You see, this is why I never go to open mic nights. All the bad singers, skeazy dudes and backstabbing–literally. Better to stay at home and watch a homicide detective and medical examiner pretend they aren’t totally gay for each other. Much safer–though, admittedly, sometimes uninvited dudes still pop up and you have to hit them over the head until they leave.
So Jane is at Maura’s place, because that’s what girlfriends do before they submit to the siren song of the U-Haul. She’s eating Gluten-free “cookies,” which is also something girlfriends do when one of the girlfriends likes that sort of shit and the other one just likes getting laid. Oh, sorry, too honest?
Jane is telling Frankie to hurry up because Maura and her pulled an 18-hour day–if you know what she means. Maura tells Jane to be nice and let her younger brother impress her. It’s so thoughtful how Maura has become the protector of the entire Rizzoli clan.
Frankie shows off his refurbished motorcycle. Which, of course, he has been fixing up at Maura’s place because those are the sorts of privileges you get as brother-in-law. The bike looks good, and you can already see Jane plotting for ways to borrow it for long road trips down the coast with Maura on the back riding bitch. (We all know Jane’s a terrible passenger already.)
But the daydream is short-lived because Papa Rizzoli saunters in with Tommy close behind. You remember Francesco Rizzoli Sr., right? The guy who left Mrs. Rizzoli, slept with his son’s girlfriend and stuck them all with a $27,000 IRS bill. So everyone is clearly thrilled to see him.
Alienating his already alienated family and the entire lesbian fanbase even more, Frank Sr. decides to denigrate Maura’s role in the family by insisting they not discuss this in front of “people.”
What comes next, United States of Gayzzoli, is our “Nobody puts baby in a corner!” moment. Jane says, verbatim, “What people? THAT’S MAURA!” If you’ve made a similarly emphatic declaration of couplehood to a homophobic parent, relative or friend, raise your hand.
Maura gives Jane the quick, “It’s OK, honey, this is totally not worth it” look and leaves to make some tea. Because, as we all well know, all lesbian problems can be solved by a nice cup of tea. (This also applies to British people, I’ve heard.)
Frank Sr. says he’s just there to see Mama R, who immediately materializes behind him with her beau Lt. Cavanaugh. If familial awkwardness could be turned into energy, you could use the amount here to cook 200 turkey dinners.
Jane and Maura leave that uncomfortable situation for the comparatively more preferable scene of a bloody murder. The detectives are all at the open-mic night bar to examine the female stabbing victim and her guitar case. Jane notices a cylindrical void in the case. Could it have been a “non-biological phallic-shaped object?” Maura says she doesn’t want to conduct a full examination until she has slept. And had a chance to consult the one in her top dresser drawer.
But Jane knows just how to motivate her girlfriend to give her the information she wants. Again, verbatim: “Do you want this conversation to end and go to bed?” Boom. It’s almost like you don’t need me here at all.
After fully satisfying Maura’s bed needs, Jane returns to her apartment (presumably because she ran out of clean clothes in her “drawer”). She finds Frank (who is drinking again) swilling from a brown paper bag at her doorstep. She’s naturally annoyed, because so much for the afterglow. But then he goes and drops the Big C on her. It’s hard to hold onto simmering familial resentment in the face of Cancer. But we can try.