The Girardis are all getting their breakfasts as Helen asks how many will be around for dinner. She's got lamb chops. Will's all excited; he's going to grill them. Luke's in. Kevin says he's got a date: "Unless I can bring her?" Helen chirps, "Lily? Of course!" Kevin: "Maybe I'll wait until you stop saying her name in a voice only dogs can hear." In the same hollow, chirpy way, she replies, "Up to you." She asks about Joan's plans. Joan says she's passing on "Bambi" tonight. Her know-it-all brother (er, the younger one) says, "Bambi was venison." Joan: "Thumper, then." Kevin: "Uh, rabbit." As she puts Pop-Tarts in the toaster, she says, "Whatever! I'm skipping dinner." Helen hustles over to Joan to tell her not to isolate herself "at a time like this" and that she has to eat. Will: "Time like what?" Helen: "She and Adam" Luke: "She dumped Rove." Joan says she had a very good reason. Helen wouldn't have already told Will this? Come on. Not credible. Joan adds, "A very good reason I can't disclose." Wow, that shouldn't provoke the curiosity of a nosy family at all. Kevin asks, "Did it involve a wardrobe malfunction?" Well, technicallysort of. But not Joan's. I believe Adam and Bonnie found themselves the victims of a syndrome known as "All Our Clothes Were Chafing Us And We Just Couldn't Stand It One More Minute." Joan snipes, "Well, it didn't involve a member of the clergy." Will, slightly baffled as always regarding what is going on in his family: "What does that mean?" Luke, helpful as always: "Kevin's cavorting with a nun." Kevin: "Ex-nun!" Will: "I don't like the dating years." Perhaps you could look into arranging marriages for your children upon puberty. That ought to work out well in this cultural setting. The doorbell rings, and Joan volunteers to answer it: "Why not? Maybe I'll get kidnapped." Well, keep a good thought. As she heads for the door, Will assails her with platitudes: "He's not the only fish in the sea." Joan waves her hand dismissively. Will: "Someday you'll look back at this and laugh." Chah, whatever, Will. I got a long list of moments like that in my life that I'm still waiting to laugh about. Newsflash: some shit never gets funny. Lots does, but not all of it. She makes a sort of "right, Dad" gesture with her fingers. He yells out, "He doesn't deserve you!" Helen asks him to just stop. Can't wait to find out what kind of mincemeat Adam will be when her father and brothers find out exactly what he did. I do think that's a large part of the reason she's keeping it herself; it's not just the humiliation factor. If anyone's used to humiliation, it's Joan. And it does seem to be part and parcel of the whole close relationship with God thing. Look at many of the saints and prophets throughout history, and the holy humility heaped upon their heads (by either God or themselves). Ormaybe don't, because you're gonna see stuff like St. Catherine of Siena drinking bowls of pus, and that's just gonna put you off your lunch.
Joan answers the door to a salesman wearing a big "OxyGem" button. Professor Frink thinks he looks like a chunky Les Nessman. He gives her a lot of blather about being the lady of the house and the fine weather and then launches into a sales pitch about some floor cleaner, concluding by using her name. She raises her eyebrow and then closes the door behind her, beckoning him to one side on the porch. He continues with his cleanliness pitch, and Joan asks him to just get to it. He tells her he knows she's hurting and that she needs to clean. Joan: "I already dumped my cheating boyfriend; that's not clean enough for you?" Salesman God says, "Cleaning is a process of discovery. It changes your perception. And: it makes things smell good." Joan looks pained: "I wouldn't even know where to start." Salesman God: "Start anywhere. Just clean. It's therapeutic." Thanks a bunch for the tip, God. As he wheels his suitcases of products down the front walk, Joan calls, "Can I just go to therapy?" Yeah, because that was so helpful. Salesman God just gives her an indifferent Godwave.
