This chapter is more development than action; no relationship is perfect or easy, after all.
Panicking
Freddie is dressed and ready to go two hours early.
Restless, he watches some TV and gets up before the fist commercial break. He cleans the kitchen sinks and dusts behind the fridge. He likes to think he's different than his mom, but in some respects she has rubbed off on him irreversibly. Old habits die hard, and inherited habits die even harder. Freddie is considering dusting the ceiling in the kitchen—random, needless, and potentially dangerous, especially if he stands on the wobbly stool to do it—when he snaps out of it.
He realizes immediately how silly he's being and how his nerves are affecting him. Freddie sits on the couch and breathes in and out, trying to recall the yoga lessons his mother had dragged him to when he had been much younger. He remembers a little bit, and improvises the rest. Slowly, the impulse to clean everything in sight and do something productive fades. Freddie is relieved. But when need-to-clean is forced down, it is replaced by fierce, nervous anxiety.
Freddie nearly has a panic attack, sitting there on the couch. Gasping for air, he clutches the nearest thing available—the orange octopus toy—and attempts to calm himself down. He decides he cannot avoid it. He closes his mouth and breathes in sharply through his nose, facing the truth: he is going to propose to Sam tonight.
He is going to propose to Sam tonight.
He, Freddie Benson,is going to propose to Samantha Puckett tonight.
Freddie lets out a small whimper and presses his face into his hands, feeling wretched. He's never been particularly confidant, especially when it comes to Sam. He doesn't know where he stands with her, and that undermines any certainty he has. Sometimes when he kisses her, Freddie's not sure if Sam is going to push him away or drag him closer. Sometimes, he's not sure which one he would prefer. He loves Sam, and in a distant part of his mind knows she loves him back.
But this is such a big step. It is far bigger than just moving in together, which had happened on its own. Moving in had been natural. They had already been dating a few years, and they had gotten out of college. They had been going to live in the same city, why not live together? At first, though, Sam had crashed at Carly's. Freddie had managed to find his own apartment. Then, slowly, Sam had 'accidentally' left or actually forgotten things at his apartment; until she had to come over to get dressed and brush her teeth. She had stayed over so often, that at some point she had just stopped leaving.
Freddie sucks in a deep breath and stares down at the orange octopus toy despairingly. "What am I going to do?" he asks it desperately, wishing it had the answer.
The orange octopus, however, did not answer him.
Sighing, Freddie sets the octopus back down on the couch and goes into the bedroom to change. He comes out a moment later, high-tailing it to the fridge. He opens the freezer and immediately spots the Tupperware. It's untouched, but the bag of tatter tots next to it has not been so lucky. Freddie shakes his head, smiling fondly at the half-eaten tatter tot bag—there is no question, Sam definitely had eaten it—as he takes out the Tupperware. He pops the top off, shedding the 'healthy' Fatty Cake wrapper, and stares down at the velvet box. Freddie thinks about ditching the Tupperware and wrapper, but at the last moment places them in an odd drawer that contains cooking oils and flour.
He heads into the bedroom to change his clothes. When it comes to dressing, Freddie is like a girl. He likes to dress for the occasion. But he isn't sure what a proposing outfit is. Freddie searches through his closet. Sam could walk around with a toga or chicken suit on and be comfortable. Freddie dresses, and dressing in the right way adds to his confidence. And Freddie wants to be confidant for this. He thinks about the restaurant, peering at three outfits he has spread out on the bed.
Burke's is a French restaurant. People come in jeans and dresses and jackets. There is no real dress code. It's a mixture, which frustrates Freddie because he has no clue what to wear. Burke's is not too fancy, not too expensive—but the food is amazing and Sam is in love with the bread. She has never admitted to loving the bread, but the way she demolishes two bread baskets on her own speaks for itself. Freddie brings Sam there often, because she loves it, but spaces the visits out evenly enough that they never become sick of the food.
The waiters all know Sam and Freddie, and Freddie likes to think they're favorite customers. Freddie has a suspicion it's because Sam eats so much, and the bill is always a tidy sum, but Freddie likes to leave good tips. He has the money, and he isn't just throwing it around; he knows what it's like to be a teenager hurting for some spending money.
Plus, Freddie always feels bad for waiters. Sam's brief stint at that chili place has left an impression on him, though she seems to have forgotten about it (she does however consume her chili viciously, stabbing at the innocent food more than called for). The least he figures he can do is giving them the proper tip. The waiters are friendly to them every time they return, and even sneak Sam extra butter and give them a free appetizer.
Freddie inhales sharply and makes a decision. He goes with the tradition Fredward Benson garb—a white t-shirt underneath a dark blue and red striped polo. He slips on his jeans with it and tells himself firmly that this is the outfit. If he over thinks it, he will never get out the door. Freddie takes a few calming breathes as he slips the velvet box inside his jeans' pocket. His jeans are loose enough that the box is hidden; if anyone looks too close—which no one should, unless they're checking him out, something Sam is an expert at stopping—they will assume it is a wallet.
He looks at the clock and is slightly disappointed to see he still has time to kill. He sits on the couch with the orange octopus for company; he watches a little bit of Rumor Girl before becoming bored. He switches to a random doctor show. Freddie watches half-paying attention. He can't stop his mind from racing through all of the possibilities, from imagining everything that could go wrong. Sam saying now is the prevalent theme in all of these dark futures. Freddie runs a hand through his hair and groans lowly, wondering if all men proposing go through this.
