“Are you eating candy for breakfast?”

Pam startles at hearing Jim’s voice over her shoulder and yanks her earbuds out before she can pause the podcast she’s listening to.

“Shhh,” she hisses, glancing purposefully at the ceiling.

Pam raises her eyebrows and defiantly tears the packaging to another Reese’s cup, adding the wrapper to the small pile that has accumulated beside her open day planner on the large island in their kitchen. She takes a sip of coffee and turns back to her calendar.

Jim smiles at her as he crosses from the back door to the refrigerator to get a bottle of water, which he empties in a few large gulps. Pam, his wife of nine years, the love of his life, is quite possibly the most amazing person he has ever met. She manages to keep their kids’ schedules straight, works part-time at one of the biggest art galleries in Austin, is getting her master’s in Art History, volunteers at the kid’s school, supports his work at Athleap, calls her mother and his mother every week, and coordinates food delivery services for the sick and elderly at their church. And somehow she makes it appear effortless.

He considers teasing her more about the candy, but she’s scribbling in her planner and her forehead is scrunched in concentration so he thinks better of it. Instead, he pours himself a cup of coffee and tops off hers before he moves to stand behind her.

Her hair is still wild from sleep so he smoothes it to the side and then presses a kiss into her neck, one hand gently massaging her hip.

“Ugh. You’re all sweaty.” Only half-joking, she uses her rear end to push him away, likely the least effective method of discouraging him.

Unbothered he continues, lightly stroking the soft fabric of her sleep pants further down her hip and up again. “Well, I just ran seven miles,” he murmurs into her hair, moving his mouth to kiss behind her ear and further down the side of her neck.

“I just ran seven miles,” she mimics in a high pitched tone that sounds nothing like him. “Well, I just ate five Reese’s cups and —” She stops as the hand previously on her hip is now moving under the waistband just below her stomach.

Jim hears a soft “oh” and sees her pen drop as she ever so slightly leans back against him.

“There was a time when you liked me all sweaty after a run.” They’re quiet for a moment, both distracted as his hand moves lower. His other hand pushes aside the hem of her t-shirt and skates up her ribs until his thumb is grazing her hardening nipple. She lays her palms flat on the quartz countertops, her head dropping forward slightly.

She breaks the silence, clearly having to focus on her words. “Well, there was a time when we could shower together in the mornings.”

He mumbles, “That would be nice,” but he can’t be sure she heard him through her sharp intake of breath as he slips two fingers inside her and gently bites the slope her shoulder where the collar of her shirt drapes down to expose her skin.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.” It comes out in a rush and breathy with a hint of warning.

He’s about to ask her why he wouldn’t be able to finish, what could possibly keep him from making her to melt against the countertop as she whimpers his name. But then he’s reminded.

“Mommmyyyyyy?”

It’s amazing that a sleepy, whining six-year-old can get Jim to stuff his hands into his own pockets and move six feet across the room faster than he did in the eleventh grade when Stephanie Arritt’s dad came home early while they were in the basement.

“In the kitchen, buddy,” Pam calls just loud enough for him to hear her. She swipes the small pile of candy wrappers into the utensil drawer just as Phillip stumbles into the kitchen.  Jim grins that her priorities are clearly in order as his son wanders in, clutching his old bunny with one hand, scratching his curly-haired head with the other, squinting against the lights in the kitchen.

Jim is washing his hands at the sink and their eyes meet over the cup of coffee she’s taking a huge sip from (likely to mask her chocolate-and-peanut-butter breath). Her eyebrows lift and she smirks as if to say ‘told ya so.’

“Is it Halloween time?” Phillip yawns loudly and reaches for Pam. He’s tall for his age, all skinny limbs wrapping around her as she squats to lift him up.

“Not until tonight, Big Phil.”

Phillip peers at his dad as he speaks. Jim wonders what is going on in his boy’s mind until Phillip scrunches his nose, points a finger at the dark wet spot in the center of Jim’s chest, and disgustedly says, “You’re sweaty.”

Pam giggles into Phillip’s neck before rewarding his unintentional insult with a kiss.

“Wow. This family...,” Jim feigns offense and tickles Phillip’s ribs.

“Can I have candy now?” Phillip eyes the large purple bowl full of brightly colored varieties of candy.

