Original subtitles

The adventure begins.

Last season on "You Me Her"...

You do remember we're having everybody over

for the game tomorrow, right?

The point is... are you bringing Izzy?

This is our choice,

- and this is what we want. - Let's do it.

We have some very exciting news.

We're together! We're a throuple.

So, you quit escorting.

For Andy.

So, you're seriously falling for him?

I'm scared shitless. I can't sleep.

Think they even noticed that we left?

Y... you don't think Emma's bi? You think she's just, like, gay?

Are you mad?

Who doesn't love a spirited public cuckolding?

You start work in 47 minutes. That's at noon.

You can't fulfill the duties of a skilled bartender

when you're highly inebriated.

- One more. - I'm closing.

Wait, so this is about a job?

Coolest firm in Seattle. Thanks so much, Kylie.

I don't... I don't even know what to say.

Everyone at Pinnacle is "buzzing" about me.

Have you crossed into seriously considering this?

So, scary Nina?

I know it's fast, but yeah.

I see you, Nina Martone.

He's a love junkie.

That... that's his shit?

That's his shit.

Uh, how about we start with a conversation?

What are you guys talking about?

We want you to have our baby.

Like, our baby. All three of us.

I feel like I've just been

drifting along and playing along.

And I woke up in the middle of my life,

no fucking clue who I am or what I want.

The house at Hawthorne Heights

is always gonna just be Jack and Emma's.

- It's ours if we want it. - No shit?

Nobody can make this place look cooler than Emma, right?

I'm a romantic.

I see you, Andy Cutler.

Wait.

We have an appointment to discuss

other options today at 4:00.

Do you remember what you said to me?

How you're not sure about anything in your life

sexually, professionally, or...

- reproductively? - Jack wants a baby.

Jack wants a baby.

I need you guys to want it, too.

- 'Cause if you don't, there's no reason... - Jack.

I do.

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_

Good morning.

- Hi, Emma. - Hi.

- Hi, Emma. - Good morning.

Hey, Em.

- Hi. - Good morning.

Hello.

- You did this, Em. - It's really happening.

Mm-hmm.

It was a bright and cheery spring morning in Portland,

the perfect day for fresh starts.

Or was it?

For brilliant and obscenely handsome

psychologist Jack Trakarsky,

nothing would ever be bright and cheery again.

That's the worst "Dateline" impression ever.

- That was really bad, right? - Yeah.

Okay, no peeking.

Okay. Okay.

Okay, voÍl�.

The pi�ce de r�sistance.

Wow.

I know it's not what she would've done,

but, uh, I was inspired.

I love it.

You hate it.

You totally hate it, and I... I get it.

- I went... I went far with the... with the birds... - Babe.

- ... and the yellow and the ahh, and the... I get it. - Babe.

I said I love it.

And I love you.

Mm.

Good, 'cause I couldn't take one more day

in her house, surrounded by her shit and her friends

with their catty little home-wrecker glares.

Maybe there's a little paranoia in play here?

Mm, I'm acutely self-aware, so hold on...

Nope, I'm good.

Monday's the divorce signing, right?

Yep.

Want to actually talk about it, or is that still too radical?

For the millionth time, I'm fine, okay?

It's water under the bridge.

It's water off a duck's back.

- It's water... - Oh, my God, stop. I get it. Yep.

You're a rolling river of fineness.

But you have postponed the signing twice,

so it's fair of me to wonder

if there's something else going on...

Iz, can we literally talk about anything else?

Please?

Fine.

What if, um...

What if you have a substantial estate

and we were newly married?

But I have a secret past

littered with rich, dead husbands?

Which, by the way, I've never once denied.

We're playing "Dateline" with an accent.

First...

I'd lull you into complacency with my insidious sexuality.

Mm-hmm.

Oh.

- Cause of death... phallic hypothermia. - Oh, dear.

Was the adoring doctoral candidate with the cold hands

hiding an even colder heart?

Seriously, you should see a doctor about these.

One more word about my hands,

and I will seriously "Dateline" you.

Do you like the wallpaper?

- Yeah. - Okay, good.

- There was wallpaper? - It was really expensive.

I used your credit card. I hope that's okay.

- Honey? - Yeah?

Please tell me you hid my shirts

like it's some sort of a fun joke to play on Dave.

Otherwise, this is the only shirt that I have left to wear.

Uh, crazy day yesterday.

