It is with a note of deep bittersweetness that I welcome you all back to Manhattan, Kansas. Yes, it feels so good to dive back into our beloved Somebody Somewhere, but knowing this third-season premiere is also our last, well, it makes me want to drink about one hundred margarinis and sink into a haze of denial on a cool bathroom floor somewhere. I know this all sounds dramatic and that’s the opposite of what we love about this quiet, lovely show, but I am who I am — and isn’t that lesson, to embrace who you are, also part of this show? Regardless, the end is near and I already know that I’ll miss Sam and Joel and their cohorts dearly. Listen, change is hard. If anyone understands what it feels like to look around and see the things you’ve counted on or loved suddenly gone or look different, it’s Sam Miller.
Somebody Somewhere has, from the beginning, been about a woman who feels stuck taking baby steps toward change. Over the first two seasons, Sam’s faced her deeply rooted fears about letting other people in, about letting other people see her, and while it’s never been easy — her fears of abandonment and rejection are real — it’s always made Sam’s life richer in the end. Her friendship with Joel, mending fences with her sister Tricia, singing again, and in public, no less, have all been net positives for Sam. And yet, she still seems hesitant, fearful, really, of fully embracing change or wanting more out of fear of failing or being rejected. So it feels right that Somebody Somewhere’s final season would be about giving Sam one final, significant push to see the good that comes from living outside of your comfort zone; of not just wishing things could be different or better, but making them so.
One of the best ways to come to that realization is to witness everyone else in your life riding that same kind of change and thriving from it — to look around and find that everyone else around you has moved forward while you’re standing still. This is exactly what starts to happen to Sam in “Margarinis.” By the end of the season three premiere, Sam is literally all by herself after watching all the important people in her life become busy with the changes they’ve embraced.
First, there’s a freshly divorced Tricia. While she knows she made the right choice in dumping her dipshit husband, Rick, she still fears that she’s moving backward. Sam’s attempt at cheering her sister up over chili con queso (or, CCQ) and magarinis doesn’t exactly have its desired effect: Tricia seems to spiral into despair about not being someone’s person when Sam tries to comfort her with a reminder that, hey, she’s not anyone’s person either, and look at her. Tricia’s immediate descent into tears is endearingly offensive in a way only Tricia can be. But Tricia’s tears don’t tell the full story: She is a woman who, even if she doesn’t think so at the moment, is thriving in her divorce. She used money from her thriving cunt-pillow empire to buy herself an Escalade and she is all over the dating apps. Tricia isn’t content to sit around and not go after the life she wants. Sam is happy and supportive — she wants the best for her sister — but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting when Tricia cancels their planned hangout at the last minute to go on another date. Sam’s left mouth-agape as her sister scuttles out the door with directions on how to heat up the enchiladas she made her for what will now be a night in, alone.
Sam’s left hanging by her friends, too. When she swings by Brad and Joel’s church bake sale, she assumes people will want to go out after, but newlyweds Fred and Susan are headed to their couples fantasy football league (as if I couldn’t hate fantasy football more), and Brad and Joel have to clean up and then run the bake sale leftovers to a senior center nearby. Joel invites her along, of course, but you can already see on Sam’s face how much she feels like a third wheel. Plus, we already watched her get sucker-punched by the news that Joel sold his house. He’s worried she’ll be upset that she won’t be making money off of helping him with the little rental business he had going on, but on top of that, it means that Joel will be officially moving into Brad’s house, and we know that it’s just another example of someone Sam loves moving forward and making changes.
The signals couldn’t be clearer in this episode; Somebody Somewhere might as well hang up a neon sign in front of Chef’s that says Sam Fears Change. On top of feeling left behind by her friends, in this one episode alone, Sam experiences both what she has to lose if she continues to give into her fear and what she has to gain should she embrace it.
Can we talk about Pepper? I’m still very sad about Pepper. Sam falls in love with a fluffy little rat of a dog named after the spice on a pet adoption website. She clearly wants this dog. She heads to the shelter to get a few cuddles in with ol’ Pep and honestly, has Sam ever looked happier than in her selfie with this dog? You think she’s going to just go for it and adopt her, but it’s a huge commitment and a big change, and Sam leaves with the adoption form in her hand, but no dog. Later, at a low point after watching all of her people off with other people, and a few Pinot Grigios in her, Sam heads back to the shelter, this time sure she’s not going to leave without Pepper. That’s her dog, right? Except, it’s definitely not Sam’s dog. (It is, however, Bridget Everett’s dog, Lulu, making an adorable cameo.) By the time Sam gets there, Pepper has been adopted by someone else. She got scared, she waited too long, and she missed out. Instead of taking the loss and remembering that there are other dogs out there to love, her immediate reaction is to declare Pepper better off anyway, and then retreat to her car to sob. Now, if that doesn’t encapsulate how Sam deals with all of the relationships in her life, I don’t know what does.
And yet, this episode also offers us — and Sam — a glimpse at what can happen when you face your fears. Sam has been adamant that she’s not going back to her parents’ house and farm now that it’s not theirs anymore. They’re renting the house out to a man she and Tricia refer to as Iceland because he’s from Iceland and also they don’t understand how to pronounce his name (relatable!). She doesn’t want to see some stranger wandering around their home, she can’t bring herself to do it. Eventually, though, Tricia’s unable to pick up Iceland’s rent check and they need the money — she forces Sam to do it.
And while, yes, the whole thing is a little weird and awkward — Iceland is a man who is, let’s call him rough around the edges, and has very little to say — something interesting happens. Could it be … is it possible … is Sam flirting with this guy? Obviously, it’s flirting in a very Sam way, which is adorably awkward and a little rambling. Asking an Icelander “are those northern lights, like, really a thing?” is for sure a choice. And yet, through Iceland’s quite unkempt beard, you can see him smile. He finds her charming. It is all so sweet I can barely stand it. Who knows if anything will come from it, but as small a moment as it is, it feels like a huge step forward for Sam. And all it took was being forced out of her comfort zone. I don’t know about you, but I’m excited to see what else is in store for Sam Miller as she reluctantly ventures into the unknown.
Tender Moments
• Susan, we were all rooting for you! While I treasure Fred and Susan’s wedding, she might be the worst? I mean, it’s good that she’s pushed Fred to go to the doctor — he actively avoids them — and taking care of yourself is important, but forbidding your husband from hanging out with his friends at their favorite diner? It’s a bridge too far, Susan, and I will not stand for it!!
• Okay, fine, Fred’s big compromise to still get some friend time in is to start a “Catch Club” and have the group play baseball on the mornings they’d usually go to Chef’s, and I’m dying to see what Sam and Joel playing baseball looks like.
• Somebody Somewhere’s music choices remain (unsurprisingly) elite. Sam enthusiastically singing along to Bronski Beat’s “Smalltown Boy” in the car is a delight. And her “fuck, I wish I could hit that note” made me feel seen.