This is a bit longer. Thank you reviewers and readers!
Planning
Freddie is fencing against Spencer, their blades swirling around each other as they lung and duck and dodge in some kind of strange dance.
Spencer is rusty, as he hasn't practiced in a while, let alone with Freddie; who has the advantage of teaching an advanced fencing class three days a week every other week. Freddie whips around, expertly tapping Spencer, and their third match ends. Freddie holds up his hand, signaling a break, and tugs off his mask. He's panting for breath, and looks over at Spencer, who has also removed his mask and isn't faring much better.
"Good game," Freddie gasps, heading over to the bench and his water bottle. He drains half of it and pours some of it into his hand, splashing it onto his head.
"You…too…" Spencer wheezes, stumbling over to the bench.
In his thirties now, Spencer is married to a super-nice, dedicated, and very pregnant preschool teacher. It's harder to hang out with Spencer because he's a die-hard family man now, and is dedicated to catering to his wife's random food cravings and mood swings. Spencer, though older, is still very spastic and passionate about his art.
Freddie likes Spencer's wife. She's pretty and an enthusiastic art lover. She is also very calm. Freddie thinks they balance each other out very nicely. They work off of each other's strengths and help each other with their weaknesses. They're happy indeed, still acting like they just returned from their honeymoon.
Freddie then thinks that he's been thinking too much about his friends' marriages lately; probably because of his own goal to propose to Sam.
Freddie shakes the thought off and concentrates on Spencer, asking him questions about his art in between gulps of water and recovering their breath. Spencer responds easily. His art is gaining much more notoriety all over the world now, not just in America, where his name is well-known; Spencer is almost a household name, especially after the macaroni-cashew statue of an eagle he had given to the president.
Freddie finally runs out of questions, and they sit there, drinking water and idly watching the other people in the large gym perform various exercises and sports practices.
Then Spencer says, "So, when are you and Sam tying the knot?"
Freddie, in a supremely graceful move—that would have had Sam making fun of him for months if she had seen it—pits out his sip of water. Sputtering, he turns to Spencer but is so shocked that he merely gapes in confusion and question.
Spencer smiles and him and pats him on the back.
"Proposing's tough," he says sympathetically. "I was a mess before I worked up the nerve to ask." He scratches his head and stares up at the ceiling. "In fact, it took me four months to ask. In the end, I just got down on a knee and stared up at her. I couldn't say anything. She figured it out and said yes though, so it was all good." He shakes his head, smiling at the memory. "She'd known I was going to ask for two months and was fed up. But she said yes."
Freddie looks at him incredulously.
"What?" Spencer asks, oblivious.
"That's supposed to make me feel better?" Freddie cries in frustration, new doubts joining his old, resurfacing ones. "As if my nerves weren't bad enough!" He cradles his head in his hands, groaning lowly.
Spencer shrugs. "Well, at least I didn't have to propose to Sam," he chuckles. "I'd be too afraid she'd rip my head off and shove the ring down my throat."
Freddie groans again, louder, and Spencer seems to finally realize he is not helping.
He chatters on with helpful tips and meaningless prattle until Freddie no longer looks like he's going to throw himself off a bridge. They go for a few more rounds of fencing, Freddie proving that "the grasshopper has surpassed the master", in Spencer's words; until they're both drooping from exhaustion.
They gather their gear and make plans to get together for dinner with their girls in a few weeks. Spencer says he will make his famous spaghetti-tacos, and Freddie laughs uncertainly, not sure if Spencer is joking or not. Freddie promises he will back Spencer up on not naming Spencer and his wife's baby Sylvester-Pedro, and then he is driving back home; sweaty from the fencing and listening to the CD of a screaming band Sam had left in.
On the way, his phone rings, and Freddie frowns. He is stuck at a notoriously long red light, so he supposes it won't hurt to answer his phone. So he hurriedly takes out his phone and states politely, "Hello, this is Freddie Benson." He had used to just say 'hello', but then he had received too many angry, loud wrong callers—apparently some guy with a similar phone number had a lot of furious ex-girlfriends, ex-wives, and relatives—so Freddie now answers with his first name.
Sometimes, though, that doesn't dissuade the angriest callers, who think he's faking it to avoid them. It takes Freddie a while to convince them otherwise, and by then he is nearly deaf in one ear.
"Hi, Freddie!" a perky, female voice chirps. Besides being perky and happy and slightly higher-pitched, the voice is identical to Sam's. Freddie knows automatically who it is.
"Hey, Melanie," Freddie says, smiling reflexively. He likes Melanie, even if he had never been into her. It had not taken Freddie long to realize his interest in Melanie had been because he thought she had been Sam. Melanie's cool, but she isn't Sam, for all they look alike. "How have you been?" he asks politely, because it has been a while since he had talked to Melanie.
Melanie chatters on about her job for a bit. She's working in PR (Public Relations), for a world renowned, famous celebrity actress. Melanie travels all over and her hours are insane, but she loves it. Melanie gets to see and converse with celebrities nearly everyday, and she works with clothes. Melanie had debated being a clothing designer, but had given up after realizing how lonely it could become. Freddie thinks Melanie has chosen the perfect job, but worries about what will happen when Melanie gets older. She won't be able to work her job and raise a family.
