And just as swiftly, we're back in the swing of things. Listen, I won't apologize for that joke, nor do I vow to refrain from making it again. It's my unique way of dealing with life's ups and downs. Besides, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but in case you've somehow forgotten—perhaps amnesia has struck you unawares?—Big is deceased. Truly, irretrievably gone. Feel free to vent about Carrie's failure to dial 911 (indeed, she should have), or label her a murderer, but the stark fact remains: Big is no more. This is the world we're navigating with "And Just Like That…" Perhaps "navigating" is too optimistic a term, considering Carrie isn't exactly thriving. She's engrossed in mourning, wandering aimlessly, and podcasting excessively. Podcasting, yes, but thriving? Not quite. I fervently hope for even a minute leap into the future, a few months hence, because ten episodes of a desolate Carrie Bradshaw would be a tall order to endure. "And Just Like That…" clearly strives to distinguish itself from its predecessor—witness the entirely new title—and while I embrace a tonal shift, being submerged in such profound sorrow suggests we're losing the zest and mirth that should accompany reunions with long-separated friends. We crave at least a glimmer of impending levity. Or, heaven forbid, a decent joke about, well, you know what.
Returning to the theme of wandering and grieving, at the episode's outset, Carrie seems almost resilient. She attributes this to the impending conclusion of the "death trifecta": the harrowing night Big passed, his funeral, and, lastly, the reading of his will. Moreover, the fact that she and Big had never been happier before his demise—a sentiment she shares with Che—doesn't hurt either. Their love story concluded on a high note, a blend of joy and sorrow she terms "happily sad."
Tragically for Carrie and her quaint aspirations of moving forward, Big had different ideas. Granted, we're all mourning Big, and I, too, rejoiced when these two finally found happiness together, but this doesn't negate the countless times Big was a colossal jerk to Carrie (neither was she blameless). His ultimate jerk move? Leaving $1 million to his second ex-wife Natasha without mentioning it to his current wife or offering an explanation. Did he somehow anticipate Carrie would predecease him?
This revelation sends Carrie into a tailspin. Money is the least of her concerns; she's devastated by the secret Big kept from her. What else might he have concealed? And had he been in contact with Natasha all along?
Our dear Car has taken a plunge into despair's depths. Desperately seeking answers, she delves into Big's digital world and physical possessions, rummaging through his pockets and wallet with fervent hope, yet her endeavors yield nothing but emptiness. To her chagrin, she does uncover an enigmatic picture of a dog named Gogi in his wallet, an unfamiliar face that fuels her anger further. Realizing that a meltdown is imminent, she concludes that confronting Natasha face-to-face is her sole salvation. She dashes off an email, but when Natasha fails to respond within hours, Carrie resorts to direct messaging her on Instagram. Instantly, she's met with a digital brick wall as Natasha blocks her. Cynthia Nixon's delivery of "Alright, she's a stone-cold bitch" after Carrie relates her plight is spot-on, yet any viewer with even a hazy recollection of the drama between Carrie, Big, and Natasha from Sex and the City knows that this scenario is far more nuanced. Natasha has ample reason to harbor resentment towards Carrie, the woman who betrayed her marriage, attempted to flee when caught, and inadvertently caused Natasha to stumble down stairs, necessitating what one can only presume was a harrowing dental procedure. Whether Carrie is mourning or not, her blocking seems justified.
However, as Carrie herself posits, "the sixth stage of grief is stalking," and with Miranda and Charlotte by her side, she resolves to track Natasha down at her workplace. Their mission proves disastrous. Spotting Natasha enter her office (remarkably, her teeth gleam with perfection), they confirm her presence. But when Carrie requests a meeting, she's informed that Natasha is in Rome. Clearly, this assistant lacks finesse in the art of deception; why craft such a grandiose lie when a small one would suffice for further elaboration? Such is the basics of assistantship 101. Amid Carrie's street-side tirade to Miranda and Charlotte, gesticulating wildly towards Natasha's office window, Natasha catches sight of her, and their locked gazes are charged with pure dread. The trio flees the scene hastily. Carrie appears lunatic, fully aware of her crazy demeanor. Granted, her husband has just passed, entitling her to moments of sheer madness, yet Natasha's outrage at Carrie's unexpected reentrance into her life is entirely understandable.
Carrie finds no solace, her nights tormented by sleeplessness as Big and Natasha's ghosts linger in her apartment, accompanied by her gnawing guilt and sorrow. Haunted, she takes to the streets. After years embedded in New York's rhythm, she marvels at the sight of joggers and dog-walkers invigorating Central Park at the break of dawn, a world she's too busy to inhabit. She embarks on a whimsical trek, her steps mirroring those of a basset hound and its owner (Carrie's newfound fascination with stalking evident). Her wanderings eventually lead her to the steps outside Miranda's class, where her friend cuts through the pretense, compelling her to confront her true emotions: raw anger.
Carrie seethes at Big for springing this on her. She rails against him for planting seeds of doubt in her mind about his fidelity. She is incensed by the resurgence of insecurities from their early days, when she never felt adequate in his eyes. She fumes over how he's tainted their bittersweet conclusion. Yet, with him deceased, her anger remains an unavenged wraith, propelling her onward.
Nature's call eventually halts Carrie's relentless pacing. She halts at a coffee shop, ordering a brew solely to gain access to the restroom. Irony strikes as she stumbles upon Natasha mid-relief. In a city where chance encounters are a dime a dozen, this confrontation stretches credibility's limits. Nevertheless, it catalyzes the conversation long overdue.
Natasha's instinct is to dismiss Carrie, a right she fiercely claims. But beneath the veneer, Natasha isn't heartless, despite Carrie's past wishes. Noticing Carrie's coffee-burned hands, Natasha prepares an ice pack, extending a gesture of kindness. She reveals her refusal of Big's money and her ignorance of his motives, emphasizing their estrangement since their divorce. Thus, Big's loyalty wasn't fractured by infidelity but by the immense guilt he bore towards Natasha. This realization offers Carrie a semblance of closure, imperfect yet sufficient. Here's hoping these two women's paths never cross again!
