You buy the streamers ($5) and line up the utensils ($3.75) like plastic soldiers on the paper table cloth ($1 on sale), even though you have your own problems and really should be worrying about those instead. But you’re Angela and party planner is in your title and without your title you’re not sure what you’d have left, because your cat is dead and your boyfriend has a tiny “ex” tacked on the front and the two are related which is really what you’re having trouble with.

But Pam comes into the office, giving a little start and raising her hand to her mouth when everyone jumps out, which almost makes it worth it, but not quite.

She comes up to you later and thanks you, but you stare down into your cake ($24.59) and pretend you’re not choked up looking at the rainbow sprinkles on top.

Pam puts a hand on your shoulder like she knows and you try not to lean into her touch because no amount of praying will change the fact that you’re a woman and it’s been two months since you’ve felt skin. And because you’re Angela, and cold and rigid have become a part of your title too. You shouldn’t go changing that now.

She nods again, flitting quickly over to the punch to prevent Michael from drowning himself in the bowl. You swallow a smile because you’re not the only one who fills a role because it’s just how things are.