There was family, and an overheated kitchen, and of course turkey and pumpkin pie that day. There was too much food and a pile of dirty dishes as well, just as always.


But our new guest was my focus this Thanksgiving. Specifically, I wanted to watch Jim with our youngest daughter. More importantly, I needed to watch Pam with Jim.


I learned quite a bit in the watching. I learned about Jim, and I learned a lot about our daughter as well.


It's possible that I even taught her something as I was learning, though I believe that with all she's got going for her, she would have eventually come to the same conclusion herself. I think I just helped things along; perhaps in the nick of time, maybe not. Maybe Pam and Jim had all the time in the world. As in all matters of the heart though, it's really hard to say.


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Jim came dressed nicely and carrying flowers and wine, and it was a little obvious but appreciated nonetheless. The gifts were paired with that genuine grin that told me that he really was happy to be included, though perhaps a bit nervous.


Pam was bright. She was wearing the light pink coat I have always favored, the one I think brings out the rosiness in her cheeks and flatters her beautiful hair. But she quickly shed it to reveal a very vibrant, somewhat tight fuchsia sweater underneath, something I knew she would never have worn six months ago.


And I knew in that moment, as that sweater niggled at me, what I would be watching for in my daughter.

Dinner was well in hand, but the women gathered in the kitchen anyway while the men watched football. This year it was only Pam, my son's wife Jo, and myself.


"Diane, you really should let us contribute more." Jo said. "There's no reason for you to do all of this yourself."


"Oh, really, it's not an inconvenience. After all these years, I have it down to a science." I waved my hand, "Not a big deal."


What I didn't say is that she is a terrible cook, and sometimes just doing it yourself is easier than finding tasks to delegate. I like my daughter-in-law well enough not to have hinted at that, but not so well that I didn't think it. I'm not really proud to admit that, but there it is.


"Well, maybe next year Derek and I can have Thanksgiving" Jo said. Pam and I looked at each other, but Pam covered quickly.


"Or Jim and I." And now it was time for Jo and I to exchange a look. And Jo is never one to hesitate.


"We'll see about that. It's a whole year away." Ah, Jo....always one for the comforting comments.


I expected Pam to shrug, or change the subject, or maybe leave the room. But this Pam of the fuchsia sweater, this Pam of no more barrettes, this Pam who was trying on a lot for size in a little bit of time, did not falter. "Actually, I'm sure Jim wouldn't mind. We should just go ahead and plan it, Mom, take some of the burden off your shoulders for once."


I set my wineglass down. "Shouldn't you ask Jim about this? I mean, wouldn't he want to have a say?"


Pam was flustered, and she didn't cover it well. Some things hadn't changed, after all. "Yeah...I guess." She bent down to flick the light in the oven on, looking again at the turkey, though just ten minutes before we had checked it's temperature.

I sighed, but inwardly, and I remembered all the times I had applied peroxide and yanked off bandaids and pulled teeth; the hurting for the greater good. Apparently parenting never ends, even long after your children are done scraping their knees.

If it was possible, and I hadn't thought it was, Pam glowed even brighter as she sat next to Jim at dinner. I watched her, and I knew her happiness was genuine. It was more than happiness; it was near euphoria, and I knew she was still flying high with it. Maybe too high.


So now, it was Jim's turn to be observed. Unfortunately, I had to do that in front of my husband, who knew darn well what I was up to. I'd have to hear about that for a long time, and I knew it was possible that my observation of Pam and Jim would be the source of his nickname for this year's Thanksgiving. He liked to copy the titles from "Friends", and he thought it was really, really funny: "The One Where My Uncle Joe Gets Drunk and Pees On a Bush In Front Of My Mother" and "The One Where We Meet Jo" and "The One Without Roy" (which he subtitled, "A Narrow Miss", but that's a story for another time).


".....So Michael is in a straightjacket, and the key is on the floor because it's fallen out of his mouth...." Jim was saying. Sometimes I can't believe these stories are real, but I know they are, and I know that's a good part of the reason that my daughter's entire worklife has been documented by a camera crew for the last three years. But that is a whole OTHER story (and worry) for another day. One thing at a time. ".....and I just, casually, put my foot over the key." Everyone is in stitches. It's funny, but Jim can make something that's funny much more so just by his expressions. I've never seen a more expressive face, especially not on a man. "You should have seen him working up a sweat in that straightjacket."


"Who finally let him out?" Jo asked.


Jim turned to Pam, and I saw that his eyes softened and lit up at the same time. "Pam, of course. Michael has annoyed and distracted her for years, but she's got a soft spot for him, deep down."


Pam smiled. "Well, he was so miserable and embarrassed. He spends a lot of his time that way, I think. No need to extend it for longer than necessary, after we got the first few chuckles out it."


That was my Pam.


But then she went on, and this was my New Pam. "Speaking of embarrassed, why don't you tell my parents about your Irish brogue, Jim?" She smiled, but Jim's face fell. She didn't even see it, but I did.


"Yeah, well, it was a special invitation." I learned a lot about Jim from the way he was willing to go on with this, though it so obviously pained him. "And The Finer Things Club is very exclusive." There was a little sarcasm on the word "exclusive", which Pam must have caught. She lowered her head for just a second. Jim didn't let her hang for long though. He lit into the story of the Irish caps and the bowties and the china, and mentioned Pam's babushka.


My husband was in no way going to let that go. He looked at her incredulously. "You were wearing a babushka, Pam? Like, a head scarf?"


He turned to me, laughing, but spoke under his breath. "This is officially 'The One With the Babushka'".


