It's nearly midnight and Sam is lying wide awake, and not even on her bed. It's been a while since she last slept on the couch, but tonight, she felt it might be the right time. Plus, it's not like she can even sleep. As much as she tried to, she just couldn't clear her head enough to fall asleep. Shutting her eyes had never felt so useless. She couldn't even lie still there on the couch. It felt like time would stop if she stopped moving, too.
Her restlessness isn't without reason, though. Right now, her mind is occupied with thoughts… thoughts of her "friend", Cat.
She had told the redhead earlier that she'd meet her back home after their little talk on the bench. Even though the misunderstanding about their gifts had been resolved, there was still this… inexplicable tension wafting between them. Sam hadn't opened up to anyone like that in what feels like forever, now that Carly's gone. Now that she did, though, she felt a mixture of things: she felt weak, she felt vulnerable, and she was a little too embarrassed that it was her who broke down instead of Cat this time. She'd felt really uncomfortable with all those thoughts swirling in her head, so she thought she'd hang outside a little longer, wanting to first clear her head and maybe punch some walls. You know, to release frustration.
When she did get home, though, Cat was nowhere to be seen. And as much as she'd waited, Cat never came back. She didn't want to worry too much the first few hours because Cat does have a habit of getting lost on the way home whenever she's on her own. Besides, she was still feeling awkward from all that unexpected crying. She didn't want to be the first to break the awkwardness. But now it's been nearly six hours and Cat isn't picking up her phone. Embarrassed or not, it was about time Sam started looking for her, except she already did.
She'd tried asking Cat's Nonna, and even Dice and Goomer, but no one knew where Cat went. She had even tried calling up Jade – even though she'd agreed not to talk to her unless Cat was around as well, to avoid another killer tuna fiasco – but even Jade was useless.
The only thing everyone told Sam was to calm down and that Cat would probably be home soon, but she couldn't just calm down, could she? She'd tried eating and napping through the worry, but nothing worked. Sam's just thankful they didn't have children to babysit today, because she'd probably end up making them unconscious or locking them in the closet while she tried pointlessly to look for Cat. She just couldn't function properly until she was sure Cat is safe and in the house.
So there she was, lying on her stomach on the couch, sighing every few minutes because Cat still hasn't replied her twelfth or so text. One of her arms is swung limply over the side of the couch, ready to stop herself from falling or slipping, and the other arm is starting to get cramps, having been rested on by her head for hours now. She was exhausted, physically from all the searching, and emotionally from all the feeling and the opening up she'd done today. All she wants is to sleep, and yet here she is, deprived of that as well.
When the front door finally opened, Sam had expected it to be Dice or Jade or any one of the many people she'd been calling helplessly all night, here to tell her where Cat is or when she'd be back. She hadn't expected Cat herself to stand on the doorway, panting for breath, her usually neat hair all tangled up and messy. Sam pushed herself up on the couch the moment she recognized that breathing.
"Kid!" she exclaims, half annoyed, half relieved. "Where the heck have you been?"
Cat was still gasping for breath – it occurred to Sam she'd been running… from what, or to where, she had no idea – and speaking was still a difficult action to do, but she manages, between short breaths, to reply, "Was – looking – for – Herb!"
Sam frowns, taken aback. "Who the heck's Herb?" She'd wondered if it was another of Cat's artsy friends from Hollywood Arts, another friend she wouldn't know of, but no matter how hard she tried to recall, the name rings no bell.
Cat drags her wobbly feet with evident effort over to the couch and crumples down to an exhausted slouch next to Sam. "The homeless guy – I gave your leather jacket to – this morning."
"What? What leather jacket?"
"Your present – for Yay Day…" Cat mumbles, looking down nervously at her hands.
This is brand new information to Sam, and immediately she is overwhelmed. She didn't think she could bear another minute of talking about Yay Day and the mess that'd resulted from it, but now? It feels like she just got hit by a hammer or something. The tiredness and sleepiness all gone. "You got me a leather jacket for Yay Day?"
Cat sits there, nodding. Her breathing slowing down, her eyes still averted, away from Sam's. "But I couldn't find him, and I searched everywhere."
And she did. She had felt awful about what happened earlier, and she couldn't bear to look Sam in the face again, knowing she had really hurt her this time. She couldn't even get the look Sam gave her in the living room earlier out of her head. It was a look she hated, and feared, because she knew that was how Sam must have looked at her distant mother… and Cat wanted nothing more than to be the opposite of the woman who dared give her daughter a shovel for her ninth birthday. The mere thought of it broke her heart.
