Joey returns to the Potter B&B and -- hold the phone. It's summer vacay, right? Then why is she wearing a coat? It looks about twelve degrees in Capeside here. And her hair! My God, her hair. She looks like she's wearing a black swim cap, with her orange hair coming out the bottom of it. It is absolutely terrible. Anyway, she looks all thoughtful and wistful and stuff. Joey turns and finds a script sitting on her stoop, which she picks up and flips though. It's called The Untitled Dawson Leery Script. Creative, Leery. She sits on the steps to read it, and she looks all, like, proud of Dawson or whatever, but I can't concentrate because her hair is seriously ridiculous. It's tucked behind her ears, and the demarcation between the dark brown and the orange is totally horrific. It's called a semi-permanent rinse, Joey. LOOK INTO IT. Jesus!
So, Joey and her horrible hair race over to Dawson's, where she stands in the front yard and stares up at the ladder leaning against the veranda and leading up to his room. She's wearing yet another coat. In summer. Whatever. I can't even think about that any more. La la la la, two episodes left. The Sad Piano of I Can't Wait Until This Show Is Over And We Can All Move On With Our Lives tinkles in the background as Dawson walks up behind her. "Go ahead," he says, nodding at the ladder. They share a genuine smile, and she climbs up the ladder and into his room. That was a nice moment summarily ruined by the fact that, when Joey gets to the top of the ladder, her ass is totally hanging out of her jeans.
Joey looks around the room, stunned, and tells Dawson that his attention to detail is "creepy." She's stunned by how perfect the room is. "Now that you're here, it's just about right," he tells her, rather nicely.
In Boston, Helen, Grams, and Jen take tea and talk about Jen's hair. She finally excuses herself to wash her hands, telling the two of them to try to find a topic more substantial than hair or the weather. The women stare at each other, and Helen remarks that it shouldn't be this hard to make conversation with her mother. "Why have we waited so long?" she asks. Grams shrugs that you can't regret the past. "It's best to live the rest of your life as pleasantly as possible," she says. "Mom, you've gone soft," Helen breathes. "It's nice." She gets up and wanders around the living room, yapping a bit about Jen and finally getting around to thanking Grams for taking Jen in, back in the days when she was just a wee slut. Or, excuse me, "slut," since, you know, her naughty past is so not naughty. So, Grams shrugs that Jen just needs a little patience and "no access to public transportation." Helen seriously tells Grams that she can never repay her for raising Jen. "Acts of love never require repayment," Grams says. "I mean, what if I needed to call upon you? If I needed your help, your support. You'd be there for me, wouldnt you?" she asks. Helen assures her that she would be, of course. Grams smiles and nods. "I guess you get to my age, you don't want to take these things for granted," she says leadingly, which prompts Helen to ask if everything is okay with Jen. Grams, the moment in which to break the bad news gone, assures Helen that Jen is fine, then gets up to refill their tea pot. She looks apologetically over at Jennifah, who just shrugs.