head in disbelief. “I didn’t know you felt this way.”

“After what happened last night, I just started thinking. I know last night was bad, but it’s not out of the ordinary for us, is it? I mean, we fight all the time, and when we aren’t fighting, we aren’t really doing much of anything. We’re in the same place now as we were last year.”

This explanation doesn’t seem to smooth things over.

“What the hell, Pam?” he whispers. He looks up at you with glossy eyes, something you’re not sure you’ve ever seen. “We’re done? One bad night, and you’re ending things?”

“That is not what I said,” you reply with more intensity than you intended. “I have made this relationship my life for the past nine years. Okay? I’ve given up so much for it, and… you know what, some of that was the right thing to do. But I’m not getting what I need from our relationship anymore. I’m not happy anymore.”

You hate this. You hate that an afternoon of reflection led to such a poorly worded speech, that you still care about the man that doesn’t treat you well and has held you back, and that you let yourself waste years of your life in a relationship that dragged you around in circles instead of pushing you forward.

Roy stands up at last and scrubs his hand across his face. “Fine. Whatever. I’m still going out.”

He gathers his jacket and keys and thumps down the hallway, leaving you alone yet again as the garage door closes with a resounding creak.

You expect to cry, but it doesn’t happen. You don’t feel normal exactly, but familiar. Like you’re back to being fourteen years old again, before you really knew who Roy was. Of course, fourteen-year-old Pam knew who she was without Roy Anderson. Maybe you’ll get back there one day.

You start packing clothes and shoes and other random things. You can’t tell what your thought process is as you cram a faded beach towel and some books you’ve never read into an old suitcase, only that it’s hard to figure out what things are important to you.

Finally, you grab your pillow from the king-sized bed in the middle of the room, the asymmetrical result sparking a tentatively triumphant smile.

Now what?

You haven’t talked to Isabel in a long time, and you don’t think asking her if you can spend a few nights at her place is a great way to rekindle your friendship. You could stay at a hotel, but you feel uneasy about spending money since you and Roy aren’t sharing finances anymore.

Thinking of no other good options, you pull out your cell phone and give Jim a call. You’re walking into dangerous ground, but… whatever. It’s not like you’ve never been there before.

“Beesly! What’s happening?” Jim sounds like he has a mouthful of chips or something, and it makes you smile.

“Hey, um…” You take a breath and ask your question quickly so you can’t change your mind halfway through. “Would it be possible for me to crash at your place tonight?”

He doesn’t respond right away, and you don’t blame him. “Sure,” he says gently. “Uh… need me to come get you?”

“Wow. That would be really great of you. Yes, please.”

“Alrighty. Are you ready for me now?”

You give him your address, and he lets you know he’ll be on his way soon.

As you wait, it occurs to you that Jim was intuitive enough to ask if you needed a ride, and he didn’t ask why or what was going on. The scandalous nature of all this is starting to matter to you less and less. At least, for now.

Even so, you feel like you’re doing something wrong as you bring out all your luggage to the driveway. Hopefully you don’t run into any neighbors out for their evening strolls as you get picked up by a man who isn’t your fiancé.

The feeling gets worse and better as Jim pulls into your driveway. But you try to ignore it as Jim jumps out of the car and starts loading your suitcases into the trunk.

“Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says, straining a little to lift one of your bags. “Jeez, Pam. You moving in or something?”

He immediately gets a funny look on his face, as if he regrets saying that. You don’t want to make him feel bad about it, so you just shrug.

“I broke up with Roy.”

Jim slams the trunk, nodding slowly. “I figured.”

Neither of you say anything else until you’re almost out of your neighborhood.

“I really appreciate this, Jim,” you say, turning in your seat to face him. “And it’s just for tonight. I can figure out something else after this.”

“Hey, you’re fine,” he says quickly. “Whatever you need, okay?”

You nod, knowing he means nothing shy of that sentiment and also knowing you probably shouldn’t take him up on it.

