The car ride back starts mostly quiet. She rarely gets drunk, not anymore, but she has had just enough wine to take the edge off her settling anxiety. He seems preoccupied, proclaiming his exhaustion from the strain of being Jim Halpert, Assistant Regional Manager (said in his very best Bob Vance, Vance Refrigeration voice). After her few attempts to discuss or analyze the party are only absentmindedly acknowledged she lets the quiet settle in, allows both to retreat to their own thoughts. She counts mile markers on the road and months in the relationship. 3 months. 90 miles. Every 3 miles she claims a tiny victory and surreptitiously glances over at him, claiming extra points if she escapes unnoticed.

She drifts off to sleep somewhere between miles 33 and 39, stirring awake only to realize there has been a constant gentle buzzing. Then a cell phone snapping shut. She waits until mile 63 to look over at him.

“Everything ok?”

“What? Oh wow, yeah. Sorry. Thanks for rejoining us here on Halpert scenic tours.

“I should get a discount, considering. What are you sorry for?”

“What? Nothing. Sorry. I was just spacing out a little. It’s a long drive. I guess I deserve a refund too.”

Something oddly familiar in his inflection, another long night of conversation ahead? –she’s standing in between “Do I let it go or push ahead,” when she hears the vibrating again.

Instead of checking his phone he looks directly at her.

“Were you trying to make me jealous tonight?”

“Why, were you?” She tries to hide her words in coy, teasing, but they land somewhere around anxious.

“It felt like you were.”

“I just knew you didn’t want to be there.”

The vibrating joins the conversation as she is about to continue her thoughts, elaborate on her reasons. She pauses to stare at the blinking light on his phone so he answers instead.

“I didn’t need you to make me want to be there less.”

“Fine. I'm sorry. Who keeps texting you?”

“I’m just saying, it was surreal to have to consider whether you had actually dated half of the company. I’m not quite sure where you were going with that.”

“Really? I think it’s surreal that you actually thought to consider it. It was a joke. To be funny. I was teasing you, Michael. Who keeps texting you?”

“Karen, something happened tonight in Scranton and it might involve me. But I don’t know details and I don’t want this conversation to be about that yet. Right now I want this to be about us. I want to understand this.”

She turns away to glance out the window, because she is starting to suspect she only has one chance and the 30 miles to Scranton to answer these questions correctly. His phone vibrates again and she watches him flip the screen open, reading the message quickly before snapping it shut and turning the phone on silent. They maintain eye contact until the car swerves a little and he turns his head to look back at the road.

“Is this about her?”

"Don’t make it about her.”

“Is what happened, is that about her?”

“Karen.”

She turns back to the window and tries to get the Clash out of her head. Should I stay or should I go