“No candy for breakfast, mister.” Pam does well to keep her tone serious as she lowers Phillip down to the floor, but Jim gives her a look that threatens to betray her own early morning indulgence. “Phil, you’re up early. Don’t you wanna lay down for a bit longer?”

“I’m going to jump in the shower.” Jim knows it’s pointless to try to get Phillip to go back to bed; his son is a morning person like him.  Cecelia, however, is just like her mother, and would stay up until 2 in the morning and sleep until noon if they let her. He makes his way up the stairs as he hears Pam negotiate with Phillip to work independently on his sight words while she gets dressed.

Jim emerges from the bathroom, a puff of steam escaping into their bedroom from his shower. Pam is across the room, curling her hair.

“Hey, what’s the plan for tonight?”

“What do you mean, what’s the plan? Same as every year. Just be home by 5:30.”

He’s got a towel wrapped around his waist and he sees her reflection in her dressing table mirror as she watches him move throughout their room to get dressed. He recognizes the residual heat in her eyes, albeit less intense than earlier as she is distracted by the bustle of their routinely chaotic morning.

Briefly, he thinks of asking her to go in late, that he can drop the kids quickly and rush back home. But Wednesdays are inventory day at the gallery and she will need every minute to process all incoming shipments. He decides they can play hooky another day as he tugs his undershirt over his head.

“I mean the costume plan.”

“Oh. Well, no plan really. The kids are doing their own thing.” She sighs and he isn’t sure if she’s annoyed with the conversation or because her hair won’t curl exactly how she wants it to. “You’re off the hook. No costumes.”

Something in her tone makes him pause before he sits at the end of the beige chaise lounger. As he puts on his socks, he watches her finish getting ready. Typically, Wednesdays lend themselves to a typical uniform for her: black leggings, hiking boots, a long t-shirt (which, today, happens to be orange and says ‘Boss Witch’), and one of his old white button-down shirts that she inherited. Other than her semi-festive shirt, there is nothing indicative of Halloween, which is very unlike Pam. In years past, she has had not only a family costume, but also a work costume.

She’s securing a small hoop earring when he asks, “Not even a costume for work?”

An indifferent brief shrug and then her face changes as she remembers something just before she’s about to leave the room. She turns back to her dressing table, yanks the tag off a headband, and secures it over her loose, wavy curls. She turns to him and holds her hands out as if in presentation, a small purple top hat now perched on her head.

She leans down to kiss his cheek and smiles at him as she turns to head downstairs.

“Wait, wait, wait, Beesly.” He reaches for her hand and pulls her toward him so that she is standing between his knees. His hands rest on her waist and his thumbs absently stroke against her hips.

“Jim.” He knows she’s equal parts intrigued with his interruption to their morning routine as she is annoyed. Nevertheless, she looks softly down at him as he pulls her closer and her hands naturally fall to his shoulders.

Jim studies her face and tries to recall if he’s missing something. He wonders if she dropped hints that he forgot, but it doesn’t feel like that is the case.

“Seriously,” his eyes skate across the fascinator secured to her head, “is this your Mad Hatter costume? I am not dressing as Alice.” He delivers his last line firmly but teasingly, hoping she will tell him what is going on. He can’t remember a Halloween since he has known Pam, well over ten years, that she hasn’t made a big deal about the holiday, especially the costume part of it.

She pauses momentarily as though she’s processing his confusion. A sucker for the smirk that is creeping up his face, she kisses him chastely on the lips. “No costumes this year, babe. Really. The kids are doing their own thing. They even wanted store-bought costumes so —”

Jim shivers his body in mock repulsion and follows suit in his tone to say, “Store bought? The nerve.”

Her smug smile is enough reward for him, but he doesn’t miss the faint sadness on her face as she shrugs and continues, “I think the Halpert family costume tradition has run its course.” She kisses his jawline and runs a hand across the thin beard he keeps. “Lucky you.” She gives him another quick kiss on the lips and makes her way out of the room.

Jim listens to Pam ask the kids to put on their shoes, remind them to get their folders from the homework basket, inquire if they remembered to put a snack in their backpacks. Since October 2007 (before that, if he’s really honest with himself) Halloween has never been ‘just another day’ with Pam, but here she is in 2018 with no costume, no theme, and no expectations of him. He’s left feeling unsettled and...more than a little disappointed.  

