So, naturally, Abby doesn't appreciate this last remark. "What is that supposed to mean?" she asks, following him into the station. "We both know where this is going," he says bitterly. Where? Oh, please take it there. Abby gets stuck in the turnstile, but keeps blazing until she makes it through. "I'm hardly drinking at all," she insists. "Good night," Carter sneers, leaving. She won't relent, giving him a laundry list of what she's ingested in the past two or three weeks. "You're keeping close track," Carter sniffs. "It's under control!" she shouts. Except it isn't, it never is, which is why Abby's schtick is getting way annoying. This sucks, though, because Carter looks like a complete prick and Abby looks reasonable, which is dangerous because you almost believe her that it's okay for her to drink when she's an alcoholic. And it so isn't okay. Carter doesn't understand why she's dabbling at all. "I was drinking last year, you know that," she says. "Now it's not about being scared and alone." Too bad, because that was a better excuse. Carter charges up the stairs, with Abby at full tilt behind him. "It's still drinking," he judges. "Look, wait," Abby begs. Carter turns on the steps and glares expectantly at her. "I used to drink because I was miserable, I was in a lousy marriage, a life I didn't want," Abby says, impassioned. "Now I'm happy, with you, things are good, and being able to have a drink with my friends makes me feel like I'm past the bad part." Carter throws up his hands and keeps going upstairs. "You know, maybe I just have a little bit more faith in me than you do," she accuses. Carter doesn't get how she reaches that conclusion. Wake up, Johnny. Get the maid to de-wax your ears and listen to yourself.
The El train arrives. "I'm a pro at walking away," Abby says. "I've done it one million times and I'm asking you, please, don't do this. Stay here and talk to me. Please! Please." Cut to the train pulling away. When it's gone, we see Abby standing alone at the platform, leaning against a pole. She's still for a second, then kicks her heels petulantly against the platform. Depressed and defeated, she shuffles away.
Back inside the hospital, Luka tells Ho Mommy that a transplant is only a last resort for Marlene. "I should call my husband," Ho Mommy weeps. Luka offers her a phone, then lingers behind her, biting his lip. It tastes like tragedy. Ho Mommy turns and flashes him a snooty stare. "I'm sorry, could I have some privacy, please?" she says coldly.