Stepping through the front doors of Bushwell Plaza was both foreign and familiar to Freddie. He had known that his mother lived here, as did Carly, which in all honesty had almost kept him from coming, but the hope of another potential memory jolt was too alluring. Looking around the lobby, Freddie noticed a rather dour-looking man behind the desk who had a rather large blemish of sorts on his face. The man gave off a vibe that screamed, leave me alone, and Freddie trusted his instincts there; he had already known where to go anyway, having jotted down his mother's apartment number in the notes app of his pear-phone. Stepping quickly through the lobby, Freddie entered the elevator that two firefighters peculiarly had just exited, "I never thought I'd be back in that apartment." Strangely enough, hearing the fireman's comment as they walked past him triggered something familiar, though precisely what it was, Freddie was uncertain. Pressing the eighth-floor button, Freddie tossed the fleeting memory away and waited for the doors to open at his destination.
Stepping out, Freddie was immediately taken by just how familiar it looked to him; it seemed so recognizable that he found himself wandering the hallway instead of knocking on his mother's door. One area, in particular, was even unmistakable to him, the fire escape, which he had already gained a vague memory of previously; a smile found its way to his face as he passed by. After walking the entirety of the floor, there was only one apartment that gave Freddie a comfortable feeling, but it wasn't Marissa's. This odd feeling caused several questions to race through his mind. Why did he feel more at ease looking at 8-C and not his own mother's? Who lived there, and most importantly, why was 8-C so damned familiar? These questions would have to wait for another day. He was there to see his 'mother,' the one person that should be the most memorable for him.
Turning back to face the door of 8-D, Freddie chuckled at the apartment name-plate that looked oddly like a piece of the male anatomy. "I wonder if they realize what that looks like," he thought to himself. Shrugging it off, Freddie knocked on the door. "Who is it?" came a voice that was familiar, but only in the deepest part of his mind. "It's Freddie," he replied, almost adding 'mom,' but stopping just short; after all, he didn't remember her. The door then swung open, exposing Marissa's broad smile, "Freddie?! Oh my Freddie!" she greeted him with excitement, "You finally came to see your mother!" His unexpected appearance got the best of his mother at that moment, and she embraced him without warning. Freddie fought the impulse to push her off, so instead, he let her continue, opting not to reciprocate the gesture. If this woman was his mother, then why did he find the thought of her touching him in any way distasteful? Perhaps it stemmed from the fact they had hardly spoken since he last saw her in the hospital. She was very much aware of the lack of memory that still plagued him, yet she embraced him as if everything was completely normal, and it honestly irked Freddie.
"I'm so happy to see you, Freddie!" his mother said, letting him go, "I was beginning to think you might never speak to me anymore." Freddie had a few things in mind he could say, but he didn't want to be rude, so he spat out the most pleasant thing he could think of at the moment, "It's been hard adjusting, not being able to remember everyone and everything that I had before is infuriating. I think with more time, I'll be able to recall more." His mother nodded, not enthused with that statement, but the fact that he was there at all was still encouraging; after all, he had been declining her invitations to come over since he had returned home. "I see, well, I am still glad to see you, my dear," she said, "I miss you." Freddie nodded only as a nicety.
"Would you like to come in?" she offered to her son. "If that's okay with you?" Freddie replied. "Of course!" she spoke while moving to the side to allow access. "Thank you," he paused, this time deciding to add "mom" to the end of his statement, though it ended up sounding more forced than genuine. Not only did it leave a bad taste in her son's mouth, but it left an awkwardness looming between them that Freddie desperately wished he hadn't initiated. Marissa sat down on the sofa in the middle of the living room, "Please, have a seat," she said, patting the cushion next to her, hoping Freddie might sit there. She watched Freddie glance back and forth between the opposite end of the couch and the recliner that though close enough to carry on a conversation, was also the furthest he could be from her. Sadly, but not surprisingly, Freddie chose the recliner, but his mother pressed on.
"So, what made you change your mind about coming? Was there anything specific you wanted to talk about?" his mother asked. "Well, I uh," Freddie looked around the apartment as he spoke, his attention falling on the many pictures on the wall under a sign that read 'Family,' "I was hoping that visiting might jog a bit more of my memory." Marissa watched intently as Freddie's eyes scanned the decor. "I'm guessing by all the photos that you and I were very close?" he asked, the sheer number of images troubling to him. Marissa's smile dimmed somewhat by the way Freddie had worded his question, "Yes, we a.., were very close," she responded.