“You eat dinner yet?”

“No.”

“Want to get something?”

“Um… anything but Chili’s.”

Jim chuckles. “Sounds good. Why don’t we just grab a pizza or something? Mark is out with some friends tonight, so the house is ours until he gets back.”

With everything else going on, you had forgotten it was Friday. “Oh no, did you have plans tonight, too?”

Jim smiles and waves a finger at you. “You’re funny.”

Half an hour later, the two of you are sitting on either end of Jim’s couch, eating a sausage and mushroom pizza and watching the Flyers game. It reminds you a little too much of Roy, and it’s stupid, but you decide to ask Jim if he can turn it off.

“How attached are you to seeing this game?”

Jim smiles and shakes his head. “Not very. I can just check the results later tonight.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He turns off the TV and grabs another slice of pizza. “We can play a board game or something.”

“That would be nice. You also don’t have to hang out with me,” you add, though you hope he doesn’t take that suggestion seriously.

“Oh, stop it. Why wouldn’t I want to hang out with you?”

He probably expects you to respond to that, but you can’t think of anything that doesn’t make your cheeks burn just thinking about it. Instead you just finish your pizza and ask him what games he has.

Jim opens a cabinet across the room and starts digging around. “Okay, there’s Scrabble, Backgammon, Battleship. Do you play chess?”

You’ve played about five games of chess with your dad, and they all ended with you giving up because you were too bored to keep going. “Not really.”

Jim sighs lightly. “Darn. No one ever wants to play chess with me. I keep asking Mark if I can teach him, and he’s never interested.”

You’re not really in the mood for playing a game that requires strategic thinking, but maybe that’s a small way you can pay him back for taking you in tonight, not to mention all he’s done for you in the past.

“We can play chess.”

“Really?” His delighted grin and raised eyebrows are proof that you’re making the right decision.

You shrug. “Sure! You might have to help me out a little, or maybe you can just play both sides.”

“Hey, I’ll take it.”

“You know you can always play computer chess.”

Jim shakes his head and starts setting up the board on the coffee table. “Dwight can play computer chess.”

“You play chess for the social aspect.”

“Exactly.”

“When we go back to work on Monday, I’m going to tell Dwight that you know how to play chess.”

“That’s just what I need, actually, is more in common with Dwight.”

You play in silence for a few minutes. Jim seems to understand immediately that you need to concentrate all your attention on the game, but he finally speaks up after you’ve taken a little too long to figure out what to do next.

“I’m not asking to know what happened,” he begins carefully. He twirls a pawn in his hand as he watches you mull over the board. “I’m just going to say that if you want to talk about… you know, anything, I’m here to listen.”

“Thanks,” you reply, feeling a little self-conscious. “I wouldn’t even know how to start, so I’ll spare you.”

You move your rook down the board and take one of Jim’s pawns, feeling not at all certain that it’s a good move. But at least bad moves mean the game is over sooner.

Jim smiles gently. “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not allowed to put yourself in check.”

“Oh.” You try to find the attacking piece, and Jim comes to the rescue again by pointing out his knight and queen working together. “Okay, so you were here,” you say, putting his pawn back. “And I was… here?”

“Back one.” Jim picks up your hand with the rook and moves it to the right square, letting go gently.

You ignore the soft chill that runs up your arm and look back down at the board. “So what do you think I should do?” you whisper.

His eyes automatically meet yours when you look back up at him, as if he was waiting for your gaze to return. He doesn’t respond. He just blinks once and smiles with half of his mouth, reacting to something more than what you just said.

A little butterfly nudges at the wall of your stomach. The feeling is just as familiar as the way Jim is looking at you.

“Is that your way of saying that it doesn’t matter because you’re still going to win?”

Jim chuckles, solidifying the broken spell. “I mean, yeah.” He looks back down at the board. “You’re doing a pretty good job, though.”

