Previously: Sam agreed to move in with Dr. Know-it-all, even though she suspects she’s only being loved for her body. Kris and Chris decided to forego advice from others and wing it, baby-wise. And Jen broke up with Gillian, only to come this close to kissing Sam.
We pick up right where we left off last week with Jen and Sam sitting on the floor of Jen’s apartment, their faces gravitating toward each other like magnets with lips. And then—
And they’re not even drunk.
Jen and Sam pull away from each other and immediately start babbling.
Sam: What the hell was that?
Jen: Such a bad idea.
Sam: That was terrible. What were we thinking?
Jen: Probably good that we did that because now we never have to wonder, “Well, if we did that, then what?”
Sam: Right. Did you notice how there was nothing there?
Jen: Yeah. Totally nothing. Nothing at all!
Sam: I’m so glad that’s behind us.
Jen: Ya know? Let’s agree to never speak of this.
Yeah, if there’s one thing lesbians are really good at, it’s not processing stuff.
Jen and Sam run as fast as they can in opposite directions: Jen tells the dean of the university that she wants to be put on every committee they have, and Sam tells Elizabeth she’s going to be a packing and moving maniac. Idle lesbian hands are the devil’s playthings. Keeping busy while harboring unrequited feelings explains the surfeit of homemade dreamcatchers in lesbian homes.
Meanwhile, Kris and Chris are getting an ultrasound. Kris tells the doctor to keep the baby’s sex to herself. “What if she just tells me?” offers Chris.
I hope the baby inherits Kris’s amazing, ice blue eyes and Chris’s sardonic wit. Or at least turns out pretty, smart and cool. Perhaps they can just reverse engineer Emma Stone. Are we there yet?
Instead of building dreamcatchers, Sam is taking her mind off of Jen’s kisses by trying to summon her inner domestic goddess. This doesn’t work because A) the kiss wasn’t really “nothing,” and B) Sam can’t cook to save her life.
Sam realizes she’s a disaster because she can’t concentrate. She plops down and dials Jen’s landline. Landline? How retro.
That, or she’s calling her coke dealer.