Time weaves an endless loop, and on this Valentine's Day installment of "And Just Like That…," I shall refrain from excessive griping about the AJLT temporal enigma, for this episode—penned by Samantha Irby—delicately balances heart-wrenching romance with a comically disastrous Miranda date. Such equilibrium is always an allure for me. To clarify, the romantic undertow I refer to stems partly from Carrie Bradshaw's encounter with a Very Important Visitor From Her Past, but it primarily blossoms between Charlotte and Harry, whose union is a whimsical blend of absurdity and affection. Even as we traverse one of television's most overplayed narratives—the Person Accidentally Ingests Pot Brownies saga—I hold them dear. Moreover, Drew Barrymore's guest appearance adds an surreal layer to this feverish dreamscape we dare not awaken from. Embrace the madness, my friends!
Behold, the rumors (alongside an intense marketing blitz) have borne fruit: Aidan Shaw has returned. He responds to Carrie's "Hey stranger" email with a casual "What’s up?" (despite a thirteen-year hiatus, "What’s up?" suits their reunion just fine), and suggests a Valentine's Day dinner during his visit. Charlotte's excitement is barely contained; in her mind, either Aidan's awareness of the occasion signifies a romantic gesture, or his oblivion to it hints at his singleton status, given that only committed men retain February 14th trivia. Her logic, though flawed, evinces endearing eagerness.
Carrie's nerves flicker like a faulty bulb as Valentine's Day approaches, torn between fears of too much or too little time having elapsed. She nearly talks herself out of the reunion. Yet, our protagonist musters the courage to sit at the restaurant, awaiting her once-great love, the possessor of a snuggle nook par excellence. Half an hour ticks by sans Aidan. Fear not—AJLT is merely toying with our emotions. Finally, an Aidan text reveals Carrie's restaurant blunder; he awaits next door. Apparently, restaurants are now devoid of names. Odd, indeed. They reunite on the sidewalk, locking eyes with a blend of awe and recognition. Aidan's coat is so constricting that his "come hug me" gesture appears awkward and infantilizing, a vision I'd rather expunge. Yet, in their embrace, I'm instantaneously ensnared by Carrie and Aidan's magic once more.
Admit it, friends, whenever these two are in harmony, a spell binds me, much like it does them. I recall only their potential greatness, erasing the instances they treated each other poorly. I know this is flawed, yet I remain unperturbed. Carrie and Aidan possess an undeniable spark. Yet, they are ill-suited. Both truths coexist!
Their dinner flows effortlessly, feeling so natural that Carrie invites Aidan back to her apartment to prolong the evening. When the cab arrives, Aidan realizes it's the same abode where they once shared life. The stairs are too steeped in haunting memories of renovation attempts and relationship downfalls. "The wall I couldn't break through" haunts him still. He admits the night felt magical, like a return to their beginnings, but acknowledges, "This is where we ended." He cannot retrace those steps. Carrie tries to reassure him, reminding him of the good times, but it falls on deaf ears. "Time doesn't heal everything, no matter how much you wish it would," she concedes, releasing him once more. But just as Aidan turns to leave, he reverses course: "Hey, screw it. This is New York. They have hotels, right?" he quips before sweeping her into a passionate, swooning kiss. See, ignore the imperfections, as I know you do too. That kiss was pure, unadulterated romance!
I'd be utterly astonished if "And Just Like That..." decided to saddle Carrie with a perpetual love interest at this juncture of the narrative. So, why are we reigniting the flames between Carrie and Aidan, drawing them back into each other's lives and bedrooms? Aidan resides in Virginia, with children in tow; it's inconceivable that he'd relocate to NYC anytime in the foreseeable future. Could this merely serve as a chance for them to part ways amicably? Will it pave the way for a more enduring commitment down the line? Or are we all being duped yet again in a twist of fate?