Honey, I need you to look at me for a second.

Well, can I just assume that you're wearing

a ridiculously wrinkled shirt to hammer home a point

with your trademark subtlety?

Okay, I cannot wear a T-shirt and blazer

for the fourth straight day, all right?

I don't want to be the T-shirt and blazer guy.

- W... what, do I manage a band? - Say, here's an idea...

how about this evening, when you're driving directly past

the dry cleaners with zero screaming children in the car,

you hang a Louie and pick up your own shirts, cool?

Okay, the smile that launched a thousand nightmares.

Okay, so, do it myself,

hang a Louie, dry cleaning, got it, okay. Great.

Sorry, I'm just a little overwhelmed.

That's fine. That's fine. It's just, uh, you know,

is it possible that the amount of whelm that you're feeling

is due in part to the magazine thing?

You think you can call it the magazine

and not "the magazine thing"

like it's super cute and not at all real?

Are we fighting, 'cause I don't what's...

Okay, well, let's review.

I was feeding our two young children

when you entered, complaining about the dry cleaning

while wearing a shirt I've been using to clean the windows

- for the past five years. - That explains why my chest is itchy.

What?

Dave, this matters to me, okay?

It's not a full-time job, but it's not a hobby, either.

Okay. I know.

- And I support you 100%. - Thank you.

Okay?

Just that while you're doing those amazing things out in the world,

you know, you got to also be here, you know what I mean?

Be here?

Yeah, metaphorically speaking. I didn't... I don't mean...

Like, I'm not forbidding you from leaving the house.

- Oh, no. - Not that I would do that,

if I... if given the option. Not that I would take the...

Okay. This is going downhill faster than an Olympic luger.

Lugist?

Here's what I mean. Look.

- Be here. Nope, it still sounds douchey? - Mm, mm.

Okay, it sounded wise in my head, but...

- Can't imagine why. - Mm-hmm, mm-hmm.

Okay, I'm gonna go pick out a T-shirt and blazer combination.

I think that might be fun to try.

Great. There you go.

Okay, so far I've got

"True Crime: Is Serial Killer The New Rock Star?"

or "Fake News Therapy: Lie Me to Sleep."

- Iz? - Hm?

Hello?

Oh. Thesis titles.

- Yeah. - Right.

Lay 'em on me.

I just did.

Then I love the middle one.

Of... two.

I'm sorry.

I'm having trouble getting Jack

to talk about Emma without using the word "fine."

What he's really feeling is gonna fester,

and, you know, then it's gonna turn into whatever happens

when feelings fester.

It's like emotional pus.

- Thanks for that. - Sorry.

Okay, look, dudes deal differently.

Eventually, he's gonna get drunk and cry ugly

and punch a wall or whatever.

You seriously need to stop worrying about the Trakarskys

and start sorting your own shit, specifically your thesis

and rapidly approaching grown-up career.

- I need a plan. - Yeah, no shit.

Some way to get the two of them alone in an enclosed space.

Okay. You know what?

Think I'm just gonna...

just get up real slow,

walk away, see if you notice

or care at all...

I'm just gonna go...

- O... oww! - Same spot, every day

- until you pitch me your thesis! - Ow! Ow!

Your therapy techniques are fucking weird.

Hm, this is a nice surprise.

I wish the weather would've cooperated.

What's with the '80s Michael J. Fox ensemble?

Yeah, that is a story about dry cleaning, my friend.

- You want to hear about that? - No. Actually, I'll pass.

I got to tell you, Lori moving out

and this Hannah person moving in has turned out to be

the worst possible sequence of events. I mean...

Oh, I'm sorry, am I boring you?

No, just look how cute she is.

- No, don't throw it again! - She's not that cute.

Just a regular child.

Oh.

Look at that. What an arm you have on you.

Good throw. Here you go.

Oh, you got to make sure she doesn't throw a curveball

before high school, otherwise the tendons in the elbow

will get all... all screwed up.

And this one, I just want to eat her up.

Okay, then, we're just gonna go.

You can never be too careful, right? Stranger danger?

I sound a little too creepy,

- but I'm not. - Yeah. Bye.

Make sure you clean that binky.

- I have some wipes if you want them... - Okay, okay. All right, they're gone.

They're gone. See how she's fleeing

from your biological clock?

They were... just had someplace to go.

You just... you don't say, "I'm not creepy," by the way.

