Joe's heart is shattered, contemplating the drastic measure of stepping into a car's path, merely hoping to capture Love's attention. His entire being aches in the absence of Love! He is utterly astonished by her acquisition of curtains. (Personally, I commend the writers of this series for their humorous nod to our number one grievance about Beck's abode.) Love, who has recently discovered that the man she thought she had "wolfed down" (yuck) was deceiving her about his identity and who knows what else, is coping in a surprisingly healthy, and admittedly admirable, manner: indulging in rebound sex with a smoking hot guy named Milo.
Milo is essentially a cheaper version of Hemsworth, blessed with wealth (his father owns Patagonia) and a past intertwined with the Quinn family. He was once the closest friend of James, Love's late husband, and according to Forty, he's had a thing for Love forever. After James' passing, Forty reveals that Milo "satisfied her every night," to which I must ask, HOW DOES FORTY KNOW THIS?! THESE SIBLINGS DESPERATELY NEED SOME BOUNDARIES. Later, Milo will vent something similar, marking the end of his entanglement in their codependent sibling dynamic. But we have an entire episode ahead of us before that particular explosion occurs. For the time being, Forty assures Joe not to worry: Love "gets a bit generic" when she's hurt — I admit, I chuckled — and urges Joe to dive back into the dating pool, both to reclaim Love's attention and to enjoy himself. Joe doubts Love is the jealous type, to which Forty retorts, "Did you two share a uterus?"
Calvin and Forty navigate the dating-app landscape of this alternate realm, encountering one that specializes in "kittenfishing thirst traps." My favorite bit is when Calvin jokes that if someone texts you "whaT's up," with a capital T, "the T stands for Tina, which means meth."
Back at the apartment, Ellie, the mischievous balcony sprite, drops by to express her disgust at Joe's inability to rebound with ease, like a normal person, and to politely request that he ceases his hookups with Delilah. Delilah, ever the practical one, reminds Joe to pay his goddamn rent. These are all words of wisdom, but as is often the case with sound advice on this show, none will be heeded, and their refusal to listen will ultimately spell disaster for them all.
Joe finds himself yearning to embark on a time-traveling adventure to the era of Taylor Swift's early hits, where he could gallop on a steed for an eternity, merely casting fleeting glances at a maiden perched in a tower. Alas, reality sets in, and he must content himself with "Sonnet2Me," an app catering to word enthusiasts. The narrative unfolds like a montage of disastrous dates: there's the shallow narcissist, the illiterate suitor, and then the one who initially seems promising, versed in Hemingway quotes and Norman Mailer references (Joe, who deems "Love" as too basic, sighs deeply). Yet, her profound interests mask a dark truth—she's an alcoholic. One wonders how Joe managed three dates so swiftly, considering his profile comprises solely of apartment selfies. Posting Instagrams about first dates? That's the mark of a true psychopath, rivaling Joe's usual antics of kidnapping and manslaughter.
Meanwhile, Milo's profile showcases intimate, artistic portraits dedicated to Love. Joe, deeming stalking Milo the only sensible course of action, embarks on a chase reminiscent of his pursuit of Peach. However, Milo's impressive physical condition leaves Joe trailing behind. Instead, he bumps into Gabe, who instantly comprehends the situation—not the existence of Joe's secret hostage cell, but his tailing of Milo. Initially, one might commend Gabe for taking a stand, until he expresses optimism for Joe and Love's future. Gabe, oh Gabe, how could you? He advises Joe to emulate Milo's self-improvement journey, seemingly a transformation from his former, less Hemsworth-like self. Sound advice, indeed. However, Gabe's L.A.-inspired methods, including acupuncture with a chest crystal triggering flashbacks, push the envelope. Joe speaks his truth, unraveling memories of his mother as a deceitful, book-hating woman, labeled a Bad Person. In an uncontrollable sob, Joe grasps the essence of self-love. Gabe asserts that this takes practice, curiously incorporating a "quick seven-day cleanse"—utter nonsense, if you ask me.
