Los Angeles failed to live up to Joe's expectations—a city marred by multiple homicides, and a place where he never felt a genuine connection with its people. Seeking a fresh slate, Joe and Love ventured into Madre Linda, a "soulless, affluent suburb outside San Francisco," as Joe described it. (Incidentally, this fictional locale translates amusingly to "cute mom" in Spanish.) Nestled half an hour away from Grandma Dottie's condo (affectionately known as "Glamma," a term that leaves much to be desired), their new home was supposed to mark a clean break.
Yet, Joe's life continued to veer off course from his dreams. Instead of a cherished daughter, he had a son who seemed anything but bright; his supposed soulmate had taken lives with her bare hands, a disturbing reality that deserved its own unpacking; and Joe was coming to terms with the fact that he had never pondered the aftermath of "boy meets girl." Certainly, he hadn't envisioned fathering a baby boy named Henry Forty, a nod to Forty, the twin who exposed Joe and Love's psychopathic tendencies and paid for it with his life. Moreover, for someone steeped in classic literature yet suffocating in his white-picket-fence purgatory, one might expect Joe to diversify his reading list beyond Fitzgerald, perhaps delving into Cheever instead.
I hope this doesn't ruffle the feathers of new parents among our readers, but I must confess that the first two-thirds of this episode tested my patience. I understand that an authentic depiction of parenthood must encompass its mundane, exhaustive aspects, but television thrives on excitement, not drudgery. The narrative of bodily fluids and sleep deprivation isn't exactly groundbreaking or enlightening. And while the baby's wails every time Joe touched him were meant to be symbolic, the incessant screaming was, quite frankly, a bit much. Fast forward to the serial killing, please!
Joe struggled to bond with Henry, perhaps because he was reading "The Great Gatsby" to a seven-month-old instead of "The Very Hungry Caterpillar." Joe suspected it was because the infant could peer into his soul and see the sociopath lurking within. Joe claimed to have only one relic from his old life—which I couldn't help but wonder if it was a plexiglass prison for kidnapping and murder. Instead, it was merely a book press. He sent Ellie the profits from his one-person bookshop, a gesture that barely made a dent in her expenses but was a token of his thoughts, nonetheless.
We delve deeper into Joe's murky past, uncovering the revealing truth: he was once confined within the crumbling walls of a gothic horror-inspired, stone palace—a repository for wayward boys shunned by unloving parents. This eerie setting bears a striking resemblance to that of Pretty Little Liars, which I fondly dubbed "Voldemort's Dickensian Orphanage for the Morally and Mentally Afflicted." However, for You, I'll offer a fresh moniker: "The Queen's Gambit Tranquilizer Den, where the Weak are Separated from the Merely Abandoned."
At "The Irving Group Home for Boys," Joe faced bullying, not for his peculiarities—such as his fascination with vintage hardcover books or his unusually deep voice for a child—but rather for his unwavering belief, in defiance of all evidence, that his mother would return for him. While others were forsaken, Joe clung to a shred of hope, insisting, "You were all left behind, but not me!"
Returning to Madre Linda, Joe encounters a new social circle, and I, for one, am thrilled to witness Search Party's MVP, Shalita Grant, portray Sherry, an obnoxious momfluencer who reminds Joe of Peach Salinger—a comparison that does not bode well for Sherry's fate. With barbs like, "Has your vagina even recovered yet?" and "Don't worry, that class is for people who are really in shape," Sherry manipulates Love into becoming her minion. Sherry is married to Cary, a stunningly attractive and inexplicably wealthy man whose source of affluence remains a mystery to me. They strike me as tech snobs, the offspring of wealthy parents, or perhaps both. Another couple, Kiki and Brandon, remains shrouded in mystery, while later encounters introduce us to the unfortunately named Andrew and Jackson. Joe's heart, however, is captured by his next-door neighbor, Natalie, a realtor married to an older tech entrepreneur named Matthew. My notes scrawl, "Natalie is pretty; this will undoubtedly spell trouble."
Currently, the voiceover's "you" belongs to Natalie, Joe's latest obsession, the beacon of hope illuminating his dark dock (ugh, the cliché). She flirts with him brazenly, buying him a box of condoms, and subtly, by chance encounters in the library. The librarian, portrayed by Tati Gabrielle—whom you might recognize as the coolest of Sabrina's clique in Chilling Adventures of Sabrina—is a vision of beauty, conforming to the show's unwritten rule: everyone must be stunning. Natalie selects Tender is the Night for Joe, a novel about marriage and infidelity, which I see as an Easter egg for Gossip Girl fans who recall Dan's Fitzgerald-inspired visions of the Upper East Side.