“If you say so.” You sink back into the couch, forgetting that it’s still your turn.

“Do you want to be done?” Jim asks with an amused smile.

“Oh. I guess,” you reply. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Jim stands up and starts collecting the napkins and pizza box. “Lemme go change my sheets for you. I’ll take the couch tonight.”

You protest immediately. “Jim, no, I can’t take your bed.”

“Oh, I insist.” He reaches over the coffee table to take your empty plate.

“No way! You’re so tall. I’m not going to make you cram onto the couch.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Okay, but still. You’re like a foot taller than me.”

He chuckles, “I’m not a foot taller than you--”

“How tall are you?” You can’t help grinning as you ask him a question you’ve been dying to ask for a while. At least since the basketball game in the warehouse.

“Six-three. How tall are you?”

You sigh. “Five-six.”

He smiles triumphantly.

You wave your hand, holding onto your argument anyway.  “Okay, nine inches, a foot. Same difference.”

Jim raises his eyebrows. “Same difference.”

“Yeah.”

He laughs again. “Alright Beesly, suit yourself. I’ll go find you some blankets though, okay?”

While he’s gone, you finish cleaning up the living room, and then you decide to check your cell phone, something you’ve been avoiding all evening.

Five missed calls. Two voicemails.

Holding your breath, you try listening to the first one. All you can make out is background noise, “Pam,” and a few slurred apologies. You don’t even bother with the second voicemail, instead shoving your phone deep into your purse so you aren’t tempted to throw it against the wall.

You know the fallout from a nine-year relationship is going to be long. Even though your engagement seemed to be more and more for show than for romance, ending it was bound to lead to a more intense interaction with Roy than you had seen in months.

What surprises you is that you still can tell being uncomfortable outside of the relationship is better than being comfortable inside.

Jim comes back downstairs with a sheet, a pillow, and two different blankets. He opens his mouth to say something, then changes his mind when he sees you lost in thought, chewing on your bottom lip.

“You okay there?”

He doesn’t need to be more involved in this situation than he already is, you think. So you just nod and smile, and it’s not exactly a lie.

“Well, I’ll be upstairs,” he says, jerking his thumb behind him. “So, if you need anything, just call me.”

And you know he doesn’t just mean tonight. You stand up to take the bedding from him, then pull him into a hug before you can think twice about it. It’s the closest you’ve ever been to him, and you wish you could forget why you’ve never done this before.

You hear his exhale as he smiles and briefly rests his chin on the top of your head, and you can’t help but think how perfect it is that he’s only nine inches taller.

You get ready for bed after Jim goes upstairs, changing into pajamas in the tiny half bathroom in the hall. You figure out how to turn off the lights in the living room and feel your way around to your makeshift bed. You had a pillow of your own, but you decided to use the one Jim gave you. The pillowcase smells vaguely like him, which is weird. You didn’t think you knew what Jim smelled like.

You keep expecting to feel guilty about what you’ve done, about not being honest with Roy sooner, about breaking up with him instead of trying yet again to make things right. It’s like you’ve spent the evening distracting yourself from a breakdown that wasn’t even there in the first place, and now that you have the space to indulge it, there’s nothing. You don’t want to feel worse right now… or maybe you do.

It doesn’t help that everything with Jim looks a little fishy. You kissed him last night, you know you’ve flirted at work with him before, and now you’re spending the night on his couch. Even the logical thought that no one will know about all this doesn’t comfort you. And you’re not really sure why.

***

You must have fallen asleep at some point because you wake up to a room full of sunlight. You feel a little stiff from sleeping on a couch, which makes you feel better about insisting that Jim keep his bed.

You quickly remember that you need to talk to Roy again sometime this weekend. It probably won’t be worse than your conversation last night, and you made it through that one. That thought doesn’t really alleviate the pit in your stomach.

It’s been harder to know how to feel when you have more control over the situation, and you’re not just reacting to what’s around you. This decision to break up with Roy was more than just a reaction. It didn’t just happen to you, like so much else in your life did.

