I'll Have A Shoe Christmas Without You
Giving away her son's childhood possessions to a kid she just met has put Ma Lowe in a mood to hector; sadly, there's no one around to lecture about their misplaced priorities. So she sits down, takes pen to paper, and composes a letter to Rob Lowe. Allow me to paraphrase: "Dear son: You used to be such a good kid. But you grew up to be a real shitheel. Maybe you could man up and have a change of heart one of these days. Love, Mom. P.S. Remember that Red Sox hat you used to love more than anything? I gave it to some pitiful urchin, so if you want it back, you'll just have to fight him for it. That should come real easy for a grade-A putz like you."
I, uh, may have taken a few liberties with my translation.
Back at the hospital, Maggie is looking decidedly untouched by surgical scars. The procedure was cancelled, the doctor explains, because the donor heart, while a perfect match for Maggie's blood type, was infected with hepatitis B. No one's wailing about the teenaged kid's poor mother now, it's worth noting. Oh yeah, Maggie's immune system is failing and her blood type is hard to match, so if you're counting on a last-second transplant and a happy ending to wrap this thing up, you're going to be sorely disappointed. Of course, the lyrics to song upon which this film is based kinda gives away the ending. Maggie and her husband look very sad -- guess they never heard the song while driving on Interstate 95.
Back at Rob Lowe's House of Recriminations ("Come for the pique, stay for the silent treatment"), Rob Lowe's still going on about that house he wants to buy, and the missus is going on about how she'd rather work with kids, thanks. You know the drill: the unspoken accusations, the dissatisfied sighs, the grave dialogue ("I'm just trying to make a living, Kate." "But what kind of living is it, Robert? Hmmm? And at what cost?"). Lather, rinse, repeat.