He almost wishes Sam would just propose, but he knows she won't. Sam doesn't like to admit to needing anyone else, and she probably sees proposing as that. Plus, though he may act feminine in some aspects, Freddie does have male pride. He's traditional—as his mom had raised him to be; he politely opens doors for women and smiles at old grandmothers he passes in the street—and wants to ask Sam.
Freddie finally resorts to flicking through the channels as fast as he can, just to distract himself. He's more nervous than the time he had to kiss Sam (where it all began) or the time he had to give a speech to his graduating class (valedictorian, he had barely beat Carly) or the time he had worked up the courage to hold Sam's hand (on their first date—she had punched him on the shoulder for it, had insulted him, and later on had grabbed his hand when she thought he hadn't been paying attention). Freddie closes his eyes and pictures Sam's face. She's smiling, she's smirking, she's scowling, she's looking up at the sky, she's eyeing his food, and finally, Freddie favorite, she's pretending to be mad at him but her eyes are laughing, laughing as she gently slaps him on his head and hugs him in the next moment.
He's smiling, and suddenly his panic vanishes. Freddie is comforted by thinking of Sam. She means so much to him, enough that he's willing to take the leap, to risk asking her to marry him. Freddie stands up, nods to the octopus, and grabs his keys off the counter. He's early. Freddie heads out the door anyway. He's waited for Sam a lot in his life, even before they had started dating, and Freddie is willing to wait as long as it takes. He gets into Sam's car, because Sam is still out in his, and starts driving. He'll get there a few minutes early. Sam is always late anyway.
But two hours later, Freddie is sitting in a quiet, secluded booth detached from the rest of the restaurant, and Sam is still not there. He looks at his watch every few minutes, growing more and more agitated and worried and annoyed as every minute passes. He had told Sam the time. She had heard him. Freddie waves away another waiter, more curtly than he would have if he had been in a better mood. The waiter isn't offended. Instead, she shoots Freddie a concerned look and retreats. The staff knows Freddie and Sam. They've seen Sam arrive half an hour late; they've seen her eat more food than possible. But they've never witnessed Sam being this late.
Neither has Freddie.
He checks his phone, but there are no messages. He double-checks the apartment messaging machine, but there's nothing there either. Freddie frowns, trying not to feel hurt. He knows Sam isn't doing this on purpose, but it stings anyway. He had thought he had been important enough to Sam that she would remember to be on time to one dinner. Freddie sips at his water. He pauses, conviction striking him, and he waves over a hovering waiter. The young waiter looks at Freddie expectantly.
Freddie orders an alcoholic beverage. "Hurry, please," Freddie says wearily.
The waiter nods and runs off to place Freddie's order. Some of the waiting staff hadn't known who Freddie was. They had thought he was being stood up; then the rest of the waiters had clued them in. But Freddie thinks now that they had gotten it right. He is being stood up. After six years, Sam is standing Freddie up. It isn't the first time, but it hasn't happen in a while and Freddie is offended and confused. He thinks back, but he can't stop anywhere in the past few hours where he had messed up enough to warrant Sam not coming.
Disheartened, Freddie chugs the drink the waiter brings back to him. Freddie is determined to wait, just in case Sam decides to make an appearance. Three other drinks later, Freddie is still not drink—he stays unsatisfying sober whenever something worries him, plus it takes a lot to make him drunk; an unusual talent he had discovered thanks to Sam—and is considering leaving.
Typically, that is when Sam finally breezes in with a, "howdy, nub."
She's wearing the green sweat pants with the blue and orange polka-dots. Her shirt is an over-seized band t-shirt obviously 'borrowed' from Freddie. They're the clothes she had on when Freddie had left that morning. Her hair is sloppily tied back into a loose ponytail, curly strands hanging around her face. She's been with Carly all day, and probably has just come from Carly's apartment. Freddie can't believe it. Sam hadn't even taken the time to change. He stares at Sam, as she drops into the seat across from him and begins to chatter like she isn't horrendously late.
"…then Carls—you should've seen her, Freddork, it was awesome—ordered the snob to just show her the microwaves already, and he couldn't have moved fast enough. She got half off and I got a free fork." Sam snickers as her story draws to a close.
"That's nice," Freddie says distantly, downing the last of his drink. He looks at the empty glass sadly, wondering how it had gone by so fast.
Sam at last seems to notice Freddie's uncharacteristic blank expression and strange behavior.
"What's eating you?" she inquires distractedly, reaching over to grab the bread basket from an approaching waiter. Sam doesn't thank the waiter and barely looks at her.
The waiter, the girl from before, shoots Sam a disapproving, berating look before she goes off to attend to another table. Sam notices and frowns; she's always had a sixth sense to notice when there's negative feelings being aimed at her. After buttering and eating half of a piece of bread, she turns to Freddie and asks with her mouth charmingly full, "What's up?"
Freddie opens his mouth. There are several things he should say, and several things he wants to say. But what comes out is: "You're late. How was shopping?" Freddie doesn't explode, doesn't demand to know why Sam thinks it's acceptable to come two hours late, and doesn't ask how Sam had known he would still be here after two hours.
Freddie's too busy thinking about the velvet box in his pocket, and how that ring will be going back into the freezer for a while; and how he really would like another drink.
