March 2009
Scranton, Pa.
There were literally a million kinds of flowers. And Pam was pretty sure she'd looked at about seventeen thousand of them that morning.
The florist kept rattling off words she didn't understand, like astilbe, Agapathus, virburnum and stephanotis.
Her head was about to explode.
"Those ones," she blurted out suddenly, pointing to some yellowish orange roses tipped in red. "I want to carry those." She looked around. "And sunflowers for the tables."
Miss Gretchen the 80-year-old florist started chattering away about "accent flowers" as Pam's phone mercifully rang. She got up to answer it, not even bothering to excuse herself as her mother and Miss Gretchen kept on going.
"Save me, save me, save me, save me."
Jim laughed. "Having fun with Miss Gretchen?"
Pam growled into the phone. "She keeps saying words that mean nothing to me. I think they're names of flowers, but I honestly don't know. And I had to spend 20 minutes explaining to her that no, I do not want a white wedding, because my name is not Billy Idol!"
Jim laughed. "Poor Pam."
She pouted at the phone. "Can we elope?"
"Can Elvis marry us?"
Pam sighed. "At this point, I might say yes. Why didn't anyone tell me that wedding planning makes people insane?"
Jim grinned affectionately as he signaled to change lanes. "Well, the one up of wedding planning is that it involves sampling lots of different kinds of cake with your fiance, who might even give you a massage tonight to help get rid of that stress."
He drove a hard bargain, that Jim.
"Does this massage come with a happy ending?" she asked slyly, keeping her voice low.
She could almost hear Jim shaking his head. "Pamela Morgan Beesly," he scolded, "we're staying at your parents' house tonight."
She shrugged. "We'll be quiet."
Jim knew she was half right. "No, I'll be quiet," he corrected her. "You'll say you'll be quiet and then you'll force me to come up with some lie on the spot like the time you screamed when my brother was staying with us and I had to say you saw a mouse. Thank you for that, by the way. Pete still asks me if I've moused you lately."
Pam laughed. "Well, you can mouse me tonight if you want, mister," she whispered saucily. "In fact, you can mouse me in the car after we cake taste if you want."
Jim turned on the air conditioner full blast to combat the heat shooting through his veins. He was pretty sure walking into a bakery partially aroused wasn't really a socially acceptable thing to do.
"Speaking of which," he informed her. "I'm on my way there."
The air smelled of cookies and pies as Jim pushed through the door of the little bakery.
The empty little bakery.
"Hello?" he called out. "Anyone here?"
"Be right there," a voice called out from the back.
Jim leaned on the counter and waited. Pam should be along in a minute or so. It was hard to believe they'd be married in seven months. They'd been a couple more than five years at this point, and sometimes he still couldn't believe that she was his. Going from friends to more always seemed to be a point of disaster on television, but for he and Pam, it had just felt like adding more whipped cream to the kick ass sundae that was their friendship.
Sure, they had the typical fights and disagreements. She could be temperamental and moody. He would forget to do simple things like pay the electric bill on time or replace the roll of toilet paper. Both of them could stand to be more ambitious.
But once they'd owned up to what had been simmering between them for years, once the truth was out, there was no going back. They'd loved each other, supported each other, and sometimes wanted to kill each other, honestly.
He couldn't wait to marry her. Actually, maybe getting two tickets to Vegas wouldn't be such a bad…
"I'm so sorry," he heard behind him and turned around. A middle aged woman, heavyset with brown curly hair and glasses, her purple blouse and floral skirt covered by an apron, bustled in from the kitchen. "My partner is usually in today and I fell behind."
He smiled. There was something about this woman that was throwing him a little and he couldn't place it. "That's all right," he said. "I have an appointment for a wedding cake tasting."
"Name?"
"Halpert."
She stared at him a moment. Jim shifted. "Halpert? Oh my goodness, you're Jimmy Halpert, aren't you?"
The pieces were starting to click. "Miss Lapin?"
"Oh, it's Mrs. Vance now, honey," she gushed, flashing a large diamond ring as she came around the counter. "My husband's in refrigerators. Bob Vance, Vance Refrigeration?" She threw her arms around Jim and squeezed, almost knocking the wind out of him. "But you call me Phyllis now. My god, little Jimmy Halpert." She reached up and actually pinched his cheeks. "All grown up. And you're getting married!"
Okay, the fact that he was standing in a bakery with his kindergarten teacher pinching his cheeks was just really surreal.
"Uh, yeah," he said. "Wow, Miss Lapin. Sorry, Mrs. Vance…"
"Phyllis, sweetheart."
"Phyllis," he said. "Wow, that's weird. Wow, so you're not a teacher anymore."
"Nice Jim," he thought, "very observant."
Before she could answer, the door opened and Pam came hurrying through. "Sorry I'm late," she called, coming over to him. She saw Jim looking dazed and a plump woman clutching his arm. There was something about her that seemed familiar…
"What's going on?"
Jim reached his free arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He grinned amusedly at Pam.
"Pam, you remember Miss Lapin, from kindergarten?"
Both women clapped their hands to their mouths. Miss Lapin… Mrs. Vance… Phyllis… misted up a little.
"Oh!" She let her hand flutter to her throat. "Pammy Beesly!"
Pam laughed. "Yes, it's me." She reached out to hug the older woman. "Hi, Miss Lapin. I can't believe this."
After giving the Mrs. Vance, call me Phyllis speech, she gripped both their hands and looked at them.
"Holy smokes," she said, shaking her head. "Jimmy Halpert. You were a mischievous little thing," she remembered.
"Still is," Pam smirked.
"And you're marrying Pammy." Phyllis pressed a hand to her mouth, choking up. "I remember how sweet the two of you were together. That time you fell off the swings…"
"I think I still have a scar on my knee from that," Pam laughed.
"As soon as someone called 'Miss Lapin, Pammy fell,' Jimmy went tearing across the parking lot like there was a rocket in his little pants. He wouldn't leave your side." She winked at Pam. "Looks like he still won't."
Pam wrapped her arms around Jim's waist and gave him a squeeze.
"Yeah, he's annoying like that," she said, looking adoringly at her fiance. "But I haven't fallen off a swing in a while."
Jim scoffed. "Please," he reminded her. "You jumped off a swing in Central Park last year. Remember? Twisted ankle? You whined for a week and made me give you piggy back rides everywhere?"
Pam rolled her eyes. "I remember someone whining about his back for a week."
He gave her a Look, telling her with his eyes that if their old kindergarten teacher weren't staring at them, he'd kiss that smirk right off Pam's face.
"So tell me," Phyllis said, placing a slice of lemon cake in front of them, "how did you two finally come to your senses?" She chuckled, seeing the curious looks they gave her. "Please. You were in love with each other when you were five. How long did it take you to actually admit it?"
They both blushed. Pam pressed her face to Jim's shoulder.
"Um, about 18 more years?" he said sheepishly.
Phyllis looked aghast. "You kids…" she said, shaking her head. "Why, when Bob Vance and I met…"
An hour later, Jim and Pam all but staggered into the parking lot.
"Are my ears bleeding?" he asked, stooping down so he was eye level to her. "Here, check."
Pam groaned. "Will you hold back my hair?" she said, gesturing. "I think I'm gonna puke."
They'd learned two lessons that day.
One, vanilla bean cake with hazelnut butter cream was freakin' delicious.
And two, under no circumstances should any people ever have to hear about the sexual escapades of the woman who taught them to read "See Spot Run" and the refrigerator king of Scranton, Pennsylvania.
Ew.