"But honey, with it happening right here..." Sookie shakes her head. This is home: "I have far more good memories of this kitchen than bad ones." Arlene gets it, and congratulates her on that outlook: "You know, you really are smarter than anyone gives you credit for." Sookie looks at her, and she apologizes for that too. But there's a greater violation: Sookie whirls at the refrigerator door opening, and screams at Maxine. "Maxine Fortenberry, you put that pie down right now!" Putting her hateful hands on the pieces of home. Oh, to be a fly on the wall of your pain, crawling across the surface of that pie, tasting your grief and telling the story.
Someone calls from the parlor, "Come here, she's losing it!" Sookie stands in the kitchen, knees knocking, breath coming hard, holding the pieces of home in her hands. "This is Gran's pie!" Maxine apologizes, she was just trying to help, and thinks about how she spent the whole morning making her casserole, so that Sookie would recognize what a good woman she is. And all the thoughts go wild, sticking Sookie to the floor: crazy as a bedbug, knowing she killed her grandmother. She knows that already, she doesn't need the confirmation. Tara drags her upstairs for "girl time," dragging Lafayette hilariously behind, in case he didn't know he was included.
Upstairs Sookie notes she shouldn't have lost it; Tara tells her not to worry. "...That stupid old bitch ... been sticking her nose where it don't belong for years." Lafayette murmurs encouragement: "If she talked any more shit she'd be shaped like a toilet." Tara and Lafayette laugh quietly together as Sookie stares: they're more freshly acquainted with horror than she is. Lafayette apologizes for laughing, but Sookie's realized something. The pie plate is small, in her hands, and cold, and hard. "Gran's gone. She's really gone." Tara's voice is heavy with sympathy, and love: we've reached that point, have we? "Yeah. She is."
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I can't even think straight." Tara notes that it's impossible, Lafayette humming support behind her: "How can you, with all these circling buzzards? You know, you're not here to entertain them. You don't have to dance for them. You just have to feel whatever you're feeling." Sookie's not feeling anything. Is that okay? Is it weird to be numb? Should she be guilty for that too? "Numb is good. Numb's probably what you need right now. Stop worrying about being so appropriate." And of all the things, this is the best thing she says: "This is not an appropriate event." It's endemic to Sookieness to look for the right behavior, the line of best fit; she's crazy, retarded, prone to acting strange. Her whole life is looking for the appropriate: pretending to be normal, acting on what normal people already know. This is the one thing nobody knows how to do, and somebody needs to tell her that.