gee whiz in heaven. how are you? please?
now you got it, mom.
excuse me. glad you're okay. good luck. our gal smiles back in appreciation.
i wouldn't want some kid around for my interview. you understand, mom.
mom!!
it means flower, right?
goodbye, really.  look forward to seeing you. as she leaves.
morning, good to see you.
try some. she demurs. bernice holds out one slice on a spatula, indicating flor should just tear a piece off which she does. one taste and she marvels -- her mouth dropping open at this kid's ability to make something mundane special. bernice laughs.
thanks. her mother enters on her way upstairs. she is thoughtful, tense and sweaty - her run having failed to exorcise her current demon. she greets flor and then shakes her head, making a vain attempt to communicate her troubled mood to flor in some sort of sisterhood based on life being a fucker.
i had an idea for a breakthrough in french toast so i made breakfast. i don't want to be teased about it.  no sarcasm. no tough love. just try it and if by any chance you have a positive reaction.
i had an idea for a recipe. when has that happened? i got up early to do this. at least taste it, for god's sakes! she does.
awwww. how sweet.  evelyn looks transparently vulnerable for a second. flor reacts. bernie squeezes her grandmother's hand. flor smiles.
grandma, tell mom what happened.
i don't know anything.
i don't know.
okay. yes. thanks.
got it. i no longer know nothing.
i'm just drawing blanks. i'm embarrassed. it's my own fault i spent my time on math, which i'm lucky if i don't flunk anyway and.
what's ruse mean?
rusevelt. if i'd ever heard of the word before - that would lock it in. it's so stupid it might work anyway.  deborah enters followed by flor. they are carrying several boxes of clothes.
what'd i do right?
thanks, mom. i'm glad you didn't get here a little earlier or else i wouldn't be able to tell you that your gift is a ruse. please, excuse me.  she exits to her bathroom.
hey. buenas dias, flor.  flor holds up the new clothes and indicates that they are beautiful.
yes. well, taste she has.  bernie starts her morning routine. her back to us when:
hey!!!! when did you learn to.
too tight. it doesn't fit. flor clearly doesn't understand.
okay. i'll show you.  she steps behind a closet door to try the clothes on, muttering pessimistically before she does so. camera stays on
lovely way to start the day. world's most trim mexican learns her first sentence and uses it to watch me grrrrunt my way into.  and then. silence. bernie, open mouthed, steps out wearing the clothes which fit like a glove. flor beams. then laughs at bernie's reaction as she keeps checking the waist and looks into the mirror.
hey.  flor turns. bernie moves to embrace her.
what's wrong?
dad!!! he can wait.
let him wait. yours is obviously important.
why?!!? crazy father, why?!? why aren't you screaming?.
john clasky, who at 25 made his mark on the new york restaurant scene when jammed lived up to and survived its silly name, has re- emerged as a young and confident veteran taking chances with his combinations in so subtle a manner"
". beginning with the succession of appetizers, each one with its own stunning and fully realized agenda, is constantly yet casually daring." ah, dad. this is so great.  now here's the thing.  she tears up. evelyn rubs bernie's back. looks at flor and taps her heart. flor indicates she should leave and does. bernice continues reading with a lovely sense of mission and moment. john is taken with his daughter's delivery.
"eating at this perfect smaller, passionate restaurant inspires one's own abandonment of caution. to wit: john clasky is the best chef in the united states."
perfect, dad. evelyn and bernice hug him.
i wonder what mom will do?
no comparisons, please, no comparisons. evelyn shoves her granddaughter for the self- deprecation. flor says something to her daughter in spanish.
aw, shit.  sorry about the word, georgie.
you want to know what happened?
oh, come on.  georgie and bernice start off.
how'd you get your mother to let you go with my mother?
no. just that i hate summer school.
i'm not sure i can explain to you the concept of not doing well in a class. in this case math. and the system kind of insists on the illusion that you've learned math -- so they make you go to summer school. it helps them avoid facing that they have failed in their mission.
joking.
thank you, god. joking.
that you're better at everything than i am. and i was thanking god for there being this one thing where i might have my nose in front. deborah can't think of what single thing bernice could possibly feel superior about. she is genuinely puzzled.
sexual experience.  cristina laughs.
that one even she knows is funny. cristina gives bernice an appreciative push from behind. deborah, for some reason, feels she deserves credit for their connection.
you just made it. i was getting worried.  deborah has a backpack loaded with books which she hands to cristina.
what did we get her? deborah hands cristina a locket. then, noting flor's expression.
just thought i'd check that you were back and okay and all.
mom was crying for six hours straight and grandma was in with her all that time mostly saying, "he'll be back. he'll be back." i've got to get back to georgie.
it's good for me to worry about something that really matters instead of the stupid stuff that's usually on my mind.
surviving.
it's a slant.  hey. i know there's a lot you went through but i knew all along that grandma was right about you coming back. i mean totally knew it so i wasn't that worried. but still i.  i really appreciate it, dad. thanks. stop staring at me. what? you don't know what to say?
just what you taught me. you're welcome.
i can't believe you didn't get out.
i don't want to get you wet.
thanks. bernice hugs her. evelyn hugs cristina.
my last chance to have some of you rub off on me.  i'm sorry you're so sad but this could have been so much worse.