She picks up on the third ring, lifting the phone with her pinky and thumb and placing it strategically between her shoulder and her chin. She is sweating, her hair is all over her forehead, there are slim chunks of meat on her hands, and she is in the middle of chopping onions.
All of that, and… "Yes?" she breathes kindly into the phone, moving back over to the kitchen counter.
"Hey, blondie," her best friend answers her.
"Hey, Carly. What's up?"
"Just got finished looking after Gabe yet again. He is getting to be such a hassle in his Oshkosh B'gosh overalls. I think he's trying to be like you when he grows up."
Sam laughs. "Better keep those home videos away from him."
"Oh, I know. You're the epitome of girl gone bad," she says, sarcastically.
Sam hums into the receiver.
"I was starting to create a new video of him saying all of our names in alphabetical order, but the little spawn threw a fit because all he wanted to do was drool over the camera lens."
"Well, it's obvious that he's hungry! Do you guys feed the baby?"
"He is a big boy."
"Big boys have to eat, too, Carly."
"Speaking of eating, what is that you're making? I can smell it over the phone line."
Sam laughed, rinsed her hands and adjusted the phone on her shoulder. "Just some spaghetti."
Carly sighs. "Where were your cooking skills when I needed them on the nights that Spencer went out on dates or was covered in paint?"
"Lying dormant until I was living on my own and forced to use them," she answers. "To be honest, I had so much time on my hands when I first moved into this place that I had no choice but to read something. So I figured, why not read something with yummy things in it?"
Sam can practically hear the fond expression Carly gets on her face. "Still. You need to get your butt over here and cook me a three-course meal."
"Soon," Sam laughs.
"No, you should come now. At least, while Freddie's here so I can feel like I have some of my old life back."
Sam chokes on air. "Freddie's in Seattle?"
"Yeah, he came early this morning, and Ms. Benson immediately threw him in a tick bath." Carly laughs, but Sam doesn't feel like laughing, so she doesn't.
Instead, she says with not a little bit of scorn, "Is he begging you back yet?"
"Sam," Carly hiccups on a laugh. "Need I remind you that he broke up with me?"
"Okay, and?" Sam voices. "The two of you have got a messed up relationship. No one knows if you're on, off, or who really wants who..."
"Sam, I assure you, we are not interested in one another. Besides, I've got Kevin."
"A boyfriend never stopped him from groveling over you bef—"
"Besides, I've got Kevin," Carly repeats, raising her voice over Sam's. "I've got Kevin and he is adorable and funny and totally sweet, and do you want to know what he did on our one year anniversary last week?"
Sam sits down at the table as Carly takes over the conversation, speaking of her 'totally awesome, totally cool' boyfriend and her interview to become a TV personality with Seattle Beat, while she fights back against the churning in her stomach. It's odd, she knows, she shouldn't feel this way from just one mention of his name, but she can't help herself. She leans her head down on the table and focuses on taking deep breaths.
By the time that Carly is done speaking, the strings are done boiling and Sam is straining them, the heat making her hair stick to her forehead once again.
"How are you and Rick doing?"
Sam hurriedly swallows back the guilt of lying to her best friend, and answers shortly, "Good. We're alright."
Carly hums, but doesn't press the matter.
And it's not like Sam wants to lie, but she doesn't want to make Carly sick with worry. If Carly knew that she were here, basically alone, with no love interest—which would be, like, a crime to the brunette—Sam has no doubt in her mind that Carly would mail her a ticket to the next flight to Seattle.
She just didn't want for Carly to worry.
"I think Spencer is regressing," she says after a long moment of silence.
"Why is that?"
"Because he's swearing up and down that he sees Gibby in that little monster. I'd like to think differently."
"But he kind of does look like Gibby," Sam says, licking her fingers. "Could you imagine you and Gibby having a baby? It would look just like Gabe."
There's a long pause on the phone and Sam hears faint shifting before Carly breathes, "Sam, never let that thought cross your mind ever again."
Sam snorts and digs into her spaghetti. "You know what this food needs?"
Carly takes her time answering, and when she does, Sam can hear the hesitance in her voice. "What?"
"Some tacos."
And then Carly laughs, and Sam laughs. And for a minute, she feels happy again.
::: ::: ::: :::
Sam wakes up to the faint sound of music playing underneath the sound of a disconnected phone call. She lifts her head off of the living room floor and grabs the phone, scrubbing a hand across her mouth as she presses the end button.
Her neck is stiff, her back is stiff, and her mouth feels full of cotton. She should have known that falling asleep in the living room on the phone with Carly would be a bad idea.
Sam groans as she palms the back of her head and stumbles to her feet. She takes long shower, sighing as the kinks in her neck are massaged underneath the hard spray. After having a cup of coffee and a slice of toast, Sam pulls on her jacket before leaving the apartment, making sure to lock the door behind her. She takes the steps two at a time and leaves the apartment building. She pulls her jacket tighter across her chest.
It is February, cold, and Sam can see her breath billowing before her in a smoky cloud.
She blows into her hands when she's seated in her car and turns the key in the ignition. Before she pulls out of her parking spot, she looks into the streaked overhead mirror, takes in the sight of her wide eyes and pale pink lips, her hair hastily brushed back into a sloppy ponytail.
If only he could see me now, she thought wryly. If only she were to take Carly's invitation up to go to Seattle for the week. Joke with Spencer, hug her mother, play with Gabe. Have her spirit crushed again by Freddie Benson.
"No," she breathed. She knew that she wasn't going to go to Seattle. She didn't think she'd be able to handle seeing him again.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before shifting her car into gear and driving off.
::: ::: ::: :::
Sam had to knock on his door four times before he finally opened it. He stared out at her from the small opening in his door, eyes red and warm. He smiled.
"What can I do for you, Samantha Puckett?"
Sam brings her hand from behind her back, a vegetable held in her fist. "Got you a cucumber," she says.
His eyes light up and he laughs, throwing his door open wide. "Just what I needed. How did you know?"
"Because you asked me to pick one up for you after work."
He lets her in his apartment, walks down the hall to the kitchen, calling, "You're just in time for my special gumbo soup."
"Thanks, Earl. I'm starving," Sam replies, and takes a seat at the tall table right as Earl places a bowl in front of her. She smiles politely and nods her head, raking fingers through too-blonde hair as Earl talks about one thing or another—his memories at home growing up, the last wife that left him, the weather and what it could mean for the youth who decided to stay cooped up in their rooms playing video games. He calls global warming nonsense and says some other things, but Sam can hardly understand him through the thick accent he has.
Her food has long gone cold when Earl stretches and ambles over to the drawer in the counter, rifling through its contents. "Thank you for keeping me company, Miss Puckett," he says in that gravelly voice he has.
"No problem," Sam shrugs.
Earl turns around and in his hand is a small baggie of hash. It takes a lot of her willpower, but Sam manages to shake her head when he stretches it toward her,
"No thanks," Sam says around a yawn, and makes a show of looking out the window to the darkening sky.
Earl quirks a brow. "Oh, come on, it's the least I could do for being blessed with company from a beautiful girl."
"I…" She wants her mind to go blank, to travel anywhere and nowhere, to finally let go after a long day of work and worries. She stands up. "I shouldn't."
Earl nods, tells her goodnight when she makes to leave for the door. Once she's back in her apartment, Sam leans on the door for a few minutes. Then she pulls herself together and turns on the stereo. She doesn't know what song is playing, doesn't really care, just lets the tune soothe her.
She sleeps fitfully that night.