Jim stood under the scalding hot water in the shower until his mother called through the bathroom door, issuing a loving reminder that while she was glad to have him home, if he didn’t get out now, he would be eating Kibble for Thanksgiving dinner.

Reluctantly he stepped out and slowly toweled off. His hair was sticking out and his face was flushed red from the steam. He closed his eyes and sighed.

He still couldn’t believe she had come. Seeing her standing there, looking so small with her panicked eyes and wounded expression was just about the last thing he expected. A parade of people chanting his name as women threw panties in his direction, sure.

But not Pam.

It hurt him to see her. It frustrated him. It made him angry at all the ways she was playing with his head, purposefully or not.

Getting over her was hard enough. Seeing the spark of thinly veiled jealousy radiating off of her as she introduced herself to Karen had made him all the more resentful. He could barely even look at her without wanting to pull her aside and demand to know why she was doing this to him.

She chose to marry Roy and end any possible future they could have had together. So why was she there, acting like him being with another woman was some sort of a betrayal? What right did she have to be upset? She was the one with a ring on her finger and the ‘nice’ wedding to tell her grandchildren about.

After Pam had dropped them off and he unpacked his things into his old bedroom, he’d finally received the harried voicemail from Phyllis. She was near tears and apologizing profusely, claiming that his fax just never came in. But not to worry, because Pam didn’t know a thing about his impending arrival.

It would have been almost comical if it weren’t so maddening.

He knew he had been cold to her at the airport, but what other option did he have? It was pure self-preservation.

As far as he was concerned, letting her back in would be the worst mistake he could make.

***

Karen had an apron wrapped around her waist and her fingers were covered with sticky dough. His mother was pointing her pinky finger to a picture hanging on the refrigerator while Karen laughed loudly.

“What…is going on here?” Jim asked warily, a slight smile playing on his lips. He came over to see what incriminating photograph was at the center of attention and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that he was of age and fully clothed. He was just getting a noogie from his older brother and while it was slightly embarrassing, not to mention emasculating, at least he wouldn’t have to hear how cute ‘it’ was.

“Your mom is teaching me how to cook her world famous white chocolate and macadamia nut cookies. And showing me what a dork you were in high school.” Karen’s tone was playful and affectionate and it resonated deep in his stomach.

She had a speck of cookie batter on her cheek and a dab on her nose. Jim couldn’t help but find her undeniably cute.

“She’s a quick study,” his mom chimed in with a wink.

“Yes, I can see how mixing and stirring would be hard to pick up on. Good thing we have such master bakers on the case,” he teased, swiping at Karen’s nose with his finger.

He began to feel guilty as her face lit up at his touch. Her feelings for him were blatantly obvious and he was doing absolutely nothing to deter her. While a part of him couldn’t help but feel good at the attention and the way Karen just seemed to fit right into place, the more battle scarred part of him didn’t want to lead her on.

But there she was, at home with him for the holidays, baking homemade cookies with his mother, wearing his grandmother’s hand-me-down apron, talking about a baby story she’d just heard about him and his favorite blanket. She was clearly in her element at Casa de la Halpert.

He genuinely loved what the picture in front of him represented. He was finally getting some insight into what it would be like to be have a family of his own and have a person to share such innocent, carefree, familiar moments with him. Moments they could sit by the fire thirty years from now and reminisce on with a glass of wine.

They would love his mom. They would flip through baby pictures. They would chide his brother for being so mean to him as a kid.

He could definitely see the image in his head playing out in front of him.

It was just the wrong person.

The person he’d imagined in those happy holiday pictures had a new last name, was probably planning her own family dinner, was making her own new memories and planning her own family.

Jim inwardly winced at the thought of Pam starting a family with Roy. It made him sick to his stomach.

He handed Karen a napkin to clean up the rest of her face and then went to make plans for the night. He needed to get out of that house and away from the images that would never come into focus for him.

***

Jim arrived at Poor Richards, one of his favorite Scranton hangouts, and greeted his old roommate with a manly slap on the back, coupled with a broad grin.

“Hey, man! How are you?”

“Can’t complain,” Mark replied easily. “Good to see ya, man. Connecticut been good to ya?”

Jim shrugged. “Not too bad. It’s not Scranton, so it’s got that going for it.”

Mark laughed. “I know what you mean.”

They ordered a round of beers at the bar and found a place to sit nearby. Jim took a long swig of his drink, savoring the cold liquid as it drained down his throat, welcoming the inevitable numbness it would soon bring.

“How’s Chelsea? Is that still going on?”

“She’s good, yeah. Getting a little wedding crazy, ya know? Too many of our friends are getting married, man. Every time we get another invitation, she’ll give me that look, ya know? It makes me nervous.”

Jim chuckled, but couldn’t offer any concurrence. He drank faster.

“So how ‘bout you? Seeing anyone?”

“Ahh…” Jim trailed off, setting his empty glass down hard on the tabletop. “Sort of? I kind of brought someone home for Thanksgiving. But we’re just friends.”

Mark gave him the same patented sympathetic look that had been perfected in the three years they’d known each other. “Story of your life, huh?”

 Jim raised his hand to signal for another. “Story of my life.”