That makes you sound creepy.

Hey, speaking of fleeing from things,

you got your divorce signing on Monday.

You want to talk about that?

Did Izzy get to you, too?

No.

- Yes. - Mm.

But I mean, I happen to think she has a valid point in this situation.

Okay, you know what? J... Tell her you tried.

Nice try, but, uh... I'm good.

Whatever, okay?

Okay.

- We still on for Game 1 on Saturday... - Yes.

... at your place with the yard

- and the sidewalk that doesn't smell like urine? - Slight change of plans.

I would actually like to be away from kids

for the day, and you're the only one that doesn't have any,

so... sorry.

Gabe's coming, by the way.

- Oh, I love Gabe. - Yeah.

- Love Gabe. - Said no one ever.

Yeah.

Does your biological clock have an alarm?

No, but...

I set this for every 15 minutes,

you know, just in case

I need to get out of a particularly

annoying conversation, like, you know.

So then I can be like, "Hey, sorry, I got a place to be.

- Got an appointment." - Yeah.

So I do actually have something to do.

I have an appointment.

Oh, bravo, yeah, I get it, okay.

- Okay. - Yeah.

Stop conspiring with my girlfriend, okay?

- You're heading for a fall... - Yep.

- ... Trakarsky, that's all I'm saying. - I can't hear you.

My biological clock is deafening.

I'm sorry, Hannah.

Sorry. Rough morning.

This is still weird for me.

How's that?

Oh, it's, uh, Lori's house.

It's cool now, but effortlessly cool, kind of like you.

Ha, please.

If you'd seen me eight hours ago,

Swiffering, bingeing Adult Swim

with nothing but a tumbler of micro batch bourbon

to keep me company?

It's like you can't even help it.

Okay, Cal.

Pitch me your best idea.

Poo!

Awesome.

Liking it.

What about poop? A lot of poop stories out there.

How's this one gonna be different?

Just want to flush it out, get back to me?

Yeah? Awesome.

Okay, now about your rough morning...

Oh, yeah, Dave was being a bit of a...

Oh...

- Mm. - Damn.

Damn.

So committed.

Oh, I think every part of you is touching every part of me.

Mm. You know, I used to be a toe dipper.

Now I'm a high diver.

It's in my book.

Jesus, you're writing a book, too?

Mm. It's ostensibly a women's travel guide,

but it's basically about the journey

back to the essential you.

Is it weird that I want to be you when I grow up?

No, not at all.

So, uh, who watches the boys

when you and Rob are jetting all over the world?

Uh, well, we have a nanny,

like any reasonable two-career couple.

Anyway, almost finished my review on that

Hawthorne repertory shit show,

an apt description, since it's at least allegedly a play.

Um, you're shredding it?

"Five white suburban women just discovered xenophobia

and now they're nobly educating the rest of us."

So, I am not saying that we have to wantonly blow

every potential advertiser...

Because the Heights is different, right?

We're not just another bougie-pandering community rag.

Fuckin' A, sister.

However, the theater is launching

a huge season-pass campaign,

so we got to go full deep throat on this one.

There must be something positive about that play, right?

- There were seats. - Yeah.

- And a stage? - Ooh.

None of the actors peed herself?

Ah! See? That's right off the top of your head.

You know, like Rob always says, "We... "

What? What is that face?

Dave bet me 50 bucks Rob's not real.

- Speaking of Dave... - But were we?

... have you guys talked about some version of child care?

I'd say we're more talking about talking about it.

Look, Carm, I sure as hell am not going to tell you

how to run your family, but I am gonna tell you

that we can't publish almost-finished theater reviews.

You know what I'm saying, partner?

Yeah.

May I ask why you're pretending to vomit onto your computer?

Andy is relentlessly posting photos of him and his dad

having a smile-off somewhere in the woods.

Sickos.

Say, has anyone ever written a thesis

about excessive cyberstalking of ex-boyfriends?

You think there's a clinical name for that or... ?

No, but there is a clinical name for co-workers

who habitually say the stupidest shit

at the worst possible moments.

It's called missing.

You deal realize you don't scare me anymore,

right, 'cause our relationship has moved way past that.

Oh, do tell.

Well, uh, we're best buds.

Mejores amigos.

Or is it mejores amigas?

What's it when... when one bestie's female,

- the other one's male... - Dude, get over it, okay?

