Doyle says he doesn't understand why she's going to be hauling all these textbooks around India anyway -- it should be a vacation. But no, Paris insists, since she's gotten into Harvard Medical School, there will be no down time. She promises she'll rest in four years, after she's landed a top-tier residency. Doyle smiles the knowing smile of all grad-school widows. He sweetly tells her how much he loves her, but I know from experience that in his brain, he is seeing the gaping maw of his stressball future spread out before him like an endless flaming river of pain. Hmm? What's that? Why, yes, my husband is working through his PhD comps right now. Why do you ask?
They are interrupted by Rory, who arrives home after spending the night over at Lucy and Olivia's. "Can you believe we graduate tomorrow?" Rory asks, all smiles. "I can't wrap my head around it." Paris rolls her eyes, asking if Rory's going to get all sentimental. "That wasn't sentimental," Rory insists. "That was incredulous. I'm allowed to be incredulous, I mean, can you believe it?" Paris says that, yeah, she can believe it. "I checked out of this place the minute I got into Harvard," she says, smug. "God, I never get tired of saying that." Rory reiterates that she really can't believe it, and that she plans to savor every moment of her last day. "Well, savor while you spackle," Paris says, "because I will take you to small claims court if I don't get back my full deposit."