Andrea pulls them around behind the school bus that will take the kids to soccer camp, and Cathy Jamison pulls out her paintgun and stands on the shotgun seat, up through the moonroof, and after some pretty nice grouping and some pretty hilarious confusion on the part of Andrea, the bus pulls over. All the boys on the bus approve of Mrs. Jamison. Her beautiful body.
"I'm not gonna spend the entire summer with my lunatic mother," he says, with all the other boys staring. She puts it right back in his face, once again parenting him to within an inch of death. "I am not crazy because I want to spend time with you this summer. I just miss you. I miss you so much. When you were born, everyone said to me Don't let your baby sleep in the bed with you. You'll never get him out. But I couldn't help it. I pulled you into me and I... I put my face really close to your little face so I could feel you breathing in my mouth, and I knew you were safe."
So now in addition to teaching him to take care of his clothes, Cathy has made sure that her son will never, ever get laid in Minneapolis. Well done. He shrinks visibly and begs her to stop, but you use everything you've got.
They both do. He stands up, angry and embarrassed, hateful. A man's length. Stronger than her.
Which is when Andrea appears, beret askew, and starts shooting. He squeals that wondrous squeal of his, and finally relents.
All the other boys laugh as they disembark, but Cathy's a schoolteacher, she knows it won't really count for long. "Sorry about this, everyone. You... Enjoy soccer camp. And don't... Don't bully anybody, and... Remember to hang up your clothes when you take them off."
"I like you, bitch!" Andrea high-fives her, and then for some reason all the boys on the bus slap her hand as she walks by. Andrea points the gun at them, but doesn't fire.
Back home, her love follows him upstairs. "Adam. Even though you said that you hate me, I know that you don't. And no matter how many times you have to say it in order to get your feelings out, I don't want you to look back and hate yourself, because I know it's not true. And even if it is now, I know that it won't be eventually."
He rolls his eyes and stomps away. He might remember her saying those words, he might not. She's saying them for the first time, not the last. They're all he's going to have, and she knows he'll be guilty, and whether he remembers these words or not, she knows it won't help. But you have to do something.