Despite the swooning appeal of that kiss between Carrie and Aidan (for which I refuse to apologize!), the genuine romance resides with Charlotte and Harry (and for this assertion, I stand firm without apology too). As Valentine's Day approaches, Charlotte finds herself engrossed in catering to everyone else's needs. She exhausts herself shuttling Rock to modeling agency meetings and bolstering their Instagram presence, only for Rock to abruptly announce his disinterest in modeling. Charlotte also lends a helping hand to Lily with her "F the Boys" Valentine's Day dinner, hosted by her new, trendy girlfriends, amidst her and Blake's breakup. By "helping," I mean vowing to vacate their impeccably maintained apartment during the festivities and enduring Lily's scathing remarks leading up to and throughout the event, which, ironically, takes place in Charlotte's home. Charlotte's children are monsters, as per usual. Speaking of beasts, Charlotte also hooks Anthony up with a new Hot Fella for his Valentine's Day appearance on "The Drew Barrymore Show" (after he sent her a Hot Fellas Breadbasket, turning her into an instant fan). This handsome Italian poet, whom she encounters in a stationery store, dons a Hot Fellas uniform and reveals an enormous member that even makes Drew sweat on-air.
Eventually, Charlotte gets a moment for herself when she and Harry embark on a Valentine's dinner. Alas, Charlotte devours a brownie brought by one of Lily's new friends, which, as predictable as the sunrise, turns out to be a pot brownie. Setting aside the overused plot device, Charlotte and Harry's belief that Charlotte is suffering a stroke in the midst of the restaurant and their subsequent rush to the hospital serves as a poignant reminder of their unparalleled love. As they load Charlotte into the ambulance, they shout their undying affection for each other. Harry cries out, "Don't you leave me," in a moment that, yes, may seem silly given Charlotte's obvious intoxication. Yet, it's also heartwarmingly sweet. Their love is so profound, folks!
Once the doctor informs them that Charlotte isn't on the brink of death, she resolves to make something meaningful out of this harrowing experience: she confesses to Harry that she's losing herself in everyone else's life and yearns to rediscover her identity. She intends to reach out to the gallery owner who once offered her a job at LTW and Herbert's anniversary party to see if the position is still available. Harry appears surprised but mostly on board. Don't disappoint me, Harry—this marks a delightful turn in Charlotte's journey.
Miranda undergoes a sort of revelation. As she embarks on her first solo Valentine's Day in ages, she yearns to decipher her sexual attractions beyond her playful craving for "Che-like enchantments." It isn't long before her quest leads her to a stunning woman, adorned in an exquisite suit and possessing an even more captivating voice (welcomed into this escapade is another Younger alum, portrayed marvelously by Miriam Shor). This enchantress recites Pride & Prejudice at the rear of Books Are Magic, igniting a spark within Miranda. Declaring, "I've had my fill of Dickens," Miranda finds herself thoroughly intrigued.
Enter Amelia Carsey, whose name Carrie aptly notes bears an uncanny resemblance to Darcy's. Amelia is the very voice behind the Jane Austen audiobooks that once soothed Miranda's soul, and to Miranda's delight, she shares a mutual attraction. Amelia's last-minute alteration of their plans to a cozy dinner at her apartment further elevates Miranda's excitement. However, this exhilaration swiftly dwindles upon stepping into Amelia's abode, which resembles a squalid abyss. Almost instinctively, Miranda's foot lands in the cat's litter box, while Amelia, clad in sweats (a sight Diana Trout would surely scorn), hands her a binder filled with menus from Grubhub, instructing her to choose dinner while she dashes downstairs to retrieve her flannel sheets from the laundry.
This reality bears no resemblance to the passionate romance Miranda had envisioned in her mind. Surprisingly, Carrie offers sound advice: Why doesn't she just leave? It dawns upon Miranda that her 35-year-old heterosexual self might have persevered, but the 56-year-old lesbian Miranda has no patience for such nonsense, and she promptly exits. Complaining to Carrie, "Though I may be different, dating remains unchanged—a chaotic mess, a cat-induced chaos." While Miranda's initial foray into the lesbian dating scene may have seemed like a disaster, it hints at the promising prospect that single life, for Miranda, could be incredibly exhilarating. And on this hopeful note, we bid farewell.
