Jesse continues on, "I never thought it would get to this point. I could be engaged to somebody that I spend the rest of my life with when this is all said and done." Yeah. No, you couldn't. Can't rob a bank with a telephone, can't force a plane ticket onto the fourth finger. Not even if he takes pains to point out that it's "first-class." I know. It's still, like, a hour and fifty-seven minutes away. But, still. Dick.
Jessica walks up the steps of the Indianapolis Four Corners Monument (which sits at the exact geographical crossroads of Indiana, Canada, false pretenses, and Jesse's fault line of a jaw), wearing a pink shawl that thinks it's keeping her warm because of the crisp wintertime air of Canada. Jessica and her shawl look around, confused. "Are we in Canada?" they ask. "This bullshit pashmina street-vendor fashion sample from I Love 2000 would be, like, totally 'in' in Canada. By the way, why aren't the cars driving on the other side of the street? I thought that we were in Canada!" Shut up, Jessica. Or, as she still known to the man who is about to not propose to her, "Jessica B." In Canada, the "B" stands for "Canada."
Jesse and Jessica walk hand-in-hand into a darkly-lit bar in downtown Indianapolis I'll arbitrarily call "Moe's," a musty town institution appealing to NASCAR dads with their mistresses, lost tourists who think they're in Canada, and idea-strapped reality television location scouts in lame second-tier American cities who find out they're not allowed to set a date at Hooters and have completely run out of other options. Once ensconced, Jessica wastes no time jumping right in, admitting to Jesse that "it was hurtful" when Jesse told her he was in love with her, but also falling in love with "another woman." Jesse blinks like it got really dark in the bar and he missed his wine glass on the way to his mouth and he ended up with a big eyeful of shiraz, responding with a guttural "Ungh." Man, that's Slick Jesse for you. Always charming his way out of every conflict with his silver tongue and lightning-quick wit. He's totally Canada's answer to Noel Coward, were neither of those words "Noel" or "Coward" capitalized and the word "noel" then removed. And then swap "coward" for "asshole." And, screw the Canada bit also, I guess. Jesse offers absolutely nothing in the way of reassurance, instead reminding Jessica that this process has been "difficult" for him as well. Jessica responds with words that probably include repeated uses of the words "yeah," "totally," and "tort reform," but we're instead shown her ensuing confessional, in which she confides in us, her friends: "To put my heart on the line to just Jesse would be fine. But to do it when there's also Tara is a scary, scary feeling. But I feel in the depths of my soul that we are supposed to be together." Ah, the fabled depths of Jessica's soul. Where veritable thimbles-full of squishy soul juice collect. And I'm not trying to say that she's shallow or that the expression "depths of my soul" don't indicate a vastly untapped well of emotion. What I am saying is that I blew across the top of Jessica's soul like you would across the top of a Coke bottle -- right at its depth -- and the pitch was really, really high.