You're lying in the bed of Roy's truck with her, because she called you at around 10:30 to tell you that Roy wasn't home now and that you could see the stars tonight more so than usual and you should come over and look at them with her. So you did. And there is so much orange flavored rum in both of you right now and how fucking Pam of her to only drink fruit flavored alcohol. How fucking Pam of her to giggle after her first sip and lean her head onto your shoulder a little. You asked if she'd gotten a head start before you came over and how fucking Pam of her to smile like she's hiding something and say that maybe she'd put away some Kahlua and cream before you got there. How fucking Pam of her to be alone and drinking while Roy's out somewhere else.
So you're lying there in her fiancé's truck, the bed of which is hard plastic with these ridges that are digging into your spine and it hurts, but you pretend that it doesn't. Anyway, you don't drink very often and you'd forgotten that you're sort of a messy drunk and that you say things maybe you shouldn't say after the fifth drink or so. And you're saying to her, looking at the side of her face even though she's still looking at the sky, but the stars were spinning too much for you so you turned to her instead and you're saying:
"The cameras really…fucked things up for us, didn't they? I mean, we fight now. When did we ever fight before? I don't even- Those stupid cameras and how they're always right there. We fight over petty things…Like…Things I can't even remember, but we fight about the stupidest things now and I hate that we do that. Because we never ever fought before they came. We were just friends, good friends. Maybe not as close as I- But at least we didn't fight over things like me maybe taking a better job or, God, some stupid comment I made about you and Roy that I really didn't even mean. And it's always my fault, isn't it? It's always something I do that makes us fight. And then you don't talk to me for days at a time and that's just- I hate when you don't talk to me like that. Do you know that I can't stand when you don't talk to me?"
Then there's just silence from her and she's still looking at the stars, but now her eyes are closed. So you keep talking because the silence feels thick and suffocating and because you're now so taken by the idea that maybe she can still see all the stars, all the constellations and Venus and everything, maybe she can still see all of that with her eyes closed. Maybe she has her own planetarium on the backs of her eyelids or maybe she's painting them on there herself right now.
"You're beautiful, you know? I mean, you're just- Right now, you're beautiful. Does Roy ever tell you that you're beautiful? Because you should know that you are. Especially when you smile. You smile and it's just, you just glow. I wish we were better friends. I wish we called each other on weekends to hang out or just to talk. I wish I could call you and you would just come over and watch a movie with me on a Saturday night. Because I'm sort of lonely sometimes and why isn't Roy home right now with you? How many nights a week do you spend just sitting alone in your living room? That's…horrible. We should hang out more. When you're alone like this. You know you can call me when he's gone and I can come and- Just. Are we fighting right now? Because you're not talking to me or looking at me."
You nudge her a little with your hip and her eyes open slowly. You want to touch the flush that's spreading across her cheek right now, maybe just with your fingertips or your thumb. Just run your thumb along her cheekbone as that color runs down her skin. You can't though, because she's got your hand in hers and her grip is strong. And now she's talking, she's saying:
"I'm just nervous."
"About what?"
"This. Us. That's why we fight now. Because I'm nervous that they'll…find out. That it'll be so obvious once it's on film. So I get mad at you about those little things just to make it even more convincing that I- That we aren't- You know, whatever it is that we are. I'm just so nervous all the time. Every day. Like before the cameras, it was okay to smile at you or laugh at something you said, you know? That was fine. Nobody even- I didn't even question it. Then they came and they started to ask me questions about you during my interviews and what am I supposed to say? What do I even fucking say when they ask me if you make me happy or whatever? They asked me that once and it was so- I just looked at them and said, 'Yeah, he's my friend.' But it was like- I don't know. Then they asked me why you made me happy and I couldn't even think of the right answer. So I said something about you being a good person and how you were funny and everything and they just made me feel like it was something so much bigger than just me talking about a friend. And now every time I talk to you or every time you're at my desk, I feel so guilty. I hate it. I shouldn't feel guilty for talking to my friend, right? But I do. So I get upset about these tiny things because I'm just so nervous now."