Luke and Grace are walking down the street as he says, "According to study results put out by Harvard, Joan and Adam had five of the eight positive predictors of a successful relationship." I'll bet one of the ones they were missing was "Not Being Made To Do Totally Out-of-Character Crap By Writers." Grace, noticing a window display of women's clothing: "Looks like a nautical theme for spring! Can't get enough of that look." What she said. Unless you are an actual sailor, do not wear that fugliness, people. She stops to grimace at the mannequin in the navy jacket with white piping. Luke sighs and continues ticking off predictors: "Shared common interests, proud of their connection" Grace notices another window display: "Velour? Why are we giving that another chance?" Beats me. Luke: "confided in each otherI mean, easily resolved conflictsprobably held a similar, you know, sociopolitical belief system." Grace gets tired, I guess, of trying to change the subject -- although I think if she wanted to distract Luke, talking about geodynamos or something would work better than commenting on the vagaries of women's fashion -- and blurts, "Dude, Rove was putting it around." Luke cringes: "I don't want to know that! Ugh! God, do I have to beat him up now?" That I'd like to see. I actually think that normally Adam could take Luke, but I think he'd feel too weak and guilty, so he'd probably let Luke kick his ass. I'm kind of surprised Luke isn't more surprised. Grace: "Sure, why not throw pugilism into the pot?" Luke says he's freaked out: "Why are you not freaked out?" Grace: "Why would I be? It's how dating works." Luke: "We're dating; we're not like that." Grace: "Yet." Well, keep a good thought. Luke: "Grace" She argues that they're not really dating: "We're making out." Luke says they have a relationship. Grace calls it "an arrangement." Luke: "Whatever. The point is, they had way more going for them in terms of compatibility, and they're over, which just makes you think." Grace: "Not me." She stops in front of another window featuring a male mannequin in a black leather jacket: "Ohnow that is a good use of a cow!" Luke: "Grace!" She replies, "We're not discussing this anymore, dude. We're looking at a jacket. Tell me that's not the coolest jacket in the world." It's okay, I guess. It's hard to totally make it out with the glare on the glass. This is much more my kind of thing. Luke says it's nice. She walks over to him and puts her hands on his face: "They're not us, okay?" She smiles at him slightly before they walk off together.
“ Man. I don't know if I've ever wanted to smack her more. I don't know if I've even ever wanted to smack her. Father Ken patiently corrects her: 'Ex-nun.' Note to writers: You have officially squeezed all that you can out of the nun/ex-nun thing. Let. It. Go. I beg you. ”
Having gotten little rise out of Will, Helen's now managed to buttonhole Father Ken over coffee to rant about Kevin and Lily. She says it's not just about Kevin moving out and she's not just being an overprotective mother: "There are issues. Kevin has special needs." She adds a swipe at Lily: "And not just the special needs she's thinking about." Completely apart from being so shrewish in general, I wonder if it's ever crossed her mind that it might not be very comfortable for Father Ken to be put in the position of having to discuss the sex life of a former nun and current colleague (of sorts)? Probably not. That would really interfere with her program of self-absorption. Father Ken suggests she should be discussing this with Will. Helen: "I tried, I really did, but he's a man." Father Ken looks like he rues the day he decided to take his kettle to that DMV parking lot. She quickly adds, "And you're a man, too, but a different kind of man." The kind with no feelings whatsoever? Yeah, I hear you up there in the peanut gallery, yelling, "What other kind is there?" Settle down. Father Ken tries to let this all roll off his back the way they taught him in the seminary. Helen whines some more: "She's a nun!" Oh my God, Helen, get over it! Man. I don't know if I've ever wanted to smack her more. I don't know if I've even ever wanted to smack her. Father Ken patiently corrects her: "Ex-nun." Note to writers: You have officially squeezed all that you can out of the nun/ex-nun thing. Let. It. Go. I beg you. Helen continues whining: "And she's older than he is!" Uh, wake up and smell the handicappuccino, lady: the boy likes older women. It's not a crime. And Luke's dating a girl who's older than he is, but I don't see you getting your panties in a Gordian knot over that. You remember Luke, your other son? The youngest one? Yeah.
