Norman: "...And she's asking me to come over. What is this?"
Dylan: "I got laid when I was twelve..."
Norman: "That's sad. That isn't a happy story."
Dylan: "-- But it means I'm right about everything. Go. Now. The best antidote to being involved in a sex slave rape murder is to remember that you are seventeen, and your other girlfriend is on her deathbed being boring, so go. Dumbass."
They feint, they smile, they can't look into each other's eyes. They don't touch.
Norman: "Where's your Mother? Making turkey pot pies? I keep mine in the parlor, or sometimes her room. Eventually the basement, spoiler alert."
Bradley: "...Sedated. Come upstairs."
(Ohhh, the Widow Martin. What on earth will she be? I hope she is a Real Housewives Of Beverly Hills amount of trouble, don't you? Specifically BH, nothing else will do. And what will it be like, when the moms are a thing? They're bonding over dead dads now, but they've also both come to live in Mother country. And actually, on that note, where's Emma's mom? She seems to parallel the opposite way... Her dad's just as protective as Norma is, but we can assume he'll eventually become a mentor... Hmm, hope Emma's around for that part, the part where Norman goes looking for an older man to play that role. Frankly, I hope Emma outlasts all these sons of bitches, but that seems unlikely I guess.)
Norman sits on the bed; waits to be asked. He removes his shoes, which is a weirdly intimate move but also 100 percent Norman Bates and plus, you know, his ankle. Bradley seems, um, a little "sedated" herself. She gives such a Lisbon Girl vibe, who knows.
"We felt the imprisonment of being a girl, the way it made your mind active and dreamy, and how you ended up knowing which colors went together. We knew that the girls were our twins, that we all existed in space like animals with identical skins, and that they knew everything about us though we couldn't fathom them at all..."
Bradley: "Thank you for ... helping me so much. I'm just tired of being sad. I want to feel something else for a little while. D'you think I'm weird?"
Norman: "No. I don't think you're weird."
Bradley: "Thank you, Norman."
What she means is trust me. She takes him by the hand.
Norman: "It's my pleasure."
They make love, under Verona sheets. Like ghosts in a house where nobody lives. His smile is a still lake, in a world of concrete. They feel something else. For a little while, they feel something other than sad.