At Mai's, it's dumpling time. She demos the proper technique, and Annie takes to it with blistering speed, explaining sheepishly that she used to assemble Twinkies at the Hostess plant. Mai says she likes Annie: "You remind me of me. Smart. And you know how to use a curling iron." Annie preens at Mai's praise. Mai says that she always wanted to have kids with Buzz, since she's very maternal. Patrick, smiling quietly, says that now Mai has him. Mai agrees, but says that Patrick already has another mother, and Mai doesn't like sharing. Patrick says that Celia's his mom, but Mai's his "mom-Mai." Annie squeals her approval of the coinage, and Mai likes it too. You know what I like? Dumplings. Mai's recipe looks porkalicious.
Out in his yard, Jack burns garbage. The reflection of the flames in the oil drum he's using make his face look even more scarily enraged. Marin shows up and, seeing him, doesn't bother beating around the bush, saying she knows he heard about the article. Jack, not looking at her, gruffs, "I met your friends." Marin, already getting flustered, says that they're not her friends: "I don't even know them!" Jack: "Yeah. I know what that's like." Ooooh. He fights like a girl -- MEAN. Marin says she knows he's mad, but that she swears she didn't know Jane was sending out the chapter: "I was going to change your name." "When?" asks Jack. "When the book came out!" says Marin, flapping her hands. "In two years, or five, or whenever I got lucky!" "Oh, then you'd be long gone by then, right?" says Jack. Marin quietly says that Jack knew she was writing a book. Jack says he didn't know it was about him. Marin says that it isn't just about him: "It's about men, and life, and Elmo." "And Lynn," says Jack, cuttingly. "And my tattoo. I can't believe you. Were you even going to tell me?" Marin says she was. Jack asks when, again, and Marin says that he's a writer, and writes about those crazy old shellfish (I'm paraphrasing). She trails off, lamely, saying she knows it's not the same. Jack, getting in Marin's face a little, says he thought they were friends. Marin squeaks that they were friends -- are friends. "No," says Jack, gravely shaking his head. "Friends, you can trust. You talk to them about things that matter, and you know they're listening because they care, not because it makes a good article." Marin stares at him in shock. "I'm not your friend," says Jack. "I'm a subject." Marin, her voice breaking, asks whether he even read the article, but Jack haughtily says that he doesn't need to. "Please," says Marin, holding out the issue. "Just read it." Jack theatrically takes the magazine from her and drops it in the fire before stomping off. Boy, for someone who's supposed to be an old-style man's man, he sure is a drama queen.