We pick up Luka on his way to get a patient admitted to intensive care. Chuny tells him there's no room upstairs, so Luka's forced to deposit the old codger's gurney in the hallway. "Mr. Garland has pneumonia with hypoxia," Luka informs a passing Abby. "He needs IV antibiotics," she determines correctly. "I need to be with my family for Thanksgiving," Garland says. Luka's like, Suck it up, I have a war-torn past.
Luka walks away with Abby and asks her how the exorcism with the hideous demon dummy went. "Fine," she lies. "So Romano humiliated you?" Luka asks knowingly. "I looked like an idiot," Abby mutters. "Or maybe I just don't get it." Luka reminds her that Romano does it to everyone, and assures her that if she calms down and is patient and stops shitting little prisons in which her mental demons can live in captivity for an eternity while she throws them scraps of moldy bread and shoe leather, she'll be fine. "It just takes a little time," Luka says.
Frank is putting up Thanksgiving decorations. He's struggling to hang a turkey, which would also be an apt description were he to botch a suicide attempt. "Son of a bitch," he curses. He got stuck hanging paper cheer and coordinating the pot-luck supper. Abby chuckles at this. It's nice and surprising, almost like she forgot to put in her dental lemon this morning. Meanwhile, Sam is chatting quietly into the phone, telling Alex that she left a sandwich in the fridge and that she'll be home soon. Oh, Sam. She hasn't learned about the jinxes yet. "Don't answer the door," Sam offers up suddenly before ringing off, as if she has a 365 Parenting Platitudes desk calendar and she's afraid to get any further behind. Abby asks Sam if everything's okay at home, and Sam shares that she had to leave Alex at home for the day, presumably because someone at the hospital grabbed her by the neck and shoved her face into a thesaurus opened to a page that points out "nurse," "workplace," and "babysitter" are not, in fact, synonyms. "It's just until 3," Sam says. "I'm finally going to make my kid a real Thanksgiving dinner. Most years I've had to work." I guess Sam's parents aren't in the picture. I smell May sweeps. They smell faintly of manure and arsenic.
Chuny, Abby, and Sam all grab coffees from a collection sitting on the front desk. Neela walks up and gratefully snags one. "That's Lily's," someone says. Neela is confused. "I thought it was pot luck," she says. Abby tells her it's a coffee club -- they pay into it each month. That sounds like a really convoluted way to go on coffee runs. Neela asks how much it costs to join. "It's a nurses' coffee club," Sam shrugs with a superior expression. Shut up, Sam. Neela looks crushed.