She was looking a little defensive. "Well, Dad, they're themed meals, like Jim said." She continued, a little more heatedly. "Our job can be so monotonous. I mean really, there's only so many games of solitaire you can play in a day." She took a breath. "The Finer Things Club breaks it up, it gives me something to look forward to." She looked sidelong at Jim, who was staring at his plate, a muscle ticking in his jaw.


Come on Pam, I thought....say it. Say it. Say it to Jim, in front of us......


"Next month it's going to be Pride and Prejudice. The guys aren't all that happy about that one, but I've been campaigning for that book for months now."


No. No, my dear daughter. Not that.


It was time to yank off that bandaid.

"I'm really warm. Pam, would you go for a walk with me?"

It wasn't very subtle of me. We had somehow made it through dinner, due in large part to Jim's ability to read the situation, move past it, and lead with safer topics. My husband even stopped the babushka talk after a few very pointed looks from me. But the discomfort still lingered in the air, and Pam and I could both feel it.

The men were back in the living room and we had just finished up with the dishes. Jo said, "I think I'll join you; it's really hot in here." But as Pam leaned down to the dishwasher, I shook my head quickly at Jo, and she caught on.


See, I liked her well enough.


"Oh, you know what though," she said, "I think I'm too stuffed to walk after all."


.....but not well enough not to be annoyed at that sad excuse she offered. Was it always this way with daughters-in-law? Maybe not, after they have your grandchild. Or, maybe it gets worse. But I digress, with the thought of grandbabies...


Pam was onto me, but she complied. She was jumbled up and confused, so I'm not sure the thought of a walk with me was entirely unwelcome, though she would probably not have admitted it to me.


She put her coat on and covered that sweater. I wished she had put her hair back as well. I liked her new shorter hair, with the softer curls, but I wanted to see her face. I wondered if Jim felt the same way.


And as we stepped outside, she pulled an elastic out of her coat pocket and whipped her hair into a ponytail. "It really was warm in there." I could only smile at her as we continued down the sidewalk.


She was very quiet, waiting. I knew she was going to listen, and it occurred to me that although she was in her late twenties, in relationships she was really maybe quite a bit younger than her years. Yes, she had almost been a married woman. But she had dated Roy for so many years....they had been little more than comfortable for so many years....that this new thing with Jim was maybe more overwhelming for her than even I knew. Or perhaps, than even she knew herself.


I really didn't know how to begin, which surprised me. I thought I would have plenty to say. She seemed to be at a loss as well, so we walked in a somewhat charged silence. The night was warm for late November, but still chilly enough to be refreshing.


I could feel her frown next to me. "So...." she began. "That thing with Jim and The Finer Things Club..."


And my vehemence surprised me. I turned to face her fully, stopped in my tracks, and sputtered, "He's one of the finest things in your life, Pam. He IS your 'finer thing'."


She gasped, her eyes widened.....I had hardly ever spoken to her like that. And then her eyes filled with tears.


"I know." Her voice was quiet, breathy.


"Does he know? Have you told him?"


"Yes. No, I mean.....I've told him I love him, how could I not?"


"How much do you love him? Because I think you're it for him. And if I'm right, you'd better be sure."


"He's it for me too." She looked down at her hands; she was twisting and turning them. It had been a nervous habit of hers since childhood, and when I saw her do it I always knew she was uncomfortable in her thoughts.


The bandaid was off; now it was only a matter of treating the sting.


She was almost like a little girl again: unsure, shaken. She looked off into the distance, up at the stars. "I feel more like me when I'm with him, but...sometimes I'm not sure who 'me' is becoming."


I let those words hang between us for a few moments. I had been right, after all. Pam, late twenties, and yet getting her first taste of what it was to be with a man who really, truly loved her. That was why that sweater bothered me: the brightness of a blossom opened too quickly under a hothouse lamp. I wished for her to move to sunlight, instead; to unfold more carefully, more naturally. "It's because he really loves you for who you are, and it feels good. It makes you wonder what is possible in your own life, as well as for the both of you." I paused. "It makes you want to find out."


We started walking again, slowly, as I continued. "You never had that with Roy, and you deserve it. But never forget that Jim is part; not all, but part, of the reason you have this new possibility."


She nodded her head. We were getting there.


We continued walking, slowly, the air between us less charged, quieter. She was breathing unsteadily from time to time, but I knew she was settling down some. And I knew she was thinking.


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"Your dad titles our holidays after episodes of 'Friends'." I said as our walk continued.


She chuckled wetly. "He does not."


"Not in front of you, your brother and sister. But he has one called 'The One Where Uncle Joe Gets Drunk and Pees On a Bush In Front Of My Mom.'"


She was really laughing now. "No he does not. That's really.....wow, so sad."


One last dab at that stinging wound. "Completely. He's never known it though. He thinks it's hilarious. It's a small thing I can do for him, letting him go on thinking that." I stop again. "You have new confidence, and it's a big thing for you. Hold onto that, Pam."


And I knew she was really listening then.


"But even in your confidence..." I paused. I wish I could say that I had been more eloquent in that moment, but I wasn't. "....even in your confidence, let him know every chance you get. Let him know just how much he means to you."


It worked though; she grabbed me in a hug. We held each other for a long time. And I wondered if Jim and Pam or Derek and Jo would provide me with my first grandchild.
I just couldn't help myself.

Jim and Pam came to our house that year for Christmas dinner. Jim didn't bring anything; he didn't have to, this time. Pam was delightful in the red turtleneck I'd seen on her before, with her hair softly curled and back in her Christmas barrette. She was carrying her well-loved homemade brownies, and she laughed as she told me that she had limited Jim to six of them that morning (six!) so there would be some left for us.

He smiled down at her as he took her coat. I took the brownies from her, and she linked her hand in his as she led him to the tree where her handmade childhood ornaments still hung.
It was a happy Christmas.