"Oh."
And you turn to her again and kiss her on the cheek because it feels like the thing to do right now. It feels like that'll calm her down and make her not so nervous anymore. But her body stiffens a little and she presses her lips together.
"Sorry."
"No. Don't be." She shakes her head a little too furiously as she says it.
"Okay."
Then she kisses you on the mouth quickly and then turns her head back to the stars. But your mouth is wet from hers and you've never felt anything so perfect.
"Pam, do you ever think that maybe you love me?"
You watch her close her eyes so tightly that her nose scrunches up and it makes you want to cry or laugh. You're not really sure which. And you're aware of how ridiculous this question is, how stupid it sounds and why did you even think she would be able to answer it?
"Because sometimes I think that maybe I- Well, no. I know that maybe I love you. And isn't that sort of insane? Because I hardly know you outside of Pam the Receptionist. But there's something- I look at you and it's like- Forever or eternity or something. I don't know. Something ridiculous that shouldn't- But I think that this is only the sixth time that I've ever seen you somewhere besides the office. How can you love someone that you- And I feel like I know you better than I've known anyone. Not like your favorite food or color or what CD you're really into right now. But I just know you. Who you are. I don't know that I've ever known anyone like that. I just-"
She's back to not talking and looking blindly at the stars and that's okay with you because you really have so much to say to her and it's probably better that you do it without interruptions. Anyway, she probably won't remember most of it tomorrow. Or is that just one of those things people always say about drinking? That you don't remember anything? But you don't think that either of you are that drunk and you're glad that she'll remember what you're telling her, because you're pretty sure that all of this is important.
"You know Katy? She's…great. Really great. She laughs so much and she likes to just hang out at the house sometimes. And she's really pretty, but I don't…love her. I've been seeing her for a few months, right? But I can't seem to even- She's got this idea that we're going to be together for a long time. She talks about taking vacations together and meeting her parents. I mean, she's not one of those crazy girls obsessed with commitment and getting married right away. She's not Kelly. But she likes to talk about the future and I honestly cannot even see it. I can hardly see spending the next weekend with her. I made her cry the other night. I don't know if I've ever made a girl cry right in front of me. She asked me if- She told me she was falling in love with me. And we were standing out in front of her apartment building and she told me this and, yeah, she looked sort of beautiful under one of those orangey parking lot lights and she was all smiling and leaning and looking up at me with all of her teeth showing. But I just froze and she tried to kiss me and I turned away and she just started sobbing right there in front of me. Saying things about how I'm so distant and I don't let her in and all this stuff…"
You trail off because she's making this noise next to you that sounds sort of like crying, but not really because it sounds more like quiet whimpering. But when you look over at her, there's water slipping slowly from her eyes.
"Okay. Now this is the second time I've made a girl cry right in front of me."
And these damn ridges in the bed of this truck are still pressing hard into your back and you turn on your side to get a little more comfortable. You're closer to her than you thought and your chest bumps into her arm. She squeezes her eyes shut and turns her head away from you, like she can't even stand the sight of you.
"Pam?"
"Jim, why are you-" She stops there.
"I'm sorry."
"You say that when you don't even know what you're sorry for."
"I made you cry."
Your face is really close to hers, because you're sort of leaning in towards her to find a good position on these ridges. And you're watching her cry, just watching the tears get caught in the creases of her eyes, watching them run sideways down to her ear and the way her eyelashes look all wet and stuck together. You reach out with your fingers and wipe at the tears, like if they aren't there on her skin, then they don't exist at all. She turns into your hand, her lips brushing against your palm a little.
"I'm just nervous."
You lay back down next to her, nodding, "Yeah."
The stars stop spinning and she opens her eyes and you just hold her hand for a little while in the bed of her fiancé's truck.