But maybe you don’t really need to know how you feel if you know something is just the right thing to do.

A soft clink comes from the kitchen. You sit up quickly, shoving your glasses on.

Jim’s roommate pours himself a mug of coffee and offers you a salutatory nod. He leans over the counter into the living room, as if he’s preparing to tell you a secret. “See, now I never kick a girl out of bed.”

You offer him a confused blink before the implication hits you. “Oh! Um… that’s not what happened!”

Mark smiles, pleased with himself nonetheless. “I know, I’m just teasing ya. Jim told me he was having a friend over. You want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

You find the sweatshirt you were wearing last night and put it on before walking over to the kitchen.

“It’s Pam, right?” Mark asks as he hands you a Sixers mug.

“Yup, that’s me. Do you guys have any milk?”

Mark takes your favorite vanilla creamer out of the fridge instead and hands it to you proudly.

“Even better,” you say, pouring more than a full serving into your mug. “Okay, which one of you is the creamer guy?”

“Neither of us, actually.” Mark glances over his shoulder and drops his voice a few levels. “Jim had me get that for you while I was out last night.”

You swear your heart actually melts a little. “Wow, really?”

You hardly ever have coffee at work, so you’re surprised Jim even had the chance to notice what kind of creamer you like.

Mark raises his eyebrows and smiles into his mug.

You and Jim spend the morning researching apartments in Scranton, and in the afternoon he lets you borrow his car to go look at some. As you talk with landlords and fill out paperwork, it feels like you’re starting adulthood from scratch, even though you know that’s not really true. You already have a job and health insurance and just a bit of credit card debt. It’s more the experience of facing life by yourself that you’re building from the ground up.

You find a couple apartments that you like, and Jim again offers to let you stay with him and Mark until you can move into one of them. You’re secretly relieved, even if it’s not the most ideal situation. When you call your parents to let them know that you broke up with Roy, you don’t mention that you’re staying with two guys.

By the time Sunday rolls around, you know you need to talk to Roy before you risk seeing each other at work the next day. Breakups and closure don’t really go hand-in-hand, but you haven’t talked to Roy since he stormed out of the house, and you figure it’s worth trying to leave things on a better note.

You pace outside on Jim’s porch for a few minutes, take a few deep breaths, chicken out once, then press call. The phone rings four times before Roy picks up.

“Hey.” His voice is more breathy than vocal, with an air of resignation to take the sound just outside the realm of familiarity.

“Hi. Um, I just figured we should talk.” You nudge the side of the house with your toe, waiting for a response. His pause makes you think that maybe this will go better in person, even if you kind of dread looking him in the eye again. “Can I come over?”

Roy hesitates before he responds, but he says yes. You’ll take it.

“I’ll be right over.”

You borrow Jim’s car and park down the block from the house, in case Roy somehow recognizes your vehicle of choice. You feel as though there’s a weight in your chest, your heartbeats heavier than your steps in the road. You’re still trying to figure out why you’ve come back to talk to him when the last three times you’ve tried have ended miserably.

Maybe you’ll feel better if you can explain yourself again and apologize for putting Roy in this position. Or maybe you’re playing with fire, giving Roy the opportunity to know where you went, who you stayed with, and exactly why you left him.

It’s odd to knock on the door of the house you lived in for almost three years. But that thought completely disappears from your mind when a disheveled, unshaven Roy opens the door, and the faint smell of beer wafts out. You’ve seen him like this before, of course, but it’s the first time your automatic reaction isn’t frustration, mild disgust, or confusion about how men are comfortable going so long without showering.

He looks at you with the slightest fatigue in his eyes, with a face devoid of color. He offers a small smile, and your heart stirs with pity. You think he wants you to notice how he’s been holding up. You think he knows how it’s making you feel.