Helen rambles on: "I feel like she's influencing him." God forbid anyone but you should. Cut the cord, already, Helen. Father Ken supplies this platitude: "That must be difficult for you." She wants Father Ken to talk to Lily. Father Ken: "About her love life?" He will not: "I feel intensely uncomfortable talking to you about it." Helen, in that dogs-only voice: "Why? You're a priest!" Frink: "That was almost a When Harry Met Sally moment." I'll have to take his word for it, since I haven't seen it, being unable, as I am, to stand either Billy Crystal or Meg Ryan. Helen suddenly remembers there are other people in the world beside her, and lowers her voice: "I'm sorry. You hear everything." Father Ken tactfully replies, "I really don't hear this particular dilemma very much." Father Ken wonders when she and Will last had a chance to sit and discuss these sorts of things as a couple. Helen: "What things?" Father Ken: "I'm talking about Empty Nest Syndrome." Helen's horrified: "This is not Empty Nest Syndrome!" Father Ken assures her it's a real thing: "People go through it. Maybe some counselling would be good. That's all I'm saying." Helen gets even bitchier and says, "You know what? This isn't helpful." He apologizes. She sighs, and grabs her stuff, saying, "Do me a favour and don't introduce me to any more nuns." She flounces out. Frink: "Hey! Don't stiff the priest! What's he supposed to do, pass around a collection plate?" Father Ken mutters to himself, "Not a problem." You know that other show I'm always talking about, with Grace and Lily? Father Ken can be on it, too. Helen, not so much.
Joan gets called into Price's office, where her mother's already sitting and looking unhappy. It's funny, because the closed captioning says, "Principal Chadwick sighs." I guess at some point they decided to replace him with Price. He invites her to have a seat. Joan: "I didn't do anythingI swear." Price starts questioning her about how much time she's been spending with Tuchman. Joan says she's been spending more time with him, related to getting advice about college plans and applications. Price then asks if Tuchman gave her a book of love poems and other personal items. Joan: "Love poems?" Helen: "Those things I saw in your room." Joan relaxes a wee bit, saying, "That was just stuff. Some CDs and books, but I gave it [sic] back." Helen explains that they worried about whether Tuchman has been "inappropriate" with her. Joan stares at her mother, incredulous, and finally says, "Ew. Gross. Mom, are you kidding me?" Price clears his throat, though the closed captioning insists it's Principal Chadwick. ["I was actually a little surprised that Price wasn't being as assy as usual in this scene; the fact that it was written for Chadwick would explain it." -- Sars] He asks if she knows Chelsea Burnett. Joan does. Price says she claims Tuchman lured her into an intimate relationship and that she's not the only one: "She says that he's also involved with you." Joan's eyebrows are halfway up her forehead: "That's nuts. She'scrazy. Iwent to Tuchman's office to return that stuff, and Chelsea was in there. She was crying, and" Price and Helen are listening intently. Joan: "Oh, noshe totally got the wrong ideabecause I cleaned out my closet" Price says he'll have to take her word for it at this point, but warns her that there'll be an investigation and they'll have to talk to her again. Notice he has a megaphone in his office? Can't you just see him using that on a regular basis? In fact, I wonder why we haven't seen that yet. He dismisses her. As she leaves, she sees Tuchman coming out of either the staff room or possibly the principal's office. He looks a little beaten down -- but then, he always does -- and he walks out without saying anything to her. But then when he closes the door to the administration offices, he stops and looks through the glass, giving her what I think is a hopeful smile. Joan just smiles back as neutrally as she can. But when he walks away, she looks like she's got her doubts about his innocence.