And then there was Sam crying in her arms, in the open. Sam, crying! She couldn't believe it and accept it, even though it felt real. Cat never, ever, wants that to happen again. When she put her arms around the blonde that afternoon, all she wanted was to squeeze the sadness out of her, even though she knew it was impossible. She had felt extremely nervous as well, because Sam's head was as close to her chest than it ever was, and she had feared Sam would hear her heartbeat racing and pounding. Before today, it was always her who needed comforting. And now that Sam needed her, she wanted to do the right thing. She wanted to be there for her.
She wanted to turn the day around. There were still a few hours left to the end of Yay Day, and she had thought she still had a chance. But now it's ten minutes to midnight, and she'd already given up, arriving home with no leather jacket in hand. The whole night she had felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, and she knew who it was, but she just couldn't bring herself to pick up because all she wanted was to surprise Sam and see her usual grin on her face. And now she has failed.
"Sam, I'm really sorry! I'm sorry I gave you the dirty pillow for Yay Day!" Cat cries. She can't help it. The tears are really coming down, now, and speaking is even harder when you have to do it in between sobbing. "I'm sorry I made you sad!"
Now it's Sam's turn to put her arms nervously around the distraught redhead. She didn't expect the situation to turn a complete opposite like this, and this fast, too. She pats Cat awkwardly on the head, running her fingers through the tangled hair. "Kid, hey… it's okay… I'm, I'm fine now."
"But I'm a bad person," Cat counters, shaking like mad. "I made you sad when you've been so nice to me!"
"You – you have a snooping problem… It's not your fault," Sam says, rubbing Cat's back a little too hurriedly in a desperate attempt to soothe the girl. "And I'm fine. Really. I'm over it."
But nothing she says can calm Cat down. So the two sat there on the couch, one comforting the other, absorbing and taking in the deep silence periodically punctuated by Cat's sobbing. Hours ago, when the roles were unexpectedly reversed and it was Sam who needed comforting, she had thought that was it. It was her turn to be the dependent one, now. It was Cat's turn to be there to wipe her tears for her because poor Sam can't bear the mere thought of her ugly childhood. But now she realizes that was a wrong thought process.
Sitting there with Cat, trying to stop her from crying, she realizes that the way their dynamics worked isn't supposed to be like that. They are supposed to just be there – comforting and being there for each other whenever necessary. No assumed roles, no embarrassment over the occasional breakdowns. It's supposed to be a two-way thing. Sam realizes that, and is touched by it, because she never in her life would've expected to be a dependable person to anyone.
After about five minutes, Cat's breathing steadies. The sobbing fades into silence. Sam's shoulder is wet with Cat's tears, but she doesn't mind. She looks down to check on her friend, and isn't really surprised to find that Cat had fallen asleep. Right after all that crying.
Cat is no Sam Puckett. She doesn't overthink her breakdowns. She doesn't feel embarrassed about crying. She embraces it. She doesn't let it get in the way of sleeping. And in that moment, Sam wished she could one day have that kind of emotional and mental strength. So she does what she does best, she uses what physical strength she has left, and picks Cat up, slowly and cautiously, not wanting to wake her up.
Tucking Cat into bed feels to Sam just like tucking any other younger kid to bed. It's one thing to try and not make sudden movements - being careful not to wake her up because she knows it'll take more time to get Cat back to sleep - but it's a whole other thing trying to just pull away. Sam is – and has always been – very careful not to lose her patience with the redhead, even though all she wants right now is to drop unconscious and not wake up for about two days, and Cat is getting in the way of that. After the ordeal of getting her pink fuzzy blanket over her body, Cat just wouldn't let her go. Her hand clings desperately to Sam's, and simultaneously, she would whisper and mutter repeated apologies. Her eyes are closed, but she wouldn't stop talking. It was like tucking in a drunk teenager to bed. Except, Sam thinks, Cat's basically drunk on guilt.
Sam doesn't blame her, though. She knows she would herself be feeling like utter crap if it had been her that made Cat cry, and on such a special day as Yay Day. She knows, perhaps to a precise extent, how Cat might be feeling, because what happened today was something she never, ever wanted to happen to Cat. Ever. And as much as Sam wants to keep that grudge on Cat, she just can't bring herself to muster such negativity for the naïve girl.
She had planned on sleeping at the living room tonight, to maintain a physical distance from the redhead for a while, at least until the both of them had forgotten the mess that is Yay Day… at least until the both of them can calm down and look at each other in the face again without feeling guilt or resentment… but now? She just couldn't bear to do it. She knows it would upset and offend Cat, and all she wants right now is to stop Cat from apologizing.
She wasn't lying when she said she was fine. She really was. She didn't care about some leather jacket – even though that would have been a lot better than the pillow – because, well, doesn't she already have a bunch of leather jackets? She just couldn't feel bad about a single leather jacket she never even got to see. When she saw Cat on the doorway just minutes ago, she had felt an immediate rush of relief and gratitude, that Cat was safe, and that she had come home. Because Sam has only one Cat, and that was more important than anything else in the world. The thing about living with Cat, Sam realizes, is that every day is Yay Day. That's the important thing.
