At the Ranch, Gillian follows Maxine into the kitchen. She looks all weepy and depressed -- Gillian, I mean. Maxine looks like she wants Gillian to skedaddle so that she can break into the liquor cabinet for her afternoon picker-upper. Gillian makes small talk, as Maxine builds a fire, but finally comes around to the point of her visit: she and Peter have given up on in vitro fertilization, and want to talk to Maxine about adoption. Gillian tries to put a brave face on it, but you can tell she still really has her heart set on a baby born of her own body. She cries, and explains that Peter doesn't understand that she "can't let go of her baby." Yes, Gillian, that is because Peter is an idiot, and understands nothing. Maxine asks how much another round of in vitro would set them back. Gillian explains that she doesn't want Maxine to pay for it, she just wanted to talk to someone about it. Maxine wonders if Peter would even go along with another round of in vitro, and tells Gillian that she'll think about loaning them the cash. Although that's not what Gillian came to ask her. See, Maxine knows what people want before they even want it.

In the HOJ (Halls of Justice: my fingers are tired of typing, people, you're going to have to deal), Amy gives her stamp of a approval to a couple who is attempting to adopt their foster child. The baby's mother has relinquished her rights, the father is unknown. Geezum, I wonder if we're going to have to revisit this case again this evening? Oh, how I wish I had some way of knowing!

At the Ranch, Amy is going through her cooking schedule for Thanksgiving Dinner, when to pop the string beans in the oven, when to truss the bird, yadda. Wacky hi-jinks ensue when she realizes she's forgotten the yams, and it just ain't Thanksgiving without yams covered in tiny burnt marshmallows, congealing at the end of the table, because no one can have more than a tablespoon without going into insulin shock. She's running out to pick up the tubers, when who appears on her front porch but Michael! Who'd a thunk it? Maxine clearly wishes she could stay and eavesdrop on her daughter and former son-in-law's confab, but out of respect for their privacy, excuses herself. To the basement. Where she claims to be hooking a rug.

Michael tells Amy that they "need to talk," so they retire to the porch -- yes, in November. In Connecticut. Without hats. The pair awkwardly converses. I'd tell you what they said, but Amy's hair is really poufy and distracting. It was something about making the divorce final. God, it took these two all freaking year to get divorced. I mean, I know it's a lengthy legal procedure, but come on! It's TV time; this shouldn't have taken more than a couple of episodes. Mixed Signals Michael concludes their little chat by drooling that Amy "looks great," and then says that he'll "find [his] way out." Yeah, that must hard when you're already outside, genius. Amy Brenneman tries to look like she's holding back tears, but it just looks like she's working on a really hard long division problem in her head.