Soli Deo gloria
DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own The Office.
I know I probably say this about a lot of couples . . . but JIM AND PAM, MAN. They're top-ten. SO MUCH TOP-TEN.
This would probably take place during season 7.
"Dreams are just that. They're dreams. They help get you through the day. Like the thing about the terrace. It's nice but... um... I don't know. It was just something I read in this book when I was twelve. The girl in the book has a terrace outside of her bedroom and she planted flowers on it and I just loved that. Just always kind of stuck with me."
When Pam opened her driver's side door, she heard a chainsaw. Looking around once she stood on her street, she located the noise to be originating from her backyard.
"Okay, that's not normal," she murmured. She immediately opened up her car's passenger door and began to unbuckle little CeCe, who, sucking on a pacy, looked at her mother with her big eyes as if searching for answers. "Come on, CeCe," Pam said, holding her baby on her hip and covering her ears the best she could with only one hand. "Maybe there's a masked serial killer in our backyard. Let's go check it out."
CeCe, passively, said nothing, which was expected. She waved her little fist around as Pam walked as carefully balanced, with her baby and diaper bag and purse, to the little front door of her and Jim's one-story house. Her plan was to put CeCe in her motorized swing before checking out what was going down in her backyard. Fumbling her key into the lock, she couldn't help trying to somehow glance around the foliage-covered walls to the back. She got nothing but the sounds of hammering and argumentative voices.
CeCe left in the smooth-swinging swing, Pam left the diaper bag and the purse on the floor and hurried around the back (curse not having a back door!). What she saw in her backyard just made her stop and gape.
She had left that morning to visit her girl friends with her adorable daughter in tow, leaving Jim with the heartening prospects of a Saturday afternoon spent devoted to football games and cold beer. Instead, she found him in sweaty yardwork clothes trying to somehow have a logical argument with a perplexed, vexed-looking Dwight.
"Jim? Dwight?" she said.
Dwight's quick and Jim's patient voices stopped, and they both looked at her. "Pam," Jim said, surprised. "You're back early."
"CeCe needed a nap," Pam said. "Of course she perked right up once we were almost home. I-I thought football was on today's schedule?"
"Yeah, Jim wishes. Go watch your football and leave woodwork to a real man," Dwight said, facing Jim. He scoffed and squatted as he resumed the hammering and nailing of a large piece of wooden platform. Pam noticed the supportive posts at the four corners of this platform, which had a stone-set foundation.
Her eyes raked over the guys' work, but Jim caught them pretty quick. "Yeah, the only games were Broncos versus Seahawks and Chiefs versus Panthers. I really can't be bothered when the Eagles aren't playing."
"So . . . what are you doing?" Pam folded her arms and quirked an eyebrow, now interested as to why her husband would partner with Dwight Schrute, of all people, to spend their entire Saturday working on a backyard project, without her previous knowledge.
"You know how you once told me you read a book when you were a kid, about a girl with a terrace?" Jim said softly, with that smile that reminded her of telling the camera crew about that . . . what . . . four years ago?
Pam tried in vain to hide the reminiscent smile that also spoke of a bitter old memory. "Yeah. It was a dream of mine."
Jim held his arms out. "Dream no more. Your wanted reality is yours."
Pam took a step back, in open-mouthed shock. "You're building me a terrace?"
"We're building you a terrace? It would be technically correct to say that I am building a terrace. Jim doesn't know a long diamond size #8 from a side bill #14," Dwight said, looking up and scoffing before shaking his head and returning to his work, muttering about Jim's incompetence.
Pam leaned closer to Jim's ear. "Has he been like this the whole time?"
"Oh, yeah, the entire time," Jim said, nodding eagerly.
"And you've been letting him use a chainsaw . . . right next to our house?" Pam said slowly.
"I figured since he was able to muck up the kitchen but then somehow put it back together again, he could help me build a terrace." Jim shrugged. "Besides, the baby was out of the house, so we were okay. Speaking of her, where is CeCe?" He tried to not sound like he was suddenly worried.
"Inside, probably sleeping by now. She's fine." Pam squatted, picked something up, and then resumed her full height, right next to his shoulder. "Are these flower seeds?" The packet of assorted flower seeds flipped in her palm as she looked at him.
Jim nodded. "Yep. You said the book girl planted flowers on the terrace. I'm trying for the complete book-to-movie-adaptation."
Pam could only stare at him, amazed, for a moment. "Did I ever tell you I love you very, very much?" she said.
He contemplated this with teasing solemnity for a moment. "Hmmm. Maybe . . . I think there was this one time. . ."
She kissed him silent.
They remained like that too long. Dwight sighed and averting his eyes to the ground, he said, "For Pete's sake, stop fawning over each other. I'd like to get this foundation done before sunset. I have a lot of wood to be chopped for Mose's weekend hearthfire tonight. Jim, make yourself useful and manage to find me a ruler; the one in inches, not stupid centimeters, if that isn't too hard. And Pam, go take care of your baby. Your swing isn't as gently lulling as you wish it to be."
"Maybe we should just make Dwight rock CeCe again," Jim suggested softly to Pam.
"But he's building my terrace. . ."
"I thought I was. My competency isn't actually that questionable. . ."
"Maybe. But you need to make sure he doesn't have the chainsaw within ten feet of him, or her, for that matter, when he does."
"Hmmm." Jim nodded seriously. "Good idea. Full of practical wisdom as usual, Beelsy."
"That's me, little Miss Smarty." Pam smiled and giving him a quick kiss on his cheek he savored for longer than it lasted, hurried inside to their daughter, leaving him to rub his hands together and say, "Okay. Let's get to work, Dwight."
Dwight scoffed. "If you mean I work and you watch on with a not-occasional sarcastic, poker-faced remark, we've already started that."
"Touché," Jim gave him.
At the rate they went, Pam got her beautiful childhood dream of a terrace—after three weekends and too much arguing spent on the building. But it was beautiful, unlike many lived dreams, which were usually disappointing in reality.
Her dream (and Dwight) made her childhood dream come true.
Thanks for reading! Review?