That night, hours away from sunrise, Sam did not end up sleeping. She lied down on her side, and listened for the distant breathing at the other end of the room, like an odd lullaby that just wouldn't work. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't keep her eyes closed long enough to start dreaming.
She stiffened instantly when she felt timid movements from somewhere behind her. She let Cat slip into her bed, under her blanket, their bare feet touching and moving away from each other simultaneously. She tried to keep her breathing steady when Cat slips an arm around her, closing what little gap they have left between them. She tried to pretend she was dead asleep, but in truth, she had never felt so awake. She could feel it all, the heat of Cat's body radiating from behind her, Cat's little arm resting snug between her own arm and her waist, curled around her.
"Sam?" Cat's quiet voice calls out. It was a nervous whisper. The single word breathed out, rather than said.
"Hmm?"
It's getting really hard to breathe, for Sam. That's twice in a day she's found herself in Cat's arms. It's too much. It's too soon for another emotional, opening-up-of-the-self moment between them.
"You know I care about you, right?"
"Hmm…"
"I would give you anything you wanted in the whole world, if I could… you know that, right?"
"Hmm."
The two lie quietly in the silence, both unable to see each other's faces, both very awake, both barely breathing, both thinking a variety of thoughts, all eventually leading to the thought of each other. Branches of streams leading to the same ocean. The dead end that makes them feel very much alive.
The question of whether or not their friendship has evolved to "the next level" has always bothered them whenever they were alone in a crowd and thinking of each other. To Sam, her friendship with Cat had quickly filled a void she never thought she would have to deal with. To Cat, Sam was enough reason to forget about what voids she does have. She would always think of her family's absence, and her Nonna's abrupt abandonment, but Sam made them feel like mere part-time miseries as opposed to gaping voids that needed filling.
Cat would never be a replacement to Carly, and everyone knows Sam isn't exactly the perfect substitute for family especially for Cat, but both girls revel in the incompleteness of their peers, hardly minding the flaws others would normally point out in them. They are perfect for each other in the sense that both are just lonely people in need of that occasional hug and that one person who would stay and be there for them, even on bad days. Even when they're being bad.
They couldn't figure out if it was love, or just the sudden feeling of being plunged into a seemingly random friendship that just clicks. But over the past few months, they had noticed this closeness to each other. They had learnt to tolerate each other's drawbacks, and even learnt to love and enjoy them, because whether or not it was intentional, they balanced out each other's equations. They became protective of each other, probably a little too much for sisterly love, and even jealousy prone… a little too much even for best friends.
And so out of fear and timidity, and perhaps a little naivety, the two girls simply held on to the mutual belief that they are just friends. For now, they believe, it's enough just having each other. And they don't know if it's love, or just really great friendship, but they know they like each other. And that's all they need for the night.
"Sam?"
"Yeah, Cat?"
A long exhalation. A decisive sigh. And then, "Thank you, for not hating me like you hate most people."
In the muffled darkness, Sam's hand finds its way to Cat's. She gives it the lightest, slightest squeeze, and replies, "Thank you for tolerating me."
And just like that, like a magic trick, the two sighed and slowly drifted to sleep. Both very relieved, both unable to see the little grateful smiles on each other's faces. Both amused by the fact that they could find so many different ways to say "I love you" and understand them. Both glad that they have each other to hold onto on nights like this.
…
The next morning, Sam would find her Yay Day note pinned carefully above Cat's bed. The handwritten note looking out of place among the hearts and the pink.
She would also find the heaviness from yesterday all gone. The thoughts of opening crappy gifts from her childhood all gone. That smirk on her mother's face, gone.
She would walk out of their room to find Cat busy in the kitchen, making lots and lots of meatballs. Cat would beam at the blonde and tell her she had picked them from a special tree.
Sam would bark at Dice and Goomer when they enter, asking if they could have some of her meatballs. Cat would look adoringly at Sam, praising her hostility.
The two would walk outside all day, wandering aimlessly, their arms linked, trying to find Herb to give him his dirty pillow back.
The two would stumble on the mischievous crack on the sidewalk, and Sam would catch Cat before the two could hit the ground. They would laugh as they realize how stupid they must have looked.
The two would be glad that they are friends, and they would say it at nearly the same time, and mean it with all their heart. Earnest and honest and hopeful. Hopeful for whichever direction their friendship is bound to go.
Cat would put her arms around Sam, and linger a few milliseconds longer than she usually does, and Sam would notice.
And Sam wouldn't mind.
I'm sorry if none of this made much sense. I didn't really know where to take this when I started writing it, but I knew I wanted to write a follow-up to the beauty that was the YayDay episode.