Jamie gets a gratuitous on-camera dressing scene at Hugo's place, then goes into his bedroom, where he's still sleeping. She spoons him from behind and says they need to talk. He seems to think that means, "Push her hand down under the sheets," but that isn't going to work twice in a row. She still wants to know what he meant at the party. Hugo doesn't claim not to know what she's talking about, because all the minimalist dialogue on this show means there aren't a lot of other candidates for which comment she's referring to. He returns to his previous question about whether he's the only one she'll ever want. "I mean, we're talking sixty years," he says, like it's a prison sentence. She says this isn't about her. Hugo says he wants to start their marriage being "honest about shit." Isn't it funny how often people on TV say "honest" when they mean "asshole for no reason"? Granted, it's more common on reality shows, but since this show purports to be going for unflinching realism, we get to see it here too. Goody. Jamie says she doesn't want to "start a marriage with someone who's telling me he's going to cheat on me." Yeah, spoon time's over. Hugo and his douchey smile claim he's not saying that. Jamie wonders why they've never talked about this, yells, "Fuck you!" and rolls off the bed, flashing quite a bit of ass-crack in the process. Hugo -- who, it turns out, wears boxers to bed -- gives his idea of a big speech: "I want you know everything about me -- who I am, what I believe -- and love me for that. I want you to love me for who I am, not some bullshit ideal." You, know, like monogamy. That kind of bullshit ideal. Not that he has the balls to come right out and say so. Which is odd, because I was sure I saw those very balls just a few minutes ago. "I can't just abandon what I believe," he says, like he's the one who brought this up in the first place and it didn't just spill out as a result of her overhearing him saying something he never would have wanted her to hear. She retorts, "I can't just marry you!" Well, sounds to me like the problem is solved. I think we've all learned something, don't you? Bye, Hugo and Jamie!
Dave's in his car, and he calls Katie from his cell phone, asking what she's doing. "I'm trying to get people to pay me," Katie says from in front of her computer at her home office, so clearly she's some kind of freelancer. I'm totally distracted by the way Dave is driving here. He's all hunched forward in his seat, squinting out through the top of his windshield like he's following a helicopter to work or something and if he loses sight of it he'll be totally lost. He asks what the doctor said about Isabella. She reminds him that they already established that she isn't calling the doctor. She wonders whether the early period is because they gave her too much ice cream, or if it was the soy formula when Isabella was a colicky baby. This is what parents do -- when something goes wrong, they look for a way to blame themselves in a way that borders on magical thinking. Next Katie will be saying that they let her read Judy Blume too young. I'm just glad I have a boy, and that the only early period I have to worry about right now is thi.s one Dave says he doesn't remember the details -- only the sleepless nights. "Feeding the baby, putting you back to bed," Katie chuckles in rueful agreement. Dave readily admits that he couldn't have done what Katie did, which she appreciates him saying. I think she'd appreciate it even more if he admitted the truth, which is probably that he didn't want to do what she did. Unless he's talking specifically about childbirth and breastfeeding, in which case I must reluctantly agree with him. She asks why he's calling, when he just left. "I miss you," he says. He suggests they have a drink and spend some time together when he gets home that night. "I love you too, Dave," she says indulgently, and he chants "Good" like a big spaz. She says she has to get back to work, and hangs up.