Dylan: "You know how I'm moving out as quickly as possible? Because check out your mother scrubbing her knuckles raw outside in the middle of the night, if you please."
Norman: "I can't go with you. You know that."
Dylan: "No, I get it. I'm not even gonna... whoa, where did you just go?"
Bradley is stepping out of a car and Norman is rapt with attention. Dylan follows the magnetic ley lines of his intense stare, takes the girl in, takes Norman in and tries to connect the dots. But he can't, because Bradley is beautiful -- perfect, for our purposes -- and Norman is just Norman. He's still staring when Bradley comes near, forced to say hello. She can't take her eyes off him either. Norman tries not to notice.
Bradley: "You work for Gil, right? My dad used to work with him. Jerry Martin?"
Dylan: "Oh, shit. That's... I'm really sorry."
Bradley: "Thanks, that's really sexy of you to say."
Norman: "You better get that food home! Before it gets cold!"
Dylan: "Wait, for real that is the booty call girl?"
Norman: "Yep. And we are very much in love."
Dylan: "As I was instrumental in making this happen, I'm doubly sorry for what's clearly about to happen next."
Checking on Norman -- as we know now she must do a lot more of than we could have surmised -- Norma hears a banging sound downstairs. An invader. And since everything is safe now, she wonders if it's Dylan. It is not. It's just a screen door, bashing in a sudden wind. And all that safety Dylan brought into the house just leaks right out again.
Emma: "Just me, feeling very freaked out because I managed to get the one sex slave I was trying to save murdered, and you guys totally left me hanging and Norman is kind of the worst boyfriend ever. And also, did you get a dog?"
Norma: "Why is there a bowl of fucking dog food on the porch? Oh, hey. I just realized you were talking. Let me go get Norman with my sugary-sweetest voice so you think I adore you."
Norman: "Tell her to leave. I can't handle it. I hate it when people project their romantic obsessions on you without your consent; it makes you feel like an object. Like, how is this my problem that you're all in love with me and shit?"
Norma: "Uh, she's totally sweet and very much into you. And will die soon."