Natalie, leveraging her tech-savvy husband's skills, manages to procure Joe's phone number, seemingly outmaneuvering Joe in the realm of surveillance this season. She then boldly invites him over for an impromptu daytime wine session. My notes reflect a mix of astonishment and amusement: "It's intriguing to see Joe, a romantic at heart who thrives on the chase, drawn to someone pursuing him with such fervor." However, the moment takes an unexpected turn when Natalie accidentally shatters her wine glass during a toast, slicing open her hand. Joe springs into action, bandaging her wound with tender care, adhering to the unwritten laws of Television Health and Medicine – where on-screen injuries are conveniently glamorized, transforming into opportunities for intimate bonding rather than graphic realism. (As someone who has personally experienced a kitchen mishap leading to a hand wound, I must concur: it's far from endearing; hands bleed profusely!)
As the day blends into night, they switch to a richer red wine, sharing a mutual disdain for Kindles, further cementing their apparent soulmate status. How could Joe have ever been enraptured by LOVE when Natalie had been patiently waiting in the wings all along? Natalie confesses that her husband has installed cameras in every room, which she conveniently deactivated for Joe's visit, a revelation that, while sure to raise eyebrows, was necessitated by the circumstances. Additionally, she reveals that they sleep in separate rooms, defying the romanticized portrayal often found in fiction. She affectionately terms her private space a "reading room," setting the scene for an evening that unfolds predictably yet intriguingly.
Joe, after an intense kiss, halts to declare that he seeks only friendship. Yet, this declaration comes after he's discreetly pocketed a pair of her underwear from the floor, leaving one to ponder the subtleties of his actions. Perhaps the sea-foam green lace panties, undoubtedly chosen for their on-screen appeal, were a stretch, for surely Natalie wouldn't don such juvenile lingerie from a brand like Limited Too.
Joe returns home to inform Love of his neighbor's eccentricities, yet his arousal is palpable, confident that he can now kiss and make love to her with renewed vigor – all while clutching Natalie's underwear. Love's complaint about Joe's sexual abstinence since her childbirth seven months ago strikes an odd chord. While intended to highlight Joe's distraction and dwindling affection, one cannot overlook the fact that she recently gave birth. Nonetheless, Joe believes Natalie has somehow salvaged their marriage, a notion that evokes a chuckle.
The forthcoming evening heralds a grand gathering at Sherry and Cary's abode. The notion that Sherry supposedly hosted an opulent bash in August 2020, fueled by whispers that the ultra-wealthy had clandestine access to a vaccine before the masses, strikes me as amusing. Joe and Love's collaborative preparations for this soiree are endearing. The ambiance is predictably quaint—females gossiping by the kitchen's hushed corners, males discussing intermittent fasting amidst the sizzle of the grill. Yet, the crux of the evening unfolds in two pivotal moments: Love eavesdropping on Sherry's scurrilous remarks about the Quinn family, likened to a "garbage fire," and Natalie's deceitful claim that Joe was with her, prompting Love to surmise that something is amiss.
Love also uncovers that Natalie has been branded a "villain" by the neighborhood's women, who conspiracy-theory that she swooped in and stole Matthew from his ex-wife, the mother of his son. Natalie warns Love that Sherry reigns supreme in this town, suggesting that earning her respect or kowtowing are the sole options for survival. Love confides in Natalie her bakery aspirations, acknowledging the absurdity given the gluten-averse populace, but dreams remain dreams! Natalie encourages Love to embrace her true self, to which I mentally jot: if Love unleashes her authentic self, she might just slit your throat, dear girl.
Love confronts Joe about his alleged Natalie obsession. Joe denies it and deflects with, "Why does our son despise me?" They find solace in their shared past indiscretions, having fled to this dreary locale to escape further misdeeds. Alas, Love later stumbles upon Joe's shoebox filled with Natalie memorabilia (perhaps housing a used tampon—ugh!), foreshadowing a grim conclusion.
Love expresses interest in the bakery space Natalie had mentioned, a venue boasting an exemplary industrial-grade walk-in freezer and an expansive storage room—a basement tailor-made for murder or constructing a human aquarium, complete with an axe. I'm relieved that it took but a single episode for Natalie to meet her fated demise, and Joe begins this season on the defensive. It's entertaining to witness him outdone by someone even more deranged!
Just as Joe makes strides in parenthood, reading "Frog and Toad" to his child at the library, a commendable choice, he receives a call from his wife, who stands over Natalie's lifeless form. Her suggestion, "I think we need to go to couples therapy," is a rather peculiar way to address one's insatiable thirst for vengeance.