Joan sits on the couch at home and flips around the TV. She comes across an infomercial for OxyGem hosted by Guess Who. "People get comfortable with mess. It starts to look normal to them. When you move it around, dust flies. It has to get worse before it gets better." Joan replies, "Great. And I'll bet it hurts you more than it hurts me." Salesman God continues, "The point is, Joan, don't stop cleaning. It's just a mess. All a mess needs is some attention, some efforta little vision. Before you know it, you'll start to see daylight." Joan: "You know, technically speaking, it's not even my mess." Salesman God assures her, "We're all in this together. There's never been a stain that can't be removed." I rather doubt that. "All you have to do is roll up your sleeves" She turns the TV off. Yeah, that'll work. She sighs to herself, "Oh, that feels good." The TV pops back on and Salesman God continues, "And start scrubbingbecause the longer you ignore messthe bigger it gets." Joan just stares, with her eyebrows bunched together in the middle of her forehead, and then the TV goes off again.
“ In my book, expecting one's domicile not to contribute to infectious disease isn't exactly 'high-maintenance.' ”
Some slackerish guy is showing Kevin and Lily a somewhat dingy, semi-squalid apartment. The walls are a sad yellowy colour, and in placesit looks like there are boils growing under the paint or something. The floor is covered in grey industrial carpeting. I think Kevin's wheels are going to be pretty hard on that. The apartment's not tiny, at least. It's depressing, but I've seen worse. However, if the place is truly wheelchair-accessible, and he can afford it, then it's probably a rare find, mold or no mold. The landlord guy is young and gangly and he tells them, "What I like is low-maintenance tenants, on account of I [sic] work on my poetry during the day." Lily wanders around: "Uhhas this place ever been cleaned? I mean, with real cleaning products?" Landlord Guy: "WhoaI'm sensing hostility" Lily wonders if there's any extra charge for the mold. Landlord Guy says, "Hey, look, if you're going to be high-maintenance" In my book, expecting one's domicile not to contribute to infectious disease isn't exactly "high-maintenance." Lily reassures the guy: "I'm not living here." Kevin: "Yeah, but you're staying here; I want you to be comfortable." Lily looks stunned: "I'mstaying here?" Kevin: "What, you're notstaying here?" Lily: "You assumedI'm going to be spending the night?" Landlord Guy: "Want to move on to the kitchen? Brand-new garbage disposal" Kevin says hesitantly, "I thought that was kinda the point" Lily makes a slightly strangled sound: "Thethe point?" Boy, have you ever stepped in it. Landlord Guy wonders if they need some personal space. Actually, I think they need a communications coach, and possibly therapy, but since you're not qualified to provide either, Slackespeare, getting out of here is probably the most help you can give at this point. Lily's quite indignant now: "You assumed that this was about sex?" Landlord Guy decides to split. Kevin: "What was I supposed to think?" He seems genuinely confused. Lily: "Uhtry anything -- anything elseuh, a grown-up move, or a rite of passageI mean, anything but a nookie palace!" Man. "Nookie"? I thought Lily entered the convent around 1994, not 1974. Maybe she's a lot older than she looks. Maybe celibacy keeps you youthful. I hope I never find out. Kevin: "Point of adulthood: people don't actually say 'nookie palace.'" Hee. Burn. Lily's pretty angry: "Point of respectthis is a huge and humiliating assumption on your part. It never occurred to you that this subject might be a little difficult for methat we should have a serious talk about it becauseit's something that I haven't confronted before?" She's on the verge of tears. Kevin is taken aback and doesn't know what to say. Lily runs out. He sits there for a moment, eventually kind of slapping his face over his gaffe.
