Helene leaned forward in her chair as Jim began to tick off questions on his fingers.

“As a child, did Pam show any traits that would hint towards her future career as a receptionist?”

He grinned at her—she could suddenly see, through all the tiredness and the pain and the general hospitalized vibe he was giving off, exactly why her daughter had become so captivated with him—and Pam slapped him lightly on the shoulder, giggling.

“Ow! Pam, didn’t anyone ever tell you not to hit defenseless people? Actually, Mrs. Beesly—”

“Helene, please, Jim,” she broke in, with a smile. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Pam go from uptight and stressed (which she had definitely been when Helene had walked through the door) to happy and giggly so quickly.

“Helene. Pam’s little outburst here brings me to question two: is her violent behavior something you inculcated in her from an early age, or is it merely an inherent aspect of her nature beyond your control?” Pam stuck out her tongue at him, while Larissa gave off a whoop of laughter that she’d clearly been struggling to hold in since the first question. Helene was not surprised but gratified to see that this whole family—or at least the two she’d now met—were so comfortable with her daughter, and that her daughter was comfortable with them. That had been one of her primary concerns with the Andersons. Lovely people, salt of the earth, good neighbors, Roy’s mother was in her book club…but they’d never really understood Pam, and so her daughter had always been so uptight about impressing them that the last time she could remember her being calm around them was before she and Roy had begun dating. Well before, in fact, since once Roy stopped being “the boy around the corner who she played tag with” and became “the star quarterback of the football team,” Pam hadn’t been comfortable around him until after he suddenly asked her out—if then. The Halperts, those she’d seen of them, were clearly different, and it was truly a delight to see her daughter so at ease, especially under the current circumstances.

“Three, and this one is very important, so I want you to think hard before you answer.” He stared at her mock-seriously—she could tell it was mock-, even on small acquaintance, because his eyebrows were still doing something ridiculous even as the rest of his face was doing its best to appear dire—and gestured with his three fingers at her. “Three: are you as proud of her artistic endeavors as I am? Because our little Pamela here is brilliant.” The grin flared back into life, and she saw Pam out of the corner of her eye bury her head in her hands, her face buring—while on her other side, she noticed, turning her head to confirm it, Larissa was nodding along. She filed that last away for reference: unless she was utterly mistaken, Pam and Larissa had only met this weekend, because she had no recollection of Pam mentioning her before in any of the long conversations they had had about Jim. Which meant that one or both of two things were true: either Jim had told his sister about Pam as much and talked about her as often as Pam had told and talked to her about Jim, or Larissa had somehow convinced Pam to reveal her artistic tendencies within two days of meeting her. Either one was encouraging about this burgeoning relationship—both would be wonderful. Her eyes caught a glimpse of a little sketch clutched in Jim’s hand. She recognized her daughter’s work instantly, and Jim must have been paying close attention to her eyes as he waved the little sketch while winking at her.

“Four—and just because three was vital doesn’t mean I don’t want an answer to this as well—did Pam show any signs of pranking, mischief, or chicanery in her life before Dunder Mifflin, or have am I completely to blame for her utter corruption in the matter of one Dwight K. Schrute?”

By now even Pam was reduced to pure laughter, all sense of embarrassment burnt out by an overwhelming sense of amusement with Jim’s questioning. Helene smiled warmly down at Jim and raised her own fingers. Seeing her movement, he sat up in his bed, lowered his own hand, and gave her a wide-eyed innocent look that seemed to scream “lay it on me.”

She cleared her throat and noticed that Larissa and Pam made mirrored half-turns to look at her, then giggled when their eyes met across her face. She began to tick off answers to Jim’s questions on her fingers, remaining aware of the other two people in the room but not dropping eye contact with him as she began.

“First, of course she did.” She winked at Jim as Pam’s jaw fell open and her hands went to her hips. “Our little Pammy—you know she hates that nickname, right? But when she was small it was all she’d answer to—“ (she noticed with an inner smile that that particular sally had not missed Jim—or Larissa, which she filed away with interest) “absolutely loved to greet visitors. She’d run to the door before her father or I could get there and throw it wide open whenever anyone knocked. I think there was a good two years when our postman thought the house was solely occupied by a small curly-haired girl with impeccable manners, and I think there was at least one Jehovah’s Witness who didn’t know whether he should ask to see her parents or just convert her on the spot.” She smiled fondly. “I think that phase ended when she discovered boys and was afraid that it would be what my husband liked to refer to as ‘a gentleman caller’ at the door, but she really was a wonderful greeter when she was young.”

Pam hissed “Mom!” but Helene was not to be so easily dissuaded from continuing.

“Second, I’m afraid that particular tendency should be placed entirely at your door, Jim.” She laughed, softly. “Pam was a perfect little angel as a child, and I’m not sure I’ve seen her touch anyone—violently or not—as often as she’s touched you in the last few minutes.” She glanced to the side to see that Pam had apparently run out of blushes, gone through the ostrich phase, and was now shaking her head at her resignedly while exchanging eye-rolls with Larissa, who was in turn looking at Jim smugly—and it was he who was bright red and avoiding her gaze. “The third question is your first major mis-step, though, Jim.” His head shot up in alarm and she met his panicked eyes calmly. “I’ve never told Pam her work was anything but the best, and I’ve never been anything but entirely sincere.” His eyes softened and he nodded at her, once, while she focused on conveying without saying it—in front of Pam, right now, at least—that Pam’s worries about her artistic talent came from…other sources. Sources that were now, happily, out of the picture, for good she hoped. “So I think I’ll turn that around to you: are you as proud of my Pam’s work as I am? Because I’ve always known she was special.” He nodded again, and she returned it. Good boy.

“Four…as I said, my Pam was a good, well-behaved girl.” She leaned in closer to Jim and mock-whispered, loud enough that she was sure Larissa and Pam could hear as well. “But I’d been waiting for her to snap about Dwight for the whole year before you showed up. So I think you tapped something latent in there, Jim. Good for you.” She stood up. “Now, who wants lunch?”