Plugging his phone in to charge, Spencer dried his hair from his late night shower. He liked to do some sketches and paintings in the quiet house after Carly goes to sleep around ten. The house was the quietest then, and Spencer liked being alone with his thoughts. He kept his paintings and sketches in the last drawer of his dresser, an unsuspecting place since Carly and her friends were never in his room. It was in that bottom drawer that his secrets thrived, where he captured the curve in the cheek of the girl at the smoothie shop, scribbled memories of a law-school drop out, and paintings of Carly, asleep as a child. He worked silently in his room, a dim lamp lighting a small area of his bed where he sat, directly in the middle, with an arc of drawings, paintings, pencils and watercolors surrounding him. The house felt huge in the darkness, and he felt profoundly alone and inspired in the dim bedroom. Occasionally, he heard Carly padding down the stairs for a drink, and on the rarer occasion, she'd spy the light from under Spencer's door, and she'd knock quietly.

"Come in," Spencer would say, in a raspy whisper, looking up from his current drawing.

"It's past midnight," Carly would say, and Spencer would smile goofily up at her, a certain weariness in his eyes.

"Fortunately, I don't have to go to high school anymore," he'd say, adding a flourish to the sketch in his lap, "and after I wake you up, I can sleep until noon."

"Lucky you," she'd say, smiling sleepily. Her hair mussed, her eyes puffy with sleep, it was in these moments that Spencer could see Carly as the little girl in his sketches, still so vulnerable and gentle.

"Can't you sleep?" Spencer would ask, in his fatherly way. Carly leaned into the doorway and shrugged, wiping her eyes.

"It is twelve thirty..." Spencer would suggest, putting aside his sketchbook. "I bet we can catch that spanish soap opera with all the weird infomercials," he'd grin.

"I'll never fall asleep with that!" Carly would complain, but smile.

"Are you kidding? Mom and Dad used to play these Spanish language tapes when you were little, and you were asleep before they could say Donde Esta Mis Pantalones!" He'd stand up and turn off his lamp, following Carly into the living room.

"Donde esta mis pantalones?" Carly would ask, laughing, as she sat down on the couch, pulling a pillow into her lap. Spencer would turn on the television and flip to the correct station.

"It means, where are my pants." They would both laugh in the glow of the tv.

Within ten minutes, Carly will have fallen asleep in the crook of Spencer's arm. He'd nudge her gently.

"I told you so," he would joke as she opened her eyes. "How about you go up to bed?"

"Carry me," she'd say faintly, before shutting her eyes again. And Spencer would scoop her up in his arms and carry her upstairs.

"Donde..." she began, "donde estas mi pantal-"

"They're on you," Spencer would say, laughing.

"Another beer, Spence?" Jake, a tall, dark haired twenty five year old in a green polo asked from the kitchen.

"Oh, no thanks," Spencer said, standing up from the leather couch he was sharing with two other guys.

"Dude, you had like one and a half," said Chance, a shorter guy with a gotee, who was still lounging on the couch.

"I know, but Carly is gonna be getting in early and I told her I'd be there," he was referring to tomorrow morning, after a sleepover Carly attended that night.

"Oh right, Dad," joked Jake, who was sipping on another Carona as he took Spencer's place on the couch. Chance polished off a bag of Cheetos, and while crumpling it up, asked

"So when does this father gig end, anyway? Will your dad ever get out from under the sea?" Spencer looked around the dim lit room, where sports was blaring from the flatscreen. It was littered with beer bottles and empty chip bags, the floor needed cleaning, and it smelt weird. His so-called friends were twentysomething deadbeats, sleeping around, and partying, and he suddenly realized why he didn't notice this before.

"It doesn't end, Chance," Spencer said, "I don't know where you were during the custody battle, but I'm Carly's legal guardian now. I have responsibilities." Spencer shook his head in disgust.

"Whoa whoa whoa," said Jake, "Chance wasn't saying-"

"Dude. you are only twenty six. And you have a 12 year old. Will you ever get to live a little?"

Spencer looked around at the guys in the room. "You know, I gotta go," he said, grabbing his keys and cell phone from the coffeetable. His friends voices faded into each other, protests and shouts and sighs. He left the building and slammed the door behind him. Shaking his head, he walked out on the street and hit his first speed dial. After the fourth ring, Carly picked up.