Now, I've wondered before if Lily's a virgin, and I think she probably is, although some people have suggested that her concern here is the issue of premarital sex. It's possible, but I don't think so, because she's previously made reference to drinking enough on a date to ""help her through" it (though admittedly, she could have meant something else by that). Other people have suggested that given her wild youth, she probably wasn't a virgin before she entered the convent, but I don't think that necessarily follows. She might have been into substance (ab)use, tattoos, crime, surfing, whatever, but it doesn't mean she necessarily had sex. Another possibility is she did have sex before entering the convent, but hasn't since leaving, meaning it's been well over a decade since, and the "something" that she hasn't confronted before is simply the prospect of having sex again (giving up her born-again virginity). But I think I'm voting for lifelong virgin. In any event, it's looking less and less like Kevin will ever find out. I think they're both at fault here: I do think she sent kind of mixed signals at her apartment, suggesting he move out right after he asked about what he had to do to get her alone and away from her agoraphobic roommate, and telling him living with his parents isn't sexy. She does at least play like she's worldly enough to have grasped the implications. On the other hand, Kevin really could stand to be a little more sensitive to her situation, to say nothing of becoming more sensitive to women in general. He does tend toward the crude. On the third hand, she could have been a little more sensitive to the complexities of his situation as a paraplegic, although I think part of his attraction to her is that she doesn't have the same uptight reaction to it that so many other people (e.g. Beth) do -- recall how blithe she was about how he could potentially go surfing, and how intriguing he seemed to find that. Basically, they both need to assume less, talk more, and be more sensitive. They're so much alike it's not funny. If they could both get over themselves they'd be the perfect couple.
It's evening. Joan knocks on a door I find vaguely familiar. PMJS opens it -- in his bathrobe, naturally. Frink and I are all, "Whoa, this is nine kinds of bad idea." Which is pretty much what PMJS says as soon as he sees it's Joan. She says she only needs a minute. He asks if she was followed. Only by God, my man, only by God. Joan: "Let me in, I can help you!" He lets her in. Man, he's easily persuaded. He's one of those kids who would totally take candy from strangers. Saying, "Welcome to my nightmare," he leads her into the den, where he's surrounded by the detritus of a junk-food binge. "I've been engaged in some primo soul-searching. Shove aside the polyhydrogenated treat of your choice and have a seat." Where's Mommy? She's usually around. Joan tells him she believes him and defended him. Joan doesn't know why Chelsea dragged her into it, but she "feels responsible" and wants to help him clean up the mess. PMJS shrugs: "It was bound to happen eventually." Joan: "So you really are having a thing with her?" PMJS: "Of course not. She's a child. I'm a grown man, Joan." He tosses some tiny snack in the air and catches it in his mouth. Joan refrains from smirking openly, and asks what happened. He says Chelsea's disturbed, and that's why he was counselling her: "She was having debilitating anxiety attacks." WellI'm not sure, but is that really the sort of thing that's in the purview of your average guidance counsellor? Isn't that the sort of thing they should really be referring to a mental health professional, such as a psychologist or psychiatrist? I thought the primary focus for guidance counsellors was to help students with educational and career plans. I'd say that's where this guy went wrong. He says that somewhere along the line Chelsea became convinced she was in love with him and he couldn't talk her out of it. You know, I want to believe he tried, but he just has this desperate, skeevy vibe I can't shake off. "I probably should have just walked awaybut oh no! Dana Tuchman to the rescue!"
“ Joan thinks maybe they can get her to testify on his behalf. Yeah. I'll bet she'd love to talk to Price about her relationship with another staff member. PMJS thinks they should leave it alone. He clearly he has no idea who he's talking to. ”
He offers Joan something to drink, but she declines. He wanders into the kitchen as Joan lectures him about what a huge misunderstanding this mess is, and cites God's ideas about what a mess needs: vision, attention, effort. Man, this house has nice wood panelling. Joan thinks they need to make a list of people who will vouch for him: kids, adults "Do you happen to have a girlfriend?" Right now, the most helpful thing he could probably have is a boyfriend, if you ask me. He gives her a grim look from behind the refrigerator door. Joan: "Or an ex-girlfriend? Maybe someone who will give a reference on your behalf?" He trudges past her: "Just Elaine." Joan's excited about that. He says she won't do it: "She resents me." Joan asks, "Elaine who?" Are you sitting down? PMJS: "Lischak." Joan: "Lischak, as in Ms. Lischak?" Interesting they gave her the same first name as the woman who plays her. Joan can't believe he dated her. PMJS: "Dated her? I adored her. I revered her." Yeah, butwhat'd she see in you? I mean, come on now. I can see her dating Price before I can see her dating you.