Xxxxxxxx

It’s noon and the day feels absurdly normal. Jim took the kids to school as he always does on Wednesdays. Phillip, as a typical kindergartner would be, was excited for their pajama day and class party. Cece was not at all interested in wearing her costume to school because second graders have ‘real work to do.’ Even the Athleap office felt less than festive than normal. Jim realizes that Pam has, in years past, brought in decorations, string lights, and candy for his office. She’s incredibly busy, and he feels a bit guilty that he misses these little reminders of the holiday that he so often took for granted.

His mind wanders to Halloween costumes from years past and he pulls out his phone, opening the photo library.

October is always a big month for the Halperts. Jim’s birthday, their wedding anniversary, and the anniversary of launching Athleap (of course, at the time it was launched it was still called Athlead) all fall in October. Since their first anniversary, he and Pam made a point to take a long weekend away together, just the two of them, in early October to celebrate. (Helene or Betsy or Penny are always happy to fly to Austin and relish the still-warm southwestern weather from the Halpert’s pool.)

In those first couple of years, when they were still on Dunder Mifflin salaries, they took road trips to the Poconos or Philadelphia.  But Athleap has been really successful, staggeringly successful, and the last few years they’ve gone to different cities they’ve never visited together like New Orleans and San Francisco. Jim and Pam usually stay in expensive hotels and make big plans to see as much as they can, but every year they cancel half of their fancy dinner reservations and eschew too much sightseeing in favor of staying in bed together. Neither would have it any other way; they’ve both said as much every year.

Two weeks ago they went to Jackson Hole, Wyoming and Jim scrolls to find his favorite picture from that trip. One of his top ten favorite pictures of her, ever. He’d meant to get a quick candid of her, chin resting in her palm, as she was mesmerized by the fire burning in the huge stone fireplace beside their table. But at the last minute, she cut her gaze at him and the corners of her lips barely flicked up into a smile that was not only intended as a pose for the camera but also a smug tell that she was proud of herself for catching him trying to be sly.

Jim studies the picture of her, knowing it’s one of his favorites because that one look captures all of the mischief and curiosity and playfulness and passion and spunk that he fell in love with over a decade ago but keeps falling for over and over again. He keeps scrolling through the pictures, slowing at October of each year.

Last year they were dressed as the Incredibles. Pam knew it was likely the last year that the kids would agree to a family costume, and her smile in their picture is huge, clearly thrilled. He missed seeing that same sparkle in her eyes this morning. Still scrolling through his photos, Jim smiles at the memories of his little family dressed as a band of pirates, Toy Story characters, the “Scooby Doo” gang, the Addams Family.

Jim leans back in his desk chair and cradles his hands against the back of his head as he stares at the ceiling. They didn’t carve pumpkins this year, which was a first. Pam didn’t put out any Halloween decorations at all.

It dawns on him that he is an absolute fucking idiot. His amazing wife, the woman who selflessly keeps their family running, has completely put her favorite holiday on the back burner because, well, she’s so selfless while taking care of everyone else.

An idea begins to slowly knit together as he looks over his Outlook calendar.  There is nothing urgent for the rest of the day. A quick email telling his executive assistant to reschedule his afternoon and put him out of office, and then he’s out the door.  As Jim makes his way to the parking garage, he knows his idea won’t come anywhere near what Pam would have planned, but he’s going to give it his best.

Xxxxxxxx

Jim hears her car pull into the garage as he is drying the last of the mess he’s made in the kitchen. Phillip (dressed as Rocket from Guardians of the Galaxy) and Cece (as Mal from “The Descendants”) are squealing toward the side door that Pam will soon enter.  They’re both already hyped up on the combination of surprising their mom and the amount of candy Jim has funneling their way as bribery for helping him.

“Oh my god! You guys look great!” They are excitedly dragging her through the house, pointing out where they straightened up (Phillip overselling himself when he said, “Daddy only had to tell me once to clean up!”) and proudly showing off their decorating skills with cobwebs, plastic pumpkins, and window clings. “Guys, this looks amazing! Where’s Daddy?”

