When B mentions how Serena and Carter are playing house Chez Waldorf, he bends her arms back like a paddleboat. "Carter's at your penthouse? Why wouldn't you tell Bree that when she asked?" Firstly, because she only found out a while back that Carter had returned from his trip, and secondly, because "Why would I tell that future NASCAR Mom anything? I hate her and the tractor she rode in on." He drops her arms finally and declares that she's only angry because it means Nate is moving on. "Look, I love you, but Nate liking Bree doesn't make her a piranha, and Serena liking Carter doesn't make him a prince." He climbs off her to call Bree, and Blair hilariously hollers, "Hey! Where you going? I have tension!"
Walking away from the Parent Trap lunch, Dan mentions to the kids that Vanessa seems to be engineering a hamfisted attempt to break up his relationship with Olivia. Eric's all about the gossip, and Dan explains sort of, mentioning "this whole speech" about dating somebody with history; both Jenny and Eric are like, case closed. "Duh? I mean, everyone in the state knows how she feels about you," Jenny sputters, and Dan mumbles to himself in horror. God, can you imagine that Vanessa was still after Dan, and then on top of it that she would go about it that messily? I mean, it's Vanessa, but it's just so flagrant and lame. Even for her. "Come on, Dan. Have you ever seen a romantic comedy? This is the scene right before you chase after her and tell her that you can't believe how blind you were this whole time." Jenny has a point. Both Dan and Vanessa are like that. After a second, she confirms that he's really into Olivia, and suggests that he go ahead and let Vanessa know that. It's hard for Dan to process, because that's exactly what Vanessa said this morning, but who knows if he was listening.
Rufus and Lily drink tea and reminisce about the nineteen-ninety-eighties, that imaginary lunchbox purse time out of time in which they fell in love. Remember that night at Amherst? Lincoln Hawk had just opened for Sonic Youth, you see, and it was pouring rain, and they just couldn't bear another night in the van. Emily Dickinson was off at a rave with Walt Whitman and Steve Rubell. This was right before Florence Nightingale married Steve Rothko, so she was in her wild period and couldn't put them up; Hannibal's elephant pens were taken and Napoleon was unable, ere he saw Elba. Even the manger was taken, by some knocked-up religious fanatic and her deep-in-denial husband. What to do? Spring for a room in a quirky little inn!