Well. This is awkward.

Freddie smiles when he sees me, why, I don't know. I so wouldn't. "Hey, Sam."

"Hey." Freddork. But I manage to control myself before I say it. How good am I? I let him pull me into a weird hi-I-haven't-seen-you-in-three-years-so-I-forgot-how-much-we-hate-each-other hug. Thing. Whatever. I'm going to be living with the guy, I might as well get used to occasional touching.

His hair got longer. So did his body. Dammit, now I feel short.

This kind of sucks. (Not just the 'short' thing. All around.)

"Um," I say. I let my big obnoxious bag fall to the ground outside his house. There's a tightening grip on my fingers. I step back, showing her off. "This is Grace."

She blinks up at him. Freddie stares back. What are they, having a stand-off?

Grace grabs my hand again. "He's not a dork, Mom."

Crap.

Not even moved in yet, and strike three, I'm out.

But I get ahead of myself. Bad habit.

This is how it all went down, relayed by conversations (much more helpful than plain facts):

April:

"Mrs. Puckett?"

"Miss."

"Right."

"Is that all you can say? Because I've been on hold twenty minutes and I'd like some freaking answers."

"Um."

"I get that response a lot."

"I'm sorry, we cannot accept your loan request."

"Son of a—"

May:

"I need more hours, Case."

"Sam, you already work half of each weekend. You're only part-time."

"Then make me full time."

"In case you haven't noticed, that sort of conflicts with your other job."

"So? I'll book it out here during lunch."

"Sam."

"What?"

"I'm sorry. This is all I can give you."

June:

"Mom?"

"Gracie? What the he— what are you calling me for?"

"Diane gave me her phone to call on. I keep trying to turn the lights on but they won't go on."

"What do you mean, they won't go on?"

"None of the lights work. The TV doesn't, either, and Girly Cow comes on soon. I wanna watch."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"I'm not."

"Son of a—"

July:

"This isn't good, Sam."

"Really? Because I thought things were going great."

"You could always move in with your mom."

"Yeah, Carls, let me get right on that. That way Gracie can learn how to smoke and drink earlier than all the other kids!"

"It was a suggestion! Okay, me and Griffin's apartment isn't near big enough, and neither is Spencer's since he moved out of the loft."

"I'd never move in with Spencer, anyway. He's not even my brother."

"Focus!"

"Focusing."

"I have an option."

"Spill it, kid."

"You won't like it."

"I won't like living out of a box, either."

"Probably not."

"Tell me!"

"I could call Freddie."

Long story short, Carly called Freddie.

It's August the day me and Grace move in with him. The twelfth, to be exact; a week before Grace starts first grade, to be more exact.

"You have a clean house," I offer as he gives me a tour of my current residence. Once again, awkward.

"Thank you?" Freddie says.

"That one could have gone either way."

Grace keeps her super-glue grip on my hand, like she's afraid I'll run away. "I got McDonald's for lunch," she tells Freddie conversationally.

"Cool," he replies. "I figure with your mom, you'd eat a lot of fast food."

"Hey!" I snap.

"Just saying."

"'Just say' again and I'll give you a few bruises."

"Duly noted."

If you ignore the five year old between us, it's just like old times.

Ish.