The kids tell her the kitchen and she’s already talking to him, having to raise her voice over the kids. (They never claimed to be a quiet family when in the comfort of their own home.) He can tell she’s getting closer as she speaks. “Thanks for picking them up early from daycare. That was a big —”

She stops herself as she enters the kitchen and takes in the scene around her. Pam looks completely bewildered at the seven large carved pumpkins lined up on the countertops. A tray of Halloween cookies (the easy break and bake kind; Jim knows his limits) and a crockpot of what he prays is decent hot apple cider are on the island.

Jim would have thought that by now, being forty years old, he wouldn’t stuff his hands in his pockets when he gets nervous. Hell, he thinks that spending his days smooth-talking some of the most successful athletes in the world would have shaken that habit. But something deep inside of him that will forever strive to make Pam insanely happy, to please her, summons that vulnerability and, well, here he is with his fists in his jeans pockets. She still hasn’t looked at him, but is squinting at each of the pumpkins and the silence is making him even more nervous.

“I know they’re not great, but, um...well, I mean I know you could have done a lot better. I mean, if I had more time. Or, I mean, I should have done them with the kids this weekend…” He’s blathering, but he can’t stop himself from continuing. “I tried to figure out how you make those roasted pumpkin seeds, but I can’t figure out how you make them. I mean, I’ll make them, I just need you to tell me how. But there are a shit-ton of seeds in the fridge—”

They both instinctively glance toward the den, but the kids haven’t heard him because they are on the other side of the house and they have the television on.

She’s looking at him, really looking at him, and a familiar smile is warmly spreading across her face. Her voice is soft as she says, her eyes again scanning the room, “You did all this?”

He feels a little more confident, now that he can tell she is clearly impressed. He leans against the sink, his arms spread wide so that his hands rest against the counter to keep him balanced.

“Well, yeah, but the kids helped. Ya know, I let Big Phil use the sharp knives. Ceece drove to pick up the pumpkins and bought the bottle of wine for us tonight.”

“Oh good, did she get that vodka she likes, too?”

Just as he’s about to reply that their eight-year-old daughter has decided she likes whiskey, he stops himself.  Pam is walking toward him and his neck is warm from sudden shyness as she scrutinizes what he’s wearing. It was one thing to throw up a few decorations and bake some cookies, but costumes are Pam’s wheelhouse and the essence of her Halloween spirit.

She’s eye level with his chest when she finally speaks. “What’s that?”

Her finger playfully thumps against his tan shirt, a perfectly colored sign taped to the front that reads ‘JIF.’

“This?” He nonchalantly glances down. “This is my costume. I’m Jif. Like the peanut butter.”

“Oh-kaayyyy,” she drawls. She glances up at him through her lashes, not even trying to hide her amusement or her curiosity.

“And you’re,” Jim reaches for the purple t-shirt folded on the counter, “jelly.” He proudly flourishes the shirt, a sign on the front that reads ‘Smuckers’ in a font as close as he could freehand to the branded label.  “Get it? PB and J?” Skepticism is all over face as she glances from the shirt to him and back again. He rubs the back of his neck, hoping he can prompt some kind of response from her. “Look, I know the kids want to do their own thing, but we don’t have to…I mean the family thing is cool, but now that the kids are older...I just thought we could...”

“I love it.” She’s hugging him in that way he can’t resist, where she rises to the balls of her feet but tugs around his shoulders as if he needs a reminder how much taller he is. He lets out a breath, suddenly aware of how embarrassed he expected to be if she didn’t like it. “It’s perfect, Jim. I love it. I love you.”

He closes the little bit of space still between them, tugging her toward him. “I love you, too,” he murmurs against her lips that are pressing against his.

Her nails are gently scratching against the hair at the nape of his neck while he rubs his hands down her back. It’s done with a familiar restrained passion they have perfected with two small children who have a knack for detecting that moment when their parents are becoming intimate.

“Is it trick or treating time yet?” Phillip enters the kitchen as if a stage cue has been handed to him.

Eyes still closed, Jim mumbles, “Go away.” He’s teasing, but if Phillip does leave he’ll still have about thirty seconds with Pam before they have to break apart out of necessity and questionable willpower with one another. He leans forward to return his mouth to hers, but his lips mostly meet her teeth, as she is laughing at being caught by their son for the second time today, in the same room nonetheless.

“Ew! Why are you kissing?” Phillip is already stalking back to the den, clearly upset with his parents’ misplaced priorities.

