Hilda not only thinks Betty's concerns are groundless, but goes so far as to question Betty's motives. She just thinks Betty can't handle the fact that Hilda's stepping up and Betty's not "the golden child" anymore: "You can't just get involved with the family when it's convenient for you, Betty! So save the guilt for someone who cares." Ooh, foul! Hilda storms out, leaving Betty to stew her way into the commercial break.
Are you ready for the gayest Thanksgiving ever? While singing along to "Dreamgirls" (nice cross-promotion, show), Amanda drunkenly dances around the Mode closet in a fancy red gown. And so does Marc, except that his gown is black with matching gloves. After their big finish, he regrets giving up his dancing lessons. "What's your biggest regret?" he asks her. She doesn't have to think much before saying she regrets giving up Daniel. Marc gets all sympathetic and puts an arm around her as Amanda blames herself for getting hurt. "I didn't mean for it to happen. I just fell in love with him." "Me, too," Marc sighs. Amanda: "What?" Marc: "What?" M. Giant: "What?" Marc abruptly changes the subject: "You look pretty. Wanna try on some Armani?" Before she can answer, he gets the hell away from her. Amanda looks like she's almost drunk enough to let it go. Almost. Not that it's going to come up again this week.
Elsewhere in the building, Daniel arrives at the editors' brunch and is greeted by his mom, Claire, who's out of rehab: "I'm on my fourth club soda. I pee every three minutes." "You'll get through it," Daniel encourages. I think it's vice versa, though. Claire remarks that this is the first time she's been to one of these things sober: "I always thought there were twice as many people." Bradford looms up, and the three Meades share formal greetings. "Happy Thanksgiving," Bradford says stiffly, clinking his cub soda against Claire's.
Daniel is rescued from all of this embarrassing familial effusiveness by an uplifting sight: Salma, across the room, chatting with some nebbishy middle-aged dude with glasses and a sweater vest. Daniel heads over and introduces himself: "You must be Hunter. I've heard so much about you. I love that vest." No such luck; the guy Salma's talking to is in fact the editor of Tech Wiz magazine. Daniel really needs to keep better track of his peers at Meade Publishing, doesn't he? "Hunter's over there," Salma says, pointing. Sure enough, Hunter is almost literally a golden god. Or at least he's filmed that way, running a hand through his luxurious mane of backlit blond hair. "Man," the Tech Wiz editor whispers to Daniel, "how are guys like us supposed to score with someone like him around?" Ouch.