August 11, 2008

It's been ten days since I've seen her, and I can't wait another minute.

Everything is different without Pam here. We aren't, technically speaking, living together, but my apartment feels empty all the same. I can feel her in everything—in the couch cushions, in her bath towel hanging on the rod, her scent still permeating my sheets. It makes me feel weirdly homesick in my own house. For the first time ever, I'm in absolutely no hurry to leave the office at night.

I wasn't joking; I'm pretty sure I've got an ulcer. I don't know what else it could be. It's a dull ache in my left side that sometimes graduates to a sharp stabbing pain. But I can't tell Pam about it, obviously. She doesn't need to be worrying about me. I'm supposed to be the supportive boyfriend. And I like the role, really. I just miss her more than I thought was possible. We talk and text all the time but it's not the same, it's not enough. And last weekend she had a daylong seminar and I went to Nick's soccer game and there just didn't end up being time for either of us to make the drive. She sounded so sad and disappointed when we talked on Sunday afternoon that I nearly drove down there anyway, but she has a nine o'clock class on Mondays and I'm running low on sick days.

This morning when I told her I had to go to Jake's t-ball game she just sounded guarded and resigned, and somehow that was worse. I wanted to tell her everything I was really feeling. I hate this; I miss you; I'm proud of you , but oh, my God, I can't wait until you're home. I wanted to reassure her that she's always my first priority. It makes me sick that she might need that assurance.

I can't wait another minute. She's agreed to meet me for lunch, and I'm going home to get her ring and ask her. Now. Today. I wasn't planning on proposing during an impromptu lunch date in New Jersey, but when did anything with Pam ever happen like I planned?

--

Fucking rain. That and the traffic was going to make me late, and there was a tightness in my chest that was totally unwarranted—she's not gonna leave just 'cause you're a few minutes late, quit being irrational—but suddenly I couldn't get there fast enough.

At first I panicked because I didn't see her car, but there she was, waiting out in front, clutching her coat tightly around her. Why wasn't she inside? She looked freezing, but as I threw the car into park and got out into the rain, she was smiling, calling out to me over the storm, "Hey! This is not halfway!"

Pam tilted her head up to look at me as I trotted up to her, and she was still smiling, teasing me, going on about how I'd have to pay for lunch, but she didn't look put out at all. She was beaming, and it reminded me a little of that night, when she was rocking on her heels and mocking me with that same, radiant smile on her face.

I dropped my jacket and went to one knee before I could stop myself.

Her forehead creased in confusion as she stared down at me. "What are you doing?"

I opened the ring box, and she took a half-step back with a small gasp, staring at it and then at me before uttering a shocked, "Oh my God."

I blurted out what I'd been thinking all morning. "I just… I can't wait."

And here I was on bended knee in the rain and I didn't have anything poetic or romantic or flowery at hand. As many times as I'd imagined this moment, how I'd tell her what she meant to me and how much I loved her and everything I'd do to make her happy…all I could manage was, "Pam, will you marry me?"

"Oh my God," she said again, and she was nodding and smiling so widely but not answering and I had to hear her say it, to make it real, and even though it was written all over her face my heart was still in my throat when I prompted, "So…?"

She kept nodding as she said "Yes!" and her smile was so wide and happy that I had to pick her up a little when I kissed her, and then twirl her around and kiss her some more, and she was clutching at me and leaning back in to kiss me again and again until we both started laughing.

Easy, how was that so easy?

All these months I'd been thinking, plotting, planning, when all I'd ever had to do was ask.

So easy.

I'm such a tool.

--

We only had an hour, but we made the most of it. Hurried, cramped backseat sex had never really been our thing, but combined with just-engaged, ten-days-missing-you longing, it proved pretty passionate. "I love you, I love you, I love you so much," she gasped as she came; and her raw husky voice, the sharp dig of the diamond into my back, her teeth sunk into my shoulder, was so intense I couldn't hold back. She pulled on my hair and turned my face to hers as I let go, her mouth hot and open on mine as I groaned into hers like some kind of wounded animal.

"Fuck," I panted, dropping my forehead to her shoulder.

She clutched me tighter, burying her face into my neck. "Fuck," she agreed quietly, and I chuckled a little in spite of myself. She drew back a little to grin at me and pressed her sweaty forehead against mine. "Jim," she breathed, a soft contented sound, barely audible.

"I've missed you," I murmured.

"Really? I couldn't tell," she teased. She pressed her lips to my cheekbone, trailed little kisses all over my face. "We should meet up for lunch more often."

I smiled. "That...is an excellent idea."

Pam pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly, closing her eyes as she nestled in under my chin and tightened her arms around me. For the space of long minutes we just lay there together, wrapped around each other, breathing quietly and listening to the rain.

I have never, not in my entire life, felt as happy, as full, as I did then. All the best moments of my life have been with her, and now she'll be with me for all of the ones to come.

My watch was ticking noisily in my ear, though, reminding me of responsibilities and commitments and the whole unwelcome outside world that needed us to be other places very soon, and I sighed and opened my eyes, forcing myself to pull away. "I have to go back. And so do you."

She closed her eyes and shook her head in an exaggerated pout. "Don't wanna."

"You must." I kissed her forehead and reluctantly pulled back another few inches. "Go learn. I still owe you lunch… what if we make it dinner?"

Her eyes gleamed. "That… is an excellent idea," she mimicked, sliding off me.

I lifted an eyebrow at her, reaching down for my pants. "Mocking me, Beesly?"

"Always," she said happily, wiggling back into her panties. "Will you still call me Beesly when we're married?"

"If you want."

"Pam Halpert," she said to the roof, and then again, softer, "Pam Halpert." She looked at me. "I like it," she said decisively.

"I think you should go for the hyphen. Pamela Morgan Beesly-Halpert. Sounds very upper crust, don't you think?" I shoved my shirttails into my pants and grinned when she reached over to buckle my belt for me with a naughty glimmer in her eyes. "Umm…"

She pressed a kiss to my jaw and stroked the back of her hand very lightly over my fly. "Hold that thought, Halpert. I'll be back here in…" She glanced at her watch. "Class out at six-twenty, pack a bag, on the road by seven…say, nine-thirty? Will you wait up for me?" she teased.

I pretended to think about it. "I dunno, Pam. It's a school night."

"I don't have class till twelve-thirty. That gives us all night and if you go in an hour late tomorrow…" She lifted one shoulder and gave me a saucy smile.

"That…is an excellent idea." I reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear; her ponytail was coming loose. "It's a lot of driving, though. I could come to you…pretty sure there won't be a game if this rain keeps up. Besides, I'm already such a lousy uncle," I shrugged, smiled.

Her face fell a little. "Stop it, you're a great uncle. I'm sorry I said that. I was just…missing you."

Missing me. My heart swelled at the thought. "Point being, the rain," I gestured at the rain-streaked windows.

"Yeah, but you'd have to leave at like five-thirty in the morning. I won't have to go till…nine." She kissed me. "Just say okay."

I pulled her back to kiss her again. "Okay."

"I expect dinner." She struggled into her coat, no easy task in the cramped quarters. "Whose idea was the car?"

"Yours."

She snapped her fingers, smiling mischievously. "Oh, right."

I love this woman.