After we see Jack lying asleep, Sophie reaches over and touches Kitty's forehead, waking her up, and explains that she was just checking to see if Kitty still had a fever. Upon hearing that Kitty's okay, Sophie tells her that her throat still hurts, and says that her mom gives her ice chips to chew on when that happens. "Want me to get you some?" Kitty says she's okay, and then apologizes for yelling earlier and asks if Jack hates her. Sophie smiles and shakes her head: "No. He thinks you're cool." Aw! That's touching, even though the little urchin is probably using the distraction to set the bedspread in the other room on fire as they speak. Also, Kitty gives a "Yeah, I'm actually really square" snort in response, which is endearing. Kitty suggests that they get more sleep, and pulls Sophie in for a hug and a kiss.
At the bar, the three hundred shots of tequila have finally started to affect Sarah, as she mildly slurrily asks Graham if he has women in every city, or just the ones in California. Graham says not every city, and confesses that he almost got married a couple times, but refuses to give details. Sarah muses about her divorce papers, but Graham seriously tells her that she won't be on the market long -- a year, tops. Shorter, if any of Scotty's friends needs a green card. Sarah leans in and says maybe she likes being on the market, and then goes for the kiss, but Graham does the obligatory dance of "Maybe we shouldn't, you're drunk" for about 0.2 seconds before they head for Points Less Gay.
In the morning, Sarah is dressed and giving a pretty good go of getting out of there before Graham wakes up, but just as she's got hold of her shoes, he clears his throat in her direction. It's pretty amusing, so I'm going to overlook the fact that even someone of Sarah's fortitude when it comes to alcohol would not be going anywhere until the P.M. hours after the night she had. Graham asks if he was that bad, forcing a small smile from Sarah as she confesses that he was "far from bad...I think." Hee. He gives her shit for her imminent walk of shame, to which she responds by telling him she's going to strut out of there and drive home with pride. Graham suggests that "along with [her] pride," she take the old-lady brassiere he fishes out from under the sheets. He tosses it to her, and, slightly embarrassed, she says she knew she should have worn the sexy one. Honey, if I know my straight guys, the fact that that bra is about a size W is all the sexiness it needs. She stuffs the thing into her jacket and says goodbye as Graham watches her go with a shit-eating grin. God, I love Steven Weber.