Cut to David in the office, telling his partners that he has no intention of selling the family business. Rico tells David to buy him out then, and warns him that the place is worth $2 million. So he bought 25\% of the business for $75,000 three years ago, and now wants half a million to get out three years later? Greedy much? He asks Brenda what she wants to do. She says she doesn't really care. David gapes at her in betrayal. "Sorry, David, I don't," although it sounds like she called him "dude," which I would have preferred. Maybe the Fishers would have liked her more if she dropped a "dude" every once in a while. David realizes he doesn't care either. "Why am I fighting for something that I've always been ambivalent about?" he asks the room. "Habit," says Brenda, using one word to sum up the driving force behind her and Nate's relationship for God knows how long. Thanks, Brenda, for rendering sixty-three recaps completely superfluous. David agrees to put the funeral home on the market. "Coo'," Rico grins.
Up in the kitchen, David takes his microwave dinner out of the nuke box, excitedly telling Ruth about his decision. She doesn't seem to care one way or another. "We've all been clutching so desperately to the past, and for what?" "Because that's when there was hope," Ruth says softly. David looks up at her at that, and seems to notice her outfit for the first time: a brown cardigan over her powder-blue terry cloth bathrobe, and a straw gardening hat. It's a look that makes a powerful fashion statement, and that statement is, "After careful consideration, I have decided to run mad." She happens to glance over at the gap between the refrigerator and the wall, and notices something lodged in there. She immediately dives at it, falls to her knees, and sets about trying to pull it out while David sits in his chair and watches in pity and confusion. Claire comes in to say she's going over to Ted's tonight. "Take a sweater," Ruth sobs from the floor. Claire asks David what she's doing, but David has no idea. Ruth finally frees a small, brown stuffed animal from behind the fridge and weeps loudly, still crouched on the floor. Her children just watch as she says, "[Maya] loves this monkey. I have to wash it." She slumps out of the room, petting it furiously. This is what family's for. At moments like this, when times get hard, you can always count on them to stare at you like a sideshow freak. Fade to white.