But you had the entire drive to think about what you were going to say, and you’re going to stick to it anyway. “Listen, I just felt bad for leaving things the way we did. You’ve obviously been a huge part of my life for such a long time, and I guess I just… wanted to say that I don’t hate you… or anything,” you finish lamely.

Roy chuckles softly. “I know you don’t. I never thought that.”

You smile, but you can tell he’s more hurt than he’s letting on, which surprises you. You didn’t think your leaving him would have this much of an impact on him in such a short amount of time given the previous trajectory of your relationship, where Roy seemed to care less as you looked for more.

He glances around the house. “Do you need anything while you’re here?”

“I guess not now. Could I come back in a few days?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” He fiddles with the door handle, stalling, looking for something more to say. “I guess I’ll see you at work. Do you need a ride?”

Your heart skips a beat, but you manage to keep it cool. “I got it. Thank you, though.”

You take a small step back, hoping Roy doesn’t ask anything more about where you’re staying or how you’re getting by now. A crease forms at his brow as he watches you move away from him again, and he poses the one question you were dreading the most.

“Are you sure we can’t make it work?”

You don’t let his glossy eyes and wavering tone sway you from the hours of reflecting you’ve done this weekend. You’ve got plans in your head, paperwork in your purse, and two hungry boys waiting for you to bring Chinese food back to the house. When you think about all that, it doesn’t seem so hard to answer.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You bite your lip, searching for a way to soften the blow. “I’m sorry,” you add, because you are. Maybe you shouldn’t be, but maybe that doesn’t matter. “Thank you for being my first.”

Roy nods, even smiles. You don’t know if he was expecting that, but it seems to have meant something to him. “You too.”

And with that, you turn and walk down the porch steps, picking up the pace once you hear the door close behind you.

You hate seeing Roy so upset, even if your parting words were mildly positive. You still feel guilty for breaking up with him, for trying and failing to be honest with him, for building a life with him that was destined to fall.

But you’ve lost count of the number of times the situation was reversed, and Roy is only just starting to think about where your relationship went wrong.

He’s going to get over you, you tell yourself, just like you’re going to get over him.

***

One month later

You finish scrubbing down your kitchen counter, wishing for not the first time that it wasn’t such an odd cream color. But you don’t have much to complain about. You found a place that was well-lit, small enough to be cozy and affordable but not cramped, and within a reasonable distance from work.

The complex doesn’t allow pets, which really puts a cramp in your plans to get a dog as soon as humanly possible. That’s probably good, though. You needed some forced time alone, and your new responsibilities are significant enough.

You spent your last three weekends going to garage sales for furniture, books, and incomplete dining sets. Plus dealing with the fallout of your breakup. You spend an hour one Saturday on the phone with Roy’s mom, listening to her alternate between apologizing for her son and asking why you can’t give him another try.

Jim has been nothing but an angel these past weeks. He helped you move into your apartment, helped you pick out a car, and drove you to work every day until your little Yaris was finally ready for you. It was fun to add a new dimension to your normal work relationship, something that gave the two of you a legitimate reason to hang out all the time.

Sometimes you wondered if you were asking too much of him, if you were taking advantage of his friendship. Then he would wink at you while the car salesman made the same joke twice or your upstairs neighbor gushed over what a cute couple the two of you made, and you knew he didn’t mind.

It hasn’t all been easy. You’re grateful at first to come home to an empty apartment, but the problem is that it just stays empty. There’s plenty of time, space, and quiet for you to figure out who you are and what you want to do with your life now that your biggest excuses are gone. But you think you like it, even if it’s not easy. You’re looking forward to seeing what’s next.

Jim is coming over tonight for dinner and a movie. You finish cleaning and sprawl out on your new couch, tapping your fingers on your stomach to settle the butterflies that have inevitably developed. But it’s okay. You kind of like them now that they’re not forbidden.

After a moment you reach for your cell phone, figuring Jim wouldn’t mind if you asked him to come over a little earlier.

THE END