We're two humans frequently in the same structure

at the same time who feel compelled

to speak to each other.

- Well, methink the lady doth... - Men suck.

That's my thesis.

Oh...

Okay, well, I recommend something a little more

smarty-pants, and then... and then how 'bout some...

some therapy? "The State of the Millennial Man."

Hm? 20-something dates in 20-something days,

the whole aimless, emotionally-stunted man-child thing?

I want to know the hows, whys, and what nows.

Mm-hmm. Okay. Jot this one down.

Uh, we're confused.

Thesis written.

Huh?

You're welcome. Next.

So what, you're saying it's our fault?

- Is that what you're saying? - No. T... the...

No, how did you get that... Fuck no.

- Hell no. All the nos. - Boom! Right there. I saw it in your eyes.

You are definitely still scared of me.

Could you please just...

just clean a glass or something, you know?

All right, I'm gonna leave you with this

before I do both of our jobs, as usual...

You think men have spontaneously devolved,

but a lot has changed in the dating and mating front,

like in leap time.

Lines have blurred, gender roles are smeared...

Shh. Zip it, okay?

I've got wheels turning, big things.

"The Vexing Plight of the Millennial Male."

That's perfect.

That's definitely not a rephrasing of what I just said.

It's my break time.

Good for you, you've worked hard. Thank you.

But when you come back, you and I,

we're gonna have a little sit down

and talk about professional boundaries.

- Kylie? - Up here!

What are we celebrating?

I mean, aside from the fact

that we can't seem to go a week

without closing a new project?

Not to sound like a teenage girl,

but it is our two-month anniversary.

Seriously? Two months. How is that even possible?

One month in college, one month now.

Sue me. I'm a romantic.

Aww, Kylie.

Mm, how awesome are you?

More than your mortal mind can comprehend.

I got us into Delilah's.

Yeah, what? Next Christmas?

In 20 minutes by the window.

Ain't no thing. I know a guy.

Well, that is so fucking hot.

The things I'm gonna do to you when we get home...

Oh, what a shame.

I don't sleep with married women.

- Yeah? - Strict policy.

Oh, you sure about that?

Oh, well, maybe it's not so much a strict policy

as a loose guideline.

And you're single as of Monday, so...

Sorry, sorry, I...

That was weird, I just... I just got weird.

We're both in uncharted waters, Em.

You've never been in a committed relationship

with a woman before, and I've never been with someone

who was married to a dude for a million years.

We're good, you're good, they're good.

And you have nothing to feel guilty about.

Uh...

Actually, technically, it's your slice,

so you're welcome to it.

Okay.

Wait.

First...

Take another look at how cute I look in my boyfriend's jersey.

Mm-hmm.

Look at the pizza.

Now back up here.

Hello.

- Now back at the pizza. - Okay.

Now know that you can only have one of these two things.

Oof. Hmm.

Are you sexually manipulating me over the last slice of pizza?

Please, I have chloroformed people over the last piece of pizza.

Fine, it's yours.

You're the best.

Mm.

Jack, are you gonna answer it?

What do you think she wants?

Only one way to find out.

Hey, you!

Well, someone's perky.

Are you high?

Yeah, we are super high.

Just dancing, feeding each other pizza,

generally frolicking.

The usge.

Just talk like a normal person.

Well, that's... that's awesome.

Yeah, things are... things are great here, too.

Um, just scored another big project.

Got back from celebrating with Kylie at the...

the fanciest restaurant in the Pacific Northwest, so...

Wow, you go, girl.

I will actually

barf pizza all over your face.

Uh, so, this is a bit awkward, but you

postponed the last two scheduled signings,

and I just want to make sure that we're still on for Monday.

Yep, on for Monday.

Tell Kylie and pop some corks.

Um, well, I will see you then.

Yep, see you then.

Bye, Jack.

Bye, Em.

- What? - Are you serious?

Jack, you need to stop whatever the fuck that was

and express some actual, genuine emotions

about how things went down.

Emma realized she's gay.

End of story.

We want different things,

and it's good that we figured that out

before a baby came into the mix.

And that makes you feel... ?

Why is this only about me?

You're... you got left, too.

We were together for, like, a month.

It's hardly the same thing.

Okay, if you were counseling us, what would you say?

- "Assface?" - What?

- That's your da... Is that your dad? - Oh, yeah.

Why is he suddenly calling you so much?