Joan asks what happened. He says she dumped him over the summer: "She said I didn't act my age. Can you go now? My mom's gonna be home soon." Joan thinks aloud: "So you guys had an actual relationship" He continues: "My hair was too long. She didn't like the earring. She had a list. They always have a list." Well, if you actually revered this woman like you sayyou couldn't cut two inches off your hair? I mean, I'm not saying he shouldn't be able to wear his hair how he wants, but if he was in her slavish thrall to the degree he implieswhy wouldn't he just cut it? Joan thinks the point is that Ms. Lischak can vouch for the fact that he's not into hitting on students: "I mean, you're obviously into older women, right? What is she, like twenty years older than you?" PMJS: "Five. You really have no sense of chronology, do you?" Not to mention: most people's preferences aren't written in stone. Joan thinks maybe they can get her to testify on his behalf. Yeah. I'll bet she'd love to talk to Price about her relationship with another staff member. PMJS thinks they should leave it alone. He clearly he has no idea who he's talking to. Joan has never been able to leave anything alone. She argues that the mess will only get bigger. PMJS: "Okay, I'll do all the advising around here." And you've done a bang-up job of it so far. He adds, "I know what you all think about me. You think I'm a loser. You think I've abandoned all my promise and my dreams and I'm just slumming it, acting like a kid because I'm too afraid to fit into the adult world? Well, you know what? You're absolutely right. And what you're witnessing is the natural conclusion to a misspent life. It's over." Joan: "How can you say that? You're only 30." PMJS: "Twenty-nine." Joan insists, "Mr. Tuchman, there is no such thing as a stain that can't be removed!" Chah, whatever, Jane. I've got some paint-stained clothes you're free to work miracles on. Suddenly we hear his mother come in and start nagging him off-screen about bringing in the trash cans. He asks Joan to slip out the back. Joan argues with him quietly, asking him to please think about her plan. Now his mother's going on about the stove being left on. Joan escapes out the back door as his mother yatters about having left his cereal bowl in the sink again. He drops down in the chair in exasperation. Try moving out and living on your own, buddy. It works wonders for most people.
“ Kevin: 'I suppose they do their laundry, which I've always volunteered to do, but --' He doesn't get to finish his sentence, so I will: 'But you're a control freak that won't let any of her children do laundry.' ”
Helen's slicing the heck out of a banana in the kitchen. Will stands off to one side, drinking coffee and venturing, "Are you mad at me?" She claims she's not. He starts to say that it feels like she is, but she snaps at him and cuts him off to insist she's not. He says, "O-kay," and wanders toward her, and she goes back to slicing. He tries again: "But if you were, what would you be mad about?" Kevin wheels in at that point: "Good morning." He asks if he's interrupting; both his parents claim he's not. He announces jovially that he's kind of low on laundry. Helen, unimpressed: "Really?" Kevin shows her he's wearing pink socks. Which areJoan's? Helen: "Well, pink is the new black." Kevin's growing less jovial and says, "Seriously, I've got a business meeting tomorrow." Helen: "What do you suppose other people do when they run out of clean clothes?" Kevin: "I suppose they do their laundry, which I've always volunteered to do, but --" He doesn't get to finish his sentence, so I will: "But you're a control freak that won't let any of her children do laundry." Not to mention: they've got a top-loading machine. He might be able to get the clothes and soap in there, but I don't know how the hell he'd get them out. She turns to him and says, "I don't mind doing it. I'm trying to illustrate a point. It's just something you're not accustomed to doing for yourself." Kevin gets it and says, "Look, I don't know how you found out, but you don't have to worry, because I'm not moving out. I thought about it, and I decided against it. So you'll have a gimp in your house for a long time to come." Helen's expression changes from indignant toslightly less indignant. He adds, "I'll just buy some socks," as he turns and wheels out. Helen whirls back around to her cutting board looking slightly troubled, slightly relieved. Will has been sitting at the kitchen table the whole time, without saying a word.
