"You don't have a choice in the matter," they say. "We are gonna care about you, even if you don't care about yourself," they say. "We're Team Cathy!" they say.

Cathy Jamison assures Leon and Sheila that she has plenty of people, she already had people, she doesn't need more people. She has a team, she doesn't need a new team. They apologize: It's too late. She's stuck with them. They've seen it all before. "Have a positive and light-filled day!" they say, and go away again. They are desperate to help; they need her to let them help. Helping is all they have. She's performing at Stage IV, they're better off than she is.

Cathy Jamison knows the feeling. She knows all the tricks. She's surrounded herself with just such obligations. Team Paul, Team Sean. Team Adam. The way helping feels like power; how easy it is to convince yourself that you're doing the right thing when really you're just desperate to be needed. How people twist and turn and try to avoid the trap. She knows how they'll come at her, and keep coming. Passport to a whole new life of being harassed and helped and condescended and patronized and terrorized. So that they can feel better for a moment.

Not even Adam is interested in their crazy helpful meal, so Cathy takes herself back to the king of the garbage. "Sean," she says, rattling his shipping container, heavy metal echoing. "I want you to come for dinner tomorrow. I have a big casserole that is most likely organic and not tasty." Sean hasn't even been to the house, he says, since Christmas. "And even then, Paulie made me sit at the fucking kiddie table."

That is a dynamic that hasn't come up before; bears watching when it does. Cathy swears to her brother that Paul won't be there, but more importantly that things will be changing. Softness and joy in her eyes. Passport to a new family. "You're my people, and I want my people to eat bad casserole with me." Sean isn't sure whether to be scared or touched, but soon he doesn't have to.

Up drives Daphne, who calls Sean "Sexy" and gives him a big old kiss. They are awful together; she brought in her hybrid a day-old tray of sushi. "You don't bathe, and yet you have a lady?" He stews, Sean says, in his maleness; he says it's catnip to women. He rubs his homeless body on his sister, like always, grossing her out, and she laughs and fights. Daphne's confused, because she didn't know Sean had a sister. Daphne, it seems, not only works at Whole Foods but also reads auras. Cathy invites them both for dinner -- "I would love to get to know any girl who would date my homeless brother" -- and rides away again. Daphne says this is "awesome," and that she doesn't eat anything with eyes, and Cathy rolls her eyes as she rolls her bike away again: "'Awesome.'"