Joe, now sipping celery juice, is bound to face consequences. Ellie, the balcony sprite, mocks him during her visit to angle for an internship with Joe and Forty for their Beck movie. Later, at Joe's apartment, Delilah arrives (a warning sign indeed), announcing that her first-person account of Henderson's experience will be published in Variety. Joe responds by vomiting violently all over her. On the other hand, Milo is deeply enamored with Love, to the point of canceling a Bali trip. Love cites a premonition that Forty is about to relapse as her reason for staying. Milo urges her to confront her codependency, a sign that he won't last long in Love's tumultuous world. Our girl cherishes honesty, except when confronted with the most glaring truth in her life!
Joe stirs back to consciousness just as Delilah places an order for burgers and milkshakes, her voice dripping with nonchalance. He gushes about her essay being "incredible," prompting me to hurl pillows at my television in disbelief. Delilah, get out of here! Skip the boardwalk entirely! Don't even think about collecting that fictional $200. Yet, what transpires defies my wishes. They venture out, engaging in flirtatious banter and indulging in alcohol until they're both tipsy. I scribble furiously, "He puked on you mere hours ago. How can you contemplate locking lips with him so soon after that?" Yet, she does exactly that! Their amorous escapade outside lands them in jail, where Joe's panic intensifies, fearing his fingerprints will expose his true identity. Fincher, Delilah's casual cop hookup and the same officer who had previously confiscated Joe's expensive headphones from the murder evidence, refuses to lend a helping hand.
It's worth mentioning, which I overlooked earlier, that Fincher is indeed the cop who stopped Joe at an ungodly hour of 4 a.m. on the night of the Henderson homicide. Desperate, Joe reaches out to Forty, who wields his wealthy influence to secure their release. As dawn breaks, they stumble back home, only to be confronted by Ellie, who spots them hugging and berates Delilah for abandoning her all night to indulge in such "slutty" behavior. Her words may be harsh, but I empathize with her hurt. Delilah suggests they should stick to being friends, but will they really heed this advice?
At Anavrin, Milo arrives bearing red roses for Love, much to Forty and Joe's amusement, who tease that Love despises such clichés. I thought she had resorted to basic choices in her rebound phase, but red roses? They're the epitome of Bachelor-level basic. Forty's jerkiness knows no bounds, and Milo attempts to broker peace with a "can't we all act like adults here?" plea. The situation escalates, with Milo dubbing Forty a "fucking albatross" and punching him. Love freaks out, though it's evident she thrives on all the attention. Then, Milo drops a bombshell: "Maybe if you'd focused less on your idiotic brother and more on what was happening right in front of you, you would've realized sooner that James was ill." Intrigue piques. Oh, I'm hooked now.
Fincher dials Delilah to alert her about Joe, his suspicions lingering thickly in the air. How did Joe, a man of modest means, come by such exorbitantly priced headphones, especially considering Hendy's endorsement of them? And why would he contemplate discarding them? Delilah, attempting to brush it off as a mere matter of pride, is nonetheless visibly perturbed by this revelation. Impelled by an irresistible urge, she breaks into Joe's abode and stumbles upon the key to the storage unit. I shout through my computer screen in desperation, "CALL FINCHER FIRST, YOU RECKLESS, IMPULSIVE CREATURE DOOMED TO SELF-DESTRUCTION!"
She snaps photos of all incriminating evidence but fails to send them anywhere, seemingly oblivious to the impending peril. She ventures into the glass enclosure, all alone, as if lured by a sinister fate. I'm not advocating that anyone deserves to be ensnared by their tenant, who has been concealing a lengthy history of homicides behind a false identity, but really, Delilah, take some precautions! I scream internally, "BITCH, DROP A LOCATION PIN!" Yet, she remains oblivious to my cries. They never do!
Predictably, Joe traps her in a corner. Equipped with a nanny cam since the Candace incident, he had plans to invite Delilah to dinner tonight—perhaps sealing her fate regardless. She implores Joe to consider Ellie, but he insists he harbors no intent to harm her; he merely needs to "make some arrangements" and all will be well. All she has to do is place her trust in him. How difficult could it be, he suggests, unaware of the treacherous waters he navigates?