At that moment, the realization dawned on Freddie that the number of photos wasn't what bothered him. "If we were so close," he began, his face hardening with every word, "you've got pictures of you, me, Lexi, Ethan, Evan, and a few people I don't recognize." Confusion set on Marissa's features, "I, I don't understand," she replied. Freddie stood up, "That sign says 'Family,' if we were as close as you say," pausing to move closer to the photos, "then why are there no pictures of Sam? Are you not close to her? Sam is family, isn't she?" Marissa nodded. "Of course, she is." Marissa had the pictures that Freddie had asked about but could never bring herself to put them up. "Then why aren't they up there?" "You still haven't accepted Sam, have you? After all the years we've been together, you still see her as, a, a," he stumbled for a second before something popped into his head, "some gutter girl, the one who stole your little boy," he finished, anger starting to well up inside.
"I think that is why I don't remember you. You must have done something detrimental to my relationship with Sam." Now Marissa was mad, mad at herself. Freddie was correct; she had tried multiple times to break them up but failed each time. If anything, their love for each other grew more potent for each other after each attempt. "I think this may have been a bad idea," Freddie said, taking a few steps towards the door, "I'm sorry, I hoped that coming here might've helped me remember you, but now I'm not sure I want to." Closing the distance between himself and the door, Freddie turned back to Marissa, "Goodbye, Ms. Benson," he said as the door closed. Inhaling deeply, Freddie turned to leave and once again caught sight of the door for 8-C. He felt an overwhelming urge to walk through said door, but even though it felt so familiar, he didn't know who lived there, or did he? The thought of knocking crossed his mind, but with what had transpired with his mother, he felt drained and just wanted to go home.
Arriving home, Freddie found Sam in the living room watching something with the kids. No sooner had he walked in that Sam could tell something was wrong. She was about to say something when Lexi saw Freddie as well, "Daddy's home!" she exclaimed before jumping off the couch and barrelling towards him. Putting on his best smile, Freddie scooped up Lexi and hugged her, "Hey there, doodlebug!" he exclaimed as she giggled in his arms. Ethan and Evan weren't far behind, with Ethan grabbing Freddie's right leg and Evan grabbing the left. "Whoa, there, boys!" Freddie said as the twins almost knocked their father off his feet. Sam stepped over to her husband, leaned in close, "Do you want to talk about it?" she whispered in his ear. He didn't want to, but knew talking might help, so a reluctant nod was all he could muster after the trip to Bushwell; to say it was draining was an understatement. "Alright, kiddos, I think it's time for you three to get ready for bed."
All three kids groaned in response, earning a quick grin from both parents, "You heard mommy, let's go," Freddie said, hugging Lexi. Once he released her, Lexi scampered upstairs while Freddie removed both boys from his person, handed Evan to Sam, then picked up Ethan before heading upstairs as well. "Why don't you check-in on Lexi, and I'll get the boys ready?" Freddie said, putting his free arm out for Evan. "Here you go," Sam replied, passing over her passenger, "I'll meet you in our room after you get these two in bed. Night thing one and thing two," she said, earning a laugh from both boys and Freddie before disappearing into the twin's room. Neither parent was able to get away without reading a story. Lexi insisted on her favorite 'The Goodnight Train,' while the twins wanted Boogie Bear. Once they had finished the books and all three children tucked in, Sam and Freddie retired to their bedroom.
Sam, being the first one to the room, was changing for bed when Freddie entered. Seeing his heavily pregnant wife change for bed still had a considerable effect on him. Freddie let out a wolf-whistle as he stepped fully into the room, 'damn, she is gorgeous,' he thought to himself, his legs moving him close enough to wrap Sam in his arms. "Hey there, pretty lady," he whispered in her ear, eliciting a moan of delight before trailing several kisses up and down the side of her neck. Though she wanted to let him continue, Sam spun around to face Freddie, "Hold your horses' big boy. Before you get yourself too worked up, tell me what happened at your mom's? You seemed upset, angry, or maybe both." A deep sign emanated from Freddie, "Would you believe me if I said it didn't go well?"
"Oh, I'd believe that," she paused, pulling him closer as for a kiss, stopping just as her lips brushed his, "but there's still the little issue of that not answering my question." Freddie groaned before spending the next ten minutes recounting the events that transpired earlier that evening. The fact that Freddie called Marissa out about there being no pictures of her made Sam feel, well, she wasn't sure how to feel. That was something she wanted him to do for years, but not like this. Freddie had gone over there in hopes that it would help with his memory, which appeared unlikely. "I'm sorry your visit didn't go the way you wanted it to..," Freddie cut her off, "you know that's the damnedest thing, Sam; I don't know how I wanted it to go."
That remark caught Sam off guard, "I thought you went over there to try and jog your memory?" "I did, or I thought I had, but once I got there," he trailed off momentarily, "there was something about her and that place. I know that I lived there, but it felt unfamiliar, alien to me." The look on his face told Sam that there was a question he wanted to ask, but not sure if he could or should. "Listen, nub," Sam began, hoping to lighten the moment, "whatever question you have rattling around in the head of yours, ask it." Freddie was still hesitant, "Look, if you're afraid that I'll be mad or something, I promise that I won't be." Shaking his head, "it's not you that I'm worried about; it's me."