Ms. Lischak's in her classroom, setting upsomething. I have no idea what it is, but it involves a lot of different metal things hanging from a frame. Joan tells her she wants to discuss PMJS. Lischak tells her, "Out of bounds. Not for discussion." Joan says he's in trouble and needs her help. Lischak: "Mr. Tuchman knows how to grow up. He chooses not to, which is why he's in the mess he's in. It's up to him to crawl out of it." Joan replies that sometimes when a person's in a mess, they can't see the mess, and it just keeps getting bigger and bigger. Lischak: "Juxtaposed coherent aggregates vibrating in unison or harmonic ratioare mutually attracted." Joan: "Okay" Lischak: "Tuchman has attracted this mess, pulled it into his orbit. No one else can fix it but him." Joan musters the one physics-based argument she can think of: "Butaccording tounified field theory, aren't we all, uh, in the same mess?" She gestures with her hand to indicate something akin to general planetary chaos. Lischak softens a little: "Yes." Joan looks hopeful. Lischak: "But it's just a theory." And Joan's face falls. Lischak: "Dismissed, grasshopper." Joan leaves.
Out in the hall, Adam catches up with her, and hands her a box of her stuff. He says he had to clear some stuff out in order to make room for the stuff she gave back to him. She picks up a soft doll on the top: "Frida Kahlo?" There are stuffed Frida Kahlo dolls? Apparently more than one kind. "Your airbrush pen? Sea Monkeys? I gave these to you. I wanted you to have them." Adam: "I did. I had them, and now I don't." He hands the box to her and takes off. Joan stands there looking hurt.
PMJS is packing up his office. He grabs a bunch of For Dummies books (Counselling for Dummies, Older Women for Dummies, Living with Your Mom for Dummies) and puts them in a box. Joan comes in to find out what's going on. She asks if he was fired. He says he resigned: "Chelsea recanted but I resigned anyway." Joan: "Why?" He replies: "I shouldn't be here. You showed me that." Joan says that's not what she meant to show him. PMJS: "Underachieving, acting like a child, my life going nowhereand the thing is, I never would have had the courage to face that, if this horrible thing hadn't happened, so, you know what? Thank you, for helping make it horrible." She asks what he's going to do now. He doesn't know: "Hit the road, follow my blissall that Joseph Campbell stuff. The truth is, I was afraid to try to be great, so I settled for mediocre. But once you hit rock bottom, you lose your fear, and it's fantastic." And then, with any luck, you figure out what colour your parachute is, and you stop talking in clichs. Joan: "What about your mother?" He says he's moving out. Joan wonders how she's taking it. PMJS: "She'll get over itwhen I tell her. I'm telling her tonight." Suddenly Lischak comes in the door, asking, "Is it true?" He stands up: "Elaine?" She says, "Just tell me if it's true." He asks, "Which part?" Lischak: "You're quitting? Going on the road? Throwing off the shackles?" He assures her, "Shackle-free." Something about these two makes me doubt the complete absence of shackles, if you know what I'm saying. Lischak: "Leaving your mom?" PMJS: "Telling her tonight." Joan keeps looking increasingly uncomfortable. Lischak: "Haircut?" PMJS: "Nope." She gives him a look. He relents: "A little." She stares at him seductively and tells Joan, "You're excused, Girardi." Joan vamooses as Lischak throws off her lab coat and, giggling, throws herself at PMJS, who flashes her a great big grin as he grabs her. Lose the wonky sitcom music and sound effects, please.
