She stumbled into the office carrying several plastic bags and two cake boxes. The main area of the office was empty, but the conspicuously boisterous voices of her coworkers emanated from the break room. Somebody must have slipped non- Party Planning Committee -approved additives into the punch. She wended her way between desks and the warehouse debris that inexplicably littered the floor.

After a near-disaster involving packing peanuts, the long-lost blowup doll, and her own precarious balance, she finally made it into the conference room. She heaved a sigh of relief as she deposited armloads of supplies onto the table. Michael had made a number of last-minute requests that Angela refused to honor.

One pumpkin pie with extra whipped cream (because it’s not Thanksgiving without it), one peanut butter-chocolate-mint ice cream cake (because you can’t have a party without a cake), one box of trick candles (because you can’t have a cake without candles), one large rubber turkey (because if we had a real one Kevin would eat it all, and besides, this is way funnier), and one decorative cornucopia (because that’s what the pilgrims and the Indians had when they celebrated the first Thanksgiving in a Plymouth).

Pam agreed to make the shopping run because, hey, Jim and Dwight were out on a sales call and it was better than sitting around answering phones.

She was pulling the pumpkin pie out of its box when she heard purposeful (if unsteady) footsteps behind her. Suddenly long arms wrapped around her waist and a head dropped to her shoulder. Jim’s enthusiastic voice sounded in her ear.

“Pam!” He heaved a happy sigh into her neck. “You are so… cute.”

She laughed. “You are so… drunk.” She rested her hands on his forearms. “What happened on your sales call?”

He mumbled into her neck. “Um… we had lunch. And we had to impress this client by… drinking a lot? Of beers. Dwight was driving so I had to drink them all. And then, we came back here, and something... in the punch....”

“Ooh. Sounds like I'm driving home tonight.”

He planted a kiss under her ear and pulled her closer. “Where’ve you been?” He paused. “Hey... is that a rubber turkey?”

“Yeah… Michael said it was crucial to the hilariosity that is life at Dunder-Mifflin Scranton. Expect to see it for the rest of the year.” She turned in his arms, wrapping her own around his neck.

The strains of Adam Sandler’s “Thanksgiving Song” floated into the conference room. Jim frowned. “That’s the only Thanksgiving song Michael knows. So he’s been playing it… forever.”

“Really?”

“Yes… like… since before I was born.”

“That’s a long time.”

He frowned. “Are you calling me old? That’s not nice. You should be nice to your boyfriend.” He aimed a goofy smile in her direction.

She laughed. “This is so cute! I’ve never seen you so drunk before.”

“Well… I couldn’t be so drunk before. Cause I would do this.” He pulled her closer, leaning down to plant sloppy kisses along her jaw. Her expression softened.

When he pulled back, she followed, standing on her toes to press her lips to his. After a moment, she dropped back down to her heels, sliding her fingers up to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Well, I can’t let this opportunity go by. You better do something embarrassing before you sober up.”

“Hmm.” He looked down at her contemplatively. His hands slid down her back and around her hips to toy with the hem of her shirt. His fingers grazed her stomach. “I kinda miss your old… sweater things.”

“My cardigans?”

“Yes! You know, with all the little buttons… and the stripey shirts.”

She made a face at him. “You helped me pick out these clothes.”

“I know! And I like them. But, I dunno. I just, saw those sweaters for like, years. And you.” He gazed at the ceiling for a moment in concentration, then back at her. “And sometimes I miss them.”

She grinned. “Aw, Jim… that is so…dorky.”

He leaned down to rest his forehead against hers, whispering conspiratorially. “Yeah, but… that’s why you love me.”

She smiled. “Hm… maybe you’re onto me.”

A gleeful expression crossed his face. “That’s what she—“

“Jim Shady! Where are you? I need some mano a la mano love advisory!” Michael’s voice reverberated from the main office.

Jim groaned, burying his face in her hair. “Save me.”

“Hey, I just bought that man a rubber turkey. You’re on your own.”

“Fine, okay. But you’ll see who’ll be laughing when he…you… wait.” He frowned. “You. When you have to give womanly advice.” He nodded. “I’ll be laughing,” he clarified.

She nodded seriously. “I’ve been warned.” He released her reluctantly and wandered off in the direction of Michael’s voice.

She reached up to toy with her necklace as she watched his slightly uneven progress out the door.

Slowly she smiled. Maybe it was time to revisit the back of her closet.