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The apartment felt different when he was alone. With Dad, Frasier was all too aware of the yawning gap between them. Daphne eased the friction between him and his father, but she was still essentially a stranger, and Frasier wasn’t yet comfortable with letting his guard down around her.
When it was just him, Frasier could hum to himself without Dad making some snide comment about his taste in music. He could hear his own thoughts without the constant drone of the TV. He could have a private conversation on the phone, at least in theory. Every time he had the opportunity, he would give into his anxiety and make up an excuse to put it off.
Frasier paced, glass of wine in hand, as the sky changed from a fiery pink to the color of lapis lazuli. It was easy to convince himself that he was merely appreciating the view he’d paid for. When Frasier lived in Boston, he’d only watch the sunset when it happened to fall during his daily route from the office to Cheers. He’d criticized Lilith for running away from their marriage to live in a hole in the ground, but Frasier was too good of a psychiatrist to overlook a case of projection, even when the one projecting was himself.
If you’re so good of a psychiatrist, why can’t you recognize that all this internal monologuing is just another way to put off making that call, Frasier thought. See, now you’re doing it again. You’re still doing it. Oh, stop it!
He downed the rest of his wine and dialed before he could lose his nerve. Immediately, he realized that this was a terrible idea. He hadn’t even planned what he was going to say. What if they asked why he was calling? Frasier deliberated over hanging up, but a second later, Sam picked up the phone.
“Cheers.”
How many times had Sam answered that phone in front of Frasier? Hundreds, maybe even thousands. “Hey Sam,” Frasier started, the easy familiarity soothing his frayed nerves.
“Fras,” Sam answered brightly. “Hey everybody, Frasier’s calling,” he said, holding the receiver away from his mouth. Cliff said hello, Carla shouted a greeting from across the bar, and Norm mumbled something about how he was relieved it wasn’t Vera. Frasier suspected that if he returned to Boston twenty years from now, he’d find a grey-haired Norm on his barstool there to welcome him. The thought made him feel a little better.
“How you doin’, man?” Sam asked.
“I’m doing quite well, actually. I’ve got my own radio show, and I recently moved in with my” —he paused, cringing at the lie he’d told the gang about how his father was a dead scientist— “new dog.”
“That’s great, Fras, real great.” Frasier could hear Sam’s smile in his voice. He missed that smile. His father rarely smiled nowadays, and Niles - well, Niles smirked, but it wasn’t the same. “And how are you holding up, after, uh, the divorce and everything?” Sam asked.
“Well, you know...” Frasier knew his non-answer would speak for itself, since Sam really did know what he was going through. Frasier had a habit of thinking of Sam as less experienced than himself, but the truth was that Sam had married, divorced, and rebuilt his life all years before Frasier first set foot in Cheers. “It’s killing me to be apart from Frederick, but I think...I hope I made the right decision.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re happy.” He paused. “I saw Freddie last week. He’s...he misses you, of course, but he’s doing fine.”
“Really?” Frasier hoped his voice belied the tightness in his throat. “I’m glad. It wouldn’t do to keep Freddie away from his Uncle Sammy.” But he’ll get along fine without me , he didn’t say.
“Hey, man, you okay? Cause if you need someone to talk to, I’m here,” Sam offered.
“There’s nothing to talk about, unless you want to hear me prattle on about how wonderful my new life is,” Frasier laughed. Denial. “I mean, yes, I’m struggling, but I just divorced my wife of seven years and moved across the country! Struggle is to be expected!”
“Still, it’s natural to want to talk about it.”
“I know that,” he conceded. “It’s just…” he trailed off as Eddie padded down the hall. Frasier was suddenly reminded of Pavlov, his beloved dog that Diane made him give away. A familiar sting pricked his eyes, but for the first time since the night of his divorce, Frasier didn’t force the tears back. Sam was so unassailable, so assured, that Frasier felt more comfortable expressing vulnerability in front of him than he did with his own brother. He had an impeccable sense of when the other person needed advice and when they just needed to let it out.
And right now, Frasier just needed to let it out. He hadn’t let himself shed a single tear for Lilith, or Frederick, or Sam, or even Cliff, but for reasons he didn’t care to examine at the moment, he allowed himself to cry for little Pavlov.
Sam, bless his heart, was silent while he cried. Once the tears had run their course, Frasier continued. “Remember that night that you came back to Cheers after you almost flew to California with Diane?”
“Yeah?”
“Remember how I said something about how people are constantly moving in and out of one’s life? That it’s important to let them know how much they mean while they’re still there?”
“Mm.”
“Sam, I- I couldn’t say it then, but…” he swallowed, determined to force out the words. “Cheers meant a great deal to me over the years, more than I can ever express. I’m so grateful to everyone there for being a part of my life. Especially you, Sam. So, thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Frasier,” Sam said. There was another pause, longer this time. “I’m not a psychiatrist. I don’t really know the right thing to say. But I do know that everybody has to find the place where they belong. Me, I belong here. You...your place was here, for a while, but now it’s not. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Maybe it’s even a good thing.”
Emotion was a strange beast, even to a psychiatrist. Despite his own situation, Frasier’s first impulse was to feel proud of Sam. He’d come a long way since Frasier met him nearly a decade ago - but then again, so had Frasier himself. Although, he was beginning to suspect that Sam had more of an influence on Frasier’s growth than the other way around.
“You’re right,” Frasier finally answered. Neither of them said anything else, but the silence was comfortable. He closed his eyes and listened to the din of the bar over the phone, letting himself be transported for just an instant.
But Frasier was a psychiatrist, and he knew better than to overindulge in such fantasies. “Tell me about Kelly and Woody’s baby,” he said, eyes open once again.
He and Sam talked for over an hour, about Carla’s kids, Rebecca’s new husband, Woody’s political shenanigans. Nothing of consequence, but that was all right. This was probably the last conversation they’d have as friends who were part of each other’s lives, and not as two strangers who knew each other once upon a time. It was better that the last one be normal, a pleasant reminder of what was rather than a melancholy farewell.
The conversation eventually ran out of steam. Sam had to get back to work, and Dad and Daphne were due home any minute. They said their goodbyes, and then there was the click of the receiver, and then there was silence, broken only by the crackling of the fireplace. The call with Sam had made Frasier feel out of time, and for a moment, his surroundings felt alien. He stared ahead, tracing the rim of his empty wine glass, lost not in thought but in feeling.
Then the door opened, and the apartment returned to its usual bustling state. Daphne and Dad were bickering fondly about something or another, and Eddy was barking, and the TV was on before Daphne could shut the door behind them.
“Is something the matter, Dr. Crane?” Daphne asked.
Frasier belatedly realized that he hadn’t acknowledged them at all. He reined back his focus to the present. “Yes, sorry, Daphne. I just had a bit too much wine, and it made me sleepy. That’s all.”
“If you’re sure you’re doing all right.”
For the first time in many months, Frasier was sure. He smiled. “Never been better.”