Kevin comes up to his room to find Helenyes, doing his laundry. He tells her she doesn't have to do that. She claims not to mind. He says he's taking it to the Fluff 'n' Fold: "I can afford it and I have to stop depending on you." She sits on the bed and apologizes for how she's been acting. He shrugs and says it's okay. She adds softly, "And I think you should move out." Kevin looks worried: "Right now?" Helen: "No. But soon. When you're ready." She stands up, saying, "Now I have to leave before I cry." Kevin wants to ask a question: "What do women want?" Helen: "Shoes." Hey! I resemble that remark. I know some viewers really bristled at this, but I can't be among you, especially since she didn't leave it at that. Among the many, many things I want, I can't honestly say shoes aren't inwell, the top thirty. (Sars, I'm counting on you to back me up here. I'm pretty sure your closet's filled with Steve Maddens. ["It is, but the comment still bugged. I don't watch this show for that glib Tim Allen crap." -- Sars]) Kevin, to his minor credit, has the sense to ask, "What else?" Helen says it's complicated: "I think you might have to spend the rest of your life figuring that one out." He claims, "I knew what they wanted in high school." Yeah, I'll bet. "It's so different now. I mean, what do I have to offer her besides my wit and mycharm? And that's a given." Helen smiles and sighs, "She wants to be respectedlistened tounderstoodshe wants flowersshe wants to laughshe wants to trust youshe doesn't want to read your mindshe wants to be valued for who she isand sometimes she wants you to just shut up and stop trying to fix things." Major word on the last one. Well, that's not a bad list; it does hit on a lot of points I would agree with (including the flowers: orchids, lilies, and tulips, please) but I wish Helen had told him that she couldn't answer for Lily, and that what women really want is for men to stop thinking there's one laundry list of what we want that applies equally to all women, because there isn't and there never was and there never will be. I wish she had told him that if he really wants to know what Lily wants, he has to work at finding that out from Lily. I wish she'd told him that no matter who he's with or for how long, the only thing he can do is work really hard at finding out what that specific woman wants and to be patient with that process, because sometimes we're still figuring it out ourselves. Anyway. Kevin comments that this is going to be very difficult.
“ Even if it turns out not to be true, ultimately -- it feels all too true in that moment, and it feels like hell. ”
Adam's in his shed, welding. Joan comes in as he stops and turns his back. He hears the door close and turns, surprised to see her. She's carrying the file box of stuff he gave back to her. Noting the welding, she manages a small but sincere smile as she says, "That's what you were doing the first time I came here. Remember that? How much it freaked you out?" Something about Chris Marquette's face -- I think it's a combination of the lighting and his acting -- seems so Season One, that mixture of innocence and puzzlement and hurt that prevailed. He answers in a low, slightly rough voice, "You made me nervous." Joan: "Really." Adam: "'Cause I liked you so much. I didn't think you'd ever like me, so" Joan says matter-of-factly, "Well, you were wrong." Adam: "Yeah." She clears her throat, and then puts the box of stuff down. She says she wants all the things he made for her: "Maybe I've earned them." Adam looks slightly confused by this and turns to get the box, when she adds, "You know, I thought I was, uh, cleaning you out of my lifeso I could move on. But the real mess wasn't the stuff. It was being mad at you and letting it get so big that I couldn't appreciate what we had. I don't want to lose that, you know?" Adam nods: "Me neither." He gets her box of stuff and brings it to her. They stand there, floundering in pain, anger, longing and sorrow, as Joan thanks him and says, "Good night, then." She heads for the door and Adam hurries to open it for her. They stand there with the box between them, fighting the impulse, the reflex, to kiss, and suffering that horrendous feeling when you know you'll never kiss that person again. Even if it turns out not to be true, ultimately -- it feels all too true in that moment, and it feels like hell. There's not much Adam can say other than, "Good night," so he does, and Joan walks out slowly. He closes the door gently behind her, and she stands outside the door with a tear running from her eye, letting the pain sink down to a deeper level. Through the window, we see Adam return to his welding, retreating behind the mask.