Kevin wheels into the kitchen at night, finding Olive struggling to push herself away from the table with her one strong arm. He watches her for a moment and then says, "Try pulling back on both bars." She sits back in frustration. He adds, "Staying there for the rest of your life is another choice." She gives a kitchen chair a shove, and then manages to push herself away slightly, saying, "I didn't know where the…damn stupid light switch was. I just couldn't see." I think she's explaining how she came to be stuck near the table. Kevin turns on the lights as Olive wheels herself over the fridge, and places herself right in the way of the door, only to find that she can't open the door when her chair's right in front of it. Kevin asks what she's looking for. Olive: "Guava juice." Mmm, guava juice. Why is it I can almost never find just pure guava juice? I don't want it mixed with apple juice, grape juice, strawberry juice, and God knows what else. If you know where to get pure guava juice anywhere between Toronto and Burlington, Ontario, please email me. Kevin comes over to help and she gets out of the way, keeping her back to him so she doesn't have to learn how it's done. He comes to the counter with and pours her a cup, which she tries to take with her right hand. Kevin reminds her to use her left hand. She takes it and drinks some. Kevin pours himself a cup as she asks, "So how do you get used to it? Asking for help." Kevin: "Mm…you just…have to." That doesn't seem like the answer she was looking for. He continues, "When I got home from the hospital, my mom had to wash me and put me into bed. I hated it. I couldn't wait to do things for myself. But, uh…then I saw how much she was dealing with…and helping me, I don't know, connected us. Sometimes even after I could do things by myself, I'd pretend I still needed her. It was like giving her something." It's clearly never crossed Olive's mind to give up a little bit of herself for someone else. He adds, "You might just think that this happened to you, but it didn't." Olive: "I don't think I've ever wanted anything from anybody." Kevin is confident that that can't be true. Olive: "You don't know me." Kevin: "I know you visit us every few years. You travel thousands of miles to see us. You must want something." I almost expect her to slap him and call him impertinent, but it doesn't happen. Her expression weakens and she looks sad and tired and a little defeated.
The next morning, the Girardi kitchen is replete with ingredients and cooking vessels. Helen -- wearing a yellow top and red skirt that look really good together, though I wouldn't have thought so -- comes down the kitchen stairs saying, "Family member cooking who is not me…I like it!" Man, I hope I'm half as hot as Mary Steenburgen when I'm fifty. She's quite surprised to find Olive madly chopping away at the table. She says, "Dr. Chin said I need spicy food." Helen says she would have helped. Olive says she's made it a million times: "I can manage." Helen says it smells good. Olive: "Of course. It's my paella." She's wheeled herself over to the garlic braid and is attempting to grasp a head that's just out of reach. Helen watches her efforts, unsure whether to try to help. She ventures, "Can I --" Olive: "Please." Helen breaks off one head and hands it to Olive, who takes Helen's hand and presses it to her cheek, and keeps it there. Helen is amazed, but puts her hand gently on the back of Olive's head. Before Helen can get too emotional, Olive says, "And the cast iron skillet." Helen scurries off for it as she mentions, "I thought no one was supposed to know this recipe." Olive: "Yeah, well, it can't die with me. It's too damn good." She starts firing garlic instructions at Helen and telling her to hurry it along before the onions burn. Helen eagerly complies. There's some fake-o Latin music tinkling in the background, but I can work with it.