Sorry isn’t good enough — Back at the bar, the girls are enjoying the rejuvenating properties of group therapy over beers. They listen to Chris and Kris plan their imminent life alteration, which starts tomorrow with Kris’ first insemination appointment. Crutch offers to host a post-baster party, appropriately enough, at the Beever. Hope Emmy doesn’t mind Kris lying upside-down on the couch with her legs in the air.
Everyone’s happy to go, including Jen, who now has a stuffy nose and cold medicine-head. Suddenly, their party goes quiet, and it’s not because Jen’s ears are clogged.
Jen turns around to see what everyone’s looking at. It’s her favorite buzz-kill, Sienna, walking up to her. Sienna wants to apologize for her recent break-in and inappropriate emotional support demands. The old Jen would’ve made nice and accepted the apology while her insides churned like a butter maid on meth. The new Jen isn’t that easy.
Sienna: I was way out of line, coming to you of all people. I’m sorry. And I hope, one day, we can start over … be friends.
Can we decide right here and now that we do not need to be friends with all our exes any more? Just because we have to run into former girlfriends again and again at the one and only bar in town, or share our friends because they’ve evolved into a big, overlapping tangle of connections impossible to separate, that does not mean we have to be actual friends with our exes. Something wrong with merely being cordial? I’m just saying.
Jen’s with me because she doesn’t answer Sienna, but instead, quietly seethes and imagines her with needles in her eyes. Sienna turns to walk away, but then Jen finally speaks up.
Jen: You had an affair.
Sienna: I know.
Jen: With our couples therapist.
Sienna: I know.
Jen: And married her. And invited me to the wedding like it was no big deal. And then, in some insanely self-centered way, thought it was OK to show up and make me your shoulder to cry on.
Sienna: I know. I wish I could take it all back. I am so sorry for all of it.
Jen: Ya know when that apology might have meant something? When I still loved you. But I don’t love you anymore. I don’t know if we’ll ever be friends. And I can’t feel guilty. I won’t. I don’t.
Sienna offers to buy the next round as a gesture of too little, too late good will. Sam comes over and puts her arms around her friend. Jen orders a double.
Baby’s mamas — The next day at the doctor’s office, Kris lies on the gyno table on top of that comfy butcher paper we all know and love, waiting for her sperms. Chris has flowers and mood music, but all Kris wants is her. Chris gives her baby’s mama a kiss for good luck.
Daddy’s baby — Back at the money pit, Sam is under the sink again, still wrestling with the garbage disposal monster. There’s a knock at the door. "Just bring it in here," she calls out. A pair of shoes appear in the kitchen, but they look too dressy to belong to a delivery man.
Sam wiggles out from under and sees her dad standing there with a vase of cut flowers. Sam is touched and a little awkward, too. Things haven’t been great since she turned down his financial assistance and he turned up his nose at her affinity for other women’s breasts.
Sam invites her dad to stay for some coffee. And perhaps later, some plumbing assistance.