Well, not really that sudden.

Meaning?

Meaning he started calling a year ago,

ramped it up the last few weeks,

and I don't want to talk about it.

You don't want to talk about it.

You don't see the parallels to the conversation

we were just having?

No.

You're gonna get changed.

Ben Silva's call has just shaken me in a way

that can only remedied by sweating out vodka

in a place that's just, like, uh, uh.

You know, like, too loud to think.

- Your favorite. - All right.

Awesome, I am in.

Let's do it.

Again.

Bless you.

You look plagued, and not with concern.

You look like you literally have the plague.

- The fuck ran into you? - Hey, enjoy.

There's zero chance he's successfully eating that.

Can't you just tell Izzy that you're too old now

and you can't hang anymore.

And there's no shame in that.

I mean, we already know it.

I can't take much more of this, you guys.

I'm way closer to 40 than 35.

Or 39, for that matter.

I did shots last night that were called "Death by Dawn."

- The title itself is its own warning. - More like a prophecy.

She wants to have sex, like, all the time,

sometimes fucking every day, twice a day...

Wow, you poor man.

I would slap your face if you didn't look contagious.

Really going for it.

So does this mean

we're not coming over to watch the game?

What? No. No. No bailing.

We're going to your loft to watch the fucking game.

Take it easy there, Superfan.

It's the first game of the first round.

You know how many butts I had to wipe to make this happen?

Seriously hoping it's just the two.

We're watching the game, okay? I need the distraction.

Divorce signing thing still on for Monday?

- Oh, buddy, is that what this is about? - Are you okay?

- Do you want to talk about it? - Need a suit?

You two are literally the last people in the world

I would want to talk to about it, okay?

- Excuse me? - What?

I think Izzy must be hung over, too, right?

I mean, she's young, but she's still human.

- All better? - Like it never happened.

One more, we can accidentally slide into a day rage.

Whoo!

Uh, no can do, sister.

I'm enacting a devious plan.

Um, I love devious plans even more than day raging.

- Tell me. - I know. Okay.

So, last night, I texted Emma

that Jack and I would be out of the loft all day

so she could come deal with all the shit that we've been storing.

- I left her a key. - I'm starting to think

you don't actually know what the word "devious" means.

I'm not done. And then I recruited Dave...

you know, Jack's weird friend with all the kids...

to make sure that they would be in the loft

watching the game.

Get it?

I'm getting super fucking bored over here.

Okay, point is, is that you know Jack.

He gets so weird. He's like all chill

and philosophical, but it's, like, come the fuck on, okay?

If he doesn't let it out, he's gonna detonate.

Like, I can hear him ticking.

Are you sure that's the real reason

behind your "devious plan?"

- Nyeh. - What other motive would there be?

Seriously? Oh, come on.

Iz, it's me.

Oh, you think I want to get the band back together?

- After what she did? - Mm-hmm.

How does that even make sense?

Oh, it... it doesn't. And, um,

while we're discussing the pervasive senselessness

of your entire life, have you talked to your dad,

who's been calling on the hour for several weeks,

or is closure only for other people?

You wrecked my buzz.

Let me guess... headed to the loft?

Oh, you're so cute when you think you know things and...

Do not go to the loft.

- Bye. - Bye.

Oh, come on, Goldsby!

I think it's time we cut you off, man.

You're yelling at the TV like they can hear you.

He heard me.

Look, I managed to go an entire Saturday

without seeing or touching a child's puke,

so it's still a win in my books.

So, is this ridiculously small TV

the only thing left to you in this giant brick box?

Okay, you know what? Unlike you,

I have a normal, adult-sized penis,

so I don't need a TV the size of a billboard.

Did you steal it from the back seat of an Escalade

from the headrest? You just...

- and right there? - He's saying it's small.

- It is very small. - It is.

Hey, Frank. Yeah, extra large for pick-up.

Thanks.

Hey, there, Peanut.

You don't get to call me that anymore, Ben.

- Come on, let's not... - Go the fuck away.

The sad thing is, you're right.

Now I know how Izzy felt when she was in Hawthorne Heights.

It's just... I fucking miss the suburbs.

It's pathetic, I know.

It takes me, like, an hour to find a parking space

- when I'm driving around. - That's the worst.

You poor baby.

Guys, we were not having this conversation, okay?

W... what? Does she beat you?

Hey.

Hey.

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