Freddie doesn't plague her with questions about this, however. It's not his place and Melanie is like Sam in the respect she takes care of herself. Plus Freddie is pretty sure that the equally famous singer brother of the actress Melanie works for is thoroughly infatuated and in love with Melanie, who is painfully oblivious. Freddie is positive that when the singer gathers up enough courage to make a move on Melanie, the two will fall deeply in love and Melanie will be able to quiet her job. The famous singer has quite a lot of money already, and is making more and more everyday.
After a few minutes, Melanie's update on her life is done and she inquires, "So, how are you?"
"I'm doing well," he says distractedly. "Fred-ville is really picking up, and there's less work for me and the guys to do since we've hired a new wave of employees." Freddie has one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the phone.
He's trying to remember if it's illegal to talk on the phone while driving. He's nervous, because he remembers a few no-cell-phones-while-driving bills being made, but doesn't know whether they had been passed. He decides to risk it. He has a clean record anyway—which is more than Sam can say.
"That's great," Melanie replies sincerely. Freddie has never met someone so genuinely nice; and that such a person looks like Sam is disconcerting and almost disturbing. "I'm glad things are working out for your company. So, how's my sis doing?" she asks warily, knowing how Sam could be 'fine' or 'in jail, it's nothing big, just a bar fight she started and finished, I'm going to pay her bail now' or 'I'm helping her escape from some angry families; apparently she was so hungry she ate their picnic food too'.
Freddie grins, because Sam has been relatively tame in the past few weeks. He hopes it's a turning point and that Sam is finally growing up. He hopes, because if they get married and if they have children, he doesn't want Sam going to the principal's office alongside their kids. "She's doing great," Freddie says happily, "Rhonda got her a deal and now Sam's going to have her own show."
Melanie gasps joyfully, knowing how much having a show will mean to Sam. "Oh, tell her congrats. And that I'm mad she didn't call and tell me," Melanie says, but everyone knows Melanie could never get mad at Sam, especially when Sam's inability to remember to call people. "Oh, and I meant to ask, because Carly called me…" she trails off.
Freddie braces himself. "And?" he asks warily.
"Omigawd!" Melanie squeals without warning, and Freddie winces at the loud, piercing sound. "She texted me, and I think it's so amazing, and the ring is so perfect, so Sam, and Sam's going to love it, and you guys are going to be so, so happy because you're absolutely perfect for each other and Sam loves you so much and you love her and this is so amazingly perfect I might cry!"
Freddie's trying to decide if this is an uncharacteristic outburst, and then remembers that all girls act a little loopy and insane whenever something involves weddings. So he grins uneasily and says uncertainly, "Thanks?"
Melanie just squeals. "Tell me when you're official!" she giggles excitedly. "I can't wait! Oh, and I have to help plan the wedding, and the bridal shower, and the bachelorette party—Carly will be the Maid of Honor, I'm sure, but I will be a bridesmaid or else…" she mutters, already thinking of the future, and it hasn't even crossed her mind that Sam could say no. Freddie wishes he could be so confidant in Sam's answer.
Freddie clears his throat, cutting off Melanie's pondering of whether or not Aunt Maggie—Freddie had met her once, and her fake boobs really were very unreal and very hard not to stare at; Freddie hadn't even been sure if his fascination had been male instinct or horror—should be invited after a comment she had made some months ago that had really been quite rude and offensive. Freddie is lost and confused, which Spencer had once told him when the older man had been engaged, which is the natural state of a man who is involved with a wedding.
"You're coming over next week, right?" Freddie asks, to be sure. Sam had made the plans, so he doesn't quite trust that everything's concrete. "Thursday night, for some meatloaf or whatever Sam's in the mood for."
"Of course," Melanie agrees, and her voice isn't as high-pitched in excitement as it had been. "Sam mentioned it, but I wasn't sure if she meant it or it was official until now." Freddie has always been the more dependable one, mostly because Sam never bothers to remember anything she doesn't deem 'important'.
"Alright, so plan on it," Freddie grins and parks in front of his apartment building. He cuts the engine off. "I'll see you then."
"That sounds great," Melanie says, sensing Freddie is getting ready to hang up. She adds suddenly, "Call me the second she says yes! Or, you know, the next moment after you're engaged you have free time. But tell me, promise?"
"Okay, okay," Freddie agrees, chuckling at how serious Melanie sounds. "I will. But promise you won't tell Sam and ruin the surprise." And so she won't run off, he thinks to himself quietly. "I already made Carly swear on Spencer's 'Ode to Carly' statue."
Melanie laughs. "I can't top that. But I swear on my hair," she half-jokes. Then she adds, just in case Freddie doesn't believe her, "I won't speak a word, Freddie. I promise."
Freddie is inexplicably relieved. He believes that made if he can completely surprise Sam, she'll be so shocked she'll say yes; or something like that. "Thanks, Melanie," he says. "I'll talk to you later. Don't forget about Thursday."
"I won't. And don't forget—call me. Right after!" Melanie orders as Freddie hangs up.
He exits the car, shouldering his fencing bag, sliding his phone into his pocket; he heads into the apartment building with a smile on his face, a ring on his mind, and a Sam in his future.