"Spencer?" there was a lot of commotion in the background.

"Hey Carls, I was just checking up on you." He could almot hear her sighing, but she was smiling when she said she was fine and they were going through the yearbook picking out the guys they'd marry if they were forced to. It was that kind of honesty that he loved about Carly. He laughed.

"Is everything ok?" Carly asked. "I thought you were hanging out with Jake tonight."

"I actually am just gonna head in early tonight," he said , and after a pause, added- "yeah, I'm fine."

"Ok. I'll see you in the morning!" She said, as giggles errupted somewhere in the background.

"Ok." He heard her hang up.

"I love you."

After Spencer woke up Carly in the morning and made sure she was off to school, he would normally go back to sleep for a few hours. After he finally roused himself around noon, he'd peruse into the kitchen, drink some grapefruit juice out of the bottle, and pick all the berries out of the Captain Crunch for breakfast. After a quick shower, he'd start on whatever project he was working on. Today, it was a sumo wrestler made out of chopsticks. Around three thirty, he looked up when the door opened, and saw Freddie stroll in, carrying a backpack.

"Hey buddy!" Spencer said cheerfully, as he perfected the Sumo wrestler's mustache. He was about to tell Freddie he named the wrestler Kitty when he saw that Freddie was slumped over on the couch, pouting. "Uhh...what's the deal?" Spencer jumped over the back of the couch and sat next to Freddie.

"Nothing." He said, crossing his arms.

"Ok, If I know teenagers...which I do...nothing always means something. Especially if your arms are crossed..which they are." Freddie sighed and stood up, taking off his backpack. Spencer got comfortable on the couch. If he remembered anything from middle school, there was a lot of angst involved. He had no problem listening to Freddie vent about whatever middle sschool boys go through...gym class, or algebra...come to think of it, he couldn't really remember what he was angsty about exactly...

"it's Carly!" he exclaimed, walking backwards toward the kitchen.

"Oh..." said Spencer, who got up from the couch. Girls were still as confusing to him now as they were when he was Freddie's age.

"I wanna be with her," Freddie said, leaning on the counter and picking through a fruit basket. He pulled out a peice of watermellon shaped like an nose. "Is this a nose?"

"It's Sam's nose. I got bored." Freddie looked at Spencer like he was out of his mind. "If you look around there's one of your ear made out of papaya." Spencer continued.

"Um...back to Carly..." Freddie said, carefully putting Sam's watermellon nose back in the dish. "I've been shooting out signals for I don't know how long. And I think she thinks I'm kidding. But I really want to be with her." Freddie continued. "What can I do?" Spencer sighed.

"Just be-"

"Myself?" Freddie finished. "I knew this wouldn't be any help.." he began walking toward the door.

"Whoa whoa whoa..." Spencer said, stopping him with a hand on his chest and pushing him onto the couch. "Be honest." Spencer said, sitting down the couch next to Freddie. "If you put yourself out there, that's like stepping up to the plate. And then if she's into you, that's like hitting the ball. And if she's not, you still got up to the plate. And that's better than sitting in the doghouse."

"The doghouse?"

"Yeah I don't play baseball."

"I didn't think so."

Spencer didn't mind having to be at home before 10 every night because Carly didn't like being the apartment alone at night. Spencer didn't mind making afternoon snacks for Carly and her friends every day, and he didn't mind that Sam added things like ten pounds of chipped honey ham and eight bunches of bananas to his grocery list. He didn't even mind cleaning long black hair out of the shower drain...ok, he kind of minded that. But the point is, is that Carly has someone. He kept his phone on all the time. He worked from home. He doesn't even date that much. And when Spencer was growing up -well, he didn't like to go into details, but that was a lot less than his parents did for him. A lot less. But they left Spencer and Carly with a huge amount of money, and promised more when Carly goes to college or if Spencer decided to return to law school. Yeah, right. Law was the enemy. Art was the only thing keeping him alive sometimes. Wait- he didn't mean it that way. But the guys are right sometimes, you know? Being twenty six with a kid AND a full time job? That's serious. The day Spencer woke up and had to tie his tie and sit in a windowless office for eight hours would be the day he died. Sometimes, it felt like he was just hanging out with his little sister. Sometimes, he forget he was the dad.