Pam giggles into Jim’s neck and mumbles something about going to change, but she doesn’t move right away. He feels her chest heave against his as she releases a long breath. She squeezes him tight, her hands now on his back, and then tips her head back to look at him fully. “Thank you.” It’s quietly that she says this and he’s not sure he deserves it, but she’s already kissed his cheek and is moving out of the kitchen.

As soon as Cece and Phillip hear her call out that she needs ten minutes to get ready, they are swarming into the kitchen, two bouncing balls of excitement and anticipation. Jim has them help carry the smaller carved pumpkins to the front porch.

The front door opens and Pam joins them, having changed into her Smucker’s T-shirt, a pair of jeans he’s pretty sure she knows make him a little crazy, and a pair of boots. “You guys ready?” She hands the kids their canvas bags and takes the steps down their front porch. Her smile meets his and that sparkle he missed this morning is looking back at him.

xxxxxxxx

“Best.” Pam kisses behind his ear. “Halloween.” Her mouth moves down to the side of his neck. “Ever.”

Jim huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes behind closed lids. He’s about to tell her that she’s a liar, but then her mouth is on his and she tastes like peanut butter and chocolate and pinot noir so he’s distracted into believing anything she tells him forever and ever.

They’ve been doing this for a while now, the kids long since passed out from a sugar coma that was tipped off with pizza for dinner and a later-than-normal viewing of The Nightmare Before Christmas. Long before Jack Skellington could steal Christmas, Cece and Phillip were carried to their rooms and tucked in, their parents confident (well, 95% so) that neither one would wake until morning.

They’d returned to the den, turned on a movie, opened a bottle of wine. By the time the title flickered on the screen, Jim had Pam pinned to the couch, her soft moans encouraging his mouth and hands to keep moving over her. Their shirts have been literally thrown to the side, Pam’s jeans in a heap on the floor.  

Pam is straddling his lap, wearing a purple lacy bra and panties that he forgot she owned. She’s kissing across his collarbone, still telling him how wonderful everything tonight was until she sits up and places both of her warm hands on his bare shoulders. Her stare is warm and hazy, but she takes a breath so he knows she’s about to say something serious.

“Thank you.” She squeezes his shoulders to emphasize her point. “Thank you...for everything you did tonight. Jim it really was, I mean, I know it’s not your thing, but…” She smiles at him again in a way that lets him know her appreciation is more than enough. “Thank you.”

She moves her kisses slowly down his chest and moves her hand to stroke the bulge underneath his jeans. He bucks slightly, his erection having become nearly painful. Lower she slides until her knees are on the rug and her fingers are unfastening the button of his jeans.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he quotes her line from earlier that morning.

She raises a single eyebrow at him as if to say, ‘Game on,’ before she’s gesturing for him to lift his hips so that she remove his jeans and boxer briefs. Her mouth returns to kiss his chest as she slowly, teasingly strokes him.

He groans louder than he intended, but he can’t be bothered to worry because it feels so good. She smiles against his ribs, amused by the sound.

“Hey I was thinking…” she begins between kisses.

“Hm?” He can’t manage much more than that in response to her.

“Next year we can do Mary Poppins and Bert. Wouldn’t that be fun?” Her voice has that silky smoothness with an undercurrent of embarrassment, usually reserved for those moments when she suggests something new or different in the bedroom. She keeps her face hidden, but that familiar blush is starting to spread across her chest.

Her kisses are now on his inner thigh, one hand balanced against his knee, the other continuing to attentively stroke his erection. His head drops to the back of the couch and he drapes an arm over his eyes, his other hand reaching for her hair, her shoulder, anything he can make contact with.

“Jim?” He glances down and Pam is looking at him expectantly. She’s on her knees and her other hand is now stroking his balls so perfectly, leaving him briefly happy to have the distraction of Halloween costumes to consider. He’s pretty sure she knows what she’s doing, but, once again, he can’t bring himself to care. “Jim, do you want to go as Bert and Mary Poppins for Halloween next year?”

Of course there’s nothing appealing about the idea of dressing as Bert for Halloween. But Jim knows that Pam could be in either this exact position or wearing a burlap sack asking him to help her clean out a septic tank and the answer would be the same.

He feels her smiling as her mouth replaces her hands while at the same time his head drops against the back of the sofa again and he says, “Absolutely, I do.”