At night, Anthony and Durrell very sweetly bring David some alphabet soup and some iPod-borne smooth jazz in bed. David says he didn't know they were such good nurses. "You learn something new every day," Durrell says. They must have picked up those skills taking care of their mom. And David didn't even have to OD. This, then, is why you should always adopt from drug addicts. In the ensuing lull, they can all hear the muffled sound of Keith in another room, yelling over the phone at the Pasqueasel. He quits, among other things. Anthony worries that now the Pasqueasel will take away their iPods. "I hope not," David quips. "I need my smooth jazz." Don't worry, David; you can just dip into the weekly PlayStation budget.
Ruth's sitting around the table at home with Sarah, Bettina, and, believe it or not, George. Did Maggie leave without him? Did he move back in after the burial? I suppose these questions will have to wait until next week. Nobody appears to mention what they talked about the last time these three women were all gathered around this table. As for this time, they're talking about getting over things, and Ruth in particular wonders how people do it. Ruth, it just might take a few more days. George agrees with me, saying it takes time. "And remembering love," Sarah adds. "What the hell does that mean?" Ruth wonders. George guesses, "Slowly, you fall back in love with whatever really mattered to you." Sarah adds that you find a way to make sense of what you've lost. Ruth says it doesn't seem possible. Sarah decides this is a good time to tell Ruth that Nate appeared to her in a dream last night. "He didn't really say anything," Sarah says. Wasn't Nate, then. "But he had a very loving presence." Definitely not Nate. Ruth asks Sarah if she's sure he didn't say anything about death. Sarah: "He didn't have to say it, sweetie. I got the message." Could not be less Nate. Ruth sighs in something like relief. And then the doorbell rings.
Ruth starts downstairs (way to let the grieving mother answer her own door, friends) to find Brenda already coming into the house carrying a sleeping Maya. "Hello, dear," Ruth says. Brenda puts Maya down (it's okay, she's awake now so she doesn't topple over onto her head) and she runs to her grandmother happily. Ruth sweeps her up and invites Brenda upstairs as her daughter-in-law darts out the door. At first, I thought Brenda was just unceremoniously ditching Maya with Grandma, which would be kind of funny. But then Brenda comes back inside, which is less funny. Except when she reappears, she's carrying Maya's suitcase, and we're back to funny again. Brenda sets it on the floor and frets, "I can't do this right now. I need you to take her for -- I don't know how long." Ruth says of course. Brenda weepily says that she just doesn't want to make things worse. She pulls herself together and steps up to where Ruth is holding Maya, and tells her to stay with Grandma. She says, "I love you." No response from the munchkin. Aw. Brenda makes a sad face, like Maya not reacting to something is significant, and walks out, shutting the door behind her. Too bad she forgot to bring the quiche.