Original subtitles

How are you both?

Great. Fine.

Good.

Danny blasted porn on the Bluetooth speaker--

Clare's vibrator literally melted from overuse.

My life is a mess.

My husband kicked me out a few days ago.

My daughter hates me.

- Oh, my God. - Mom!

A threesome is a big leap.

Maybe you were subconsciously worried about our little threesome?

- What? - Me and you and Dad.

Ew!

What would I tell

my 22-year-old self?

Don't take your mom for granted.

She won't be here forever.

What does it mean to heal? To move on?

To let go?

Why can't you make new friends? Like what happened to Bethany?

Bethany had anal sex on a Greyhound going to Reno.

- What? - Yeah.

Why would she want to take a bus to Reno?

Dear Sugar,

I've never written a fan letter before,

but I read your advice column religiously.

Probably because given the state of my life,

I could use some advice.

Which house is it again, dear?

- Uh. - Who can't find their way home?

Oh, that's it. That's the one, that's right there.

Great job.

You know, thank you so much, and happy retirement.

Oh, it's locked.

Sorry.

Thank you.

Congratulations.

Ooh, must be the money!

Shhh.

Noo.

Yes!

Must be the money! It's gotta be the money.

Fuck!

- Don't you fucking move!

Wha-- Oh, my God. Danny, it's just me.

Shhh.

Jesus, Clare! Shit, you had me-- I was about to call the cops!

Why?

What are you doing? What are you wearing?

Oh, I borrowed it. It was, um... It's Hawaiian-themed.

I didn't have my keys, and then I--

The window was-- And it went so... late.

You're drunk.

Is there chicken? 'Cause it smells chickeney in here.

Yeah, we had chicken. Six hours ago.

Ugh.

Mmm. Mm.

Aah.

Ah.

There were toasts and speeches

and, ugh, it's all so tragic, you know?

It's like 43 years of work just whittled down

to a tray of bacon-wrapped pineapple skewers

and Retire-Mints. Get it?

Mom?

Oh, hey! Frankie, sweetie.

- Rae. - Hey, hon. You wan-- You want some mints?

No. No one wants mints. Ever.

So there's no chicken?

We ate all the fucking chicken, Clare.

Why are you here?

Whoa! Okay.

Why is everyone being such assholes?

What's going on?

Are you... back?

Wha-- Huh?

Well, I thought that you weren't supposed to be here... or something.

Oh.

Why am I eating this?

Because you literally took the wheel when we drove past--

Well, you shouldn't have let me.

Shouldn't have let me.

You cannot tell Frankie.

It's Rae.

I hate calling her that.

But she's right, though, because they are horrible to gay people.

Queer people. Sorry.

But it isn't just their homophobia.

It's-- it's-- Really, it's, like, look here, it's all this crap

that's just gonna be floating on the planet forever.

You know, wedged into the nostril of some innocent turtle.

But...

...the butter and the pickles, it's just--

Fucckk!

- And those damn waffle fries. - Ooh.

So good.

Well, it's what makes it all so hard.

Everything good turns out to be bad.

You're welcome.

You kicked me out. You want a "thank you"?

You do realize you're not the victim?

Well, neither are you, Danny.

That's great. Neither are you!

- All right. Absolutely great. - Yeah, great, great. Thank you!

My life is a mess, Sugar.

My daughter hates me.

My husband kicked me out a few nights ago,

and he thinks I'm crashing on my best friend's couch,

but I'm not.

I'm sitting on her stoop waiting for an Uber... Pool.

Wondering how the hell my life ended up here,

looking for comfort from a woman I don't even know.

And also wondering,

has anyone ever written in to offer comfort to you?

Then I told my mom, "Bitch, college is for pussies.

All that money to graduate for what?"

I read your response in this week's column,

and one sentence buried deep within your advice

compelled me to write.

It was a sentence about your sister and her cancer.

I'm sorry that she died too young and too soon.

Oh, wait. This is good.

Wait. Stop, stop, stop.

Cool pad.

But that's the thing about grief,

you can't cry it away or eat it away

or punch it away.

It's just... there,

and you have to survive it.

You have to endure it.

You have to live with it,

which is the hardest thing in the world.

I was 22 when my mother was diagnosed.

Everyone, ready?

Yes. Yes.

Clare Marie Pierce is an award-winning essay writer

and soon-to-be college graduate with a 4.0,

who is committed to summiting Machu Picchu over spring break! - Mexico!

Come on out, Clare!

And now, a high school senior

who cannot get a tattoo until he graduates,

no matter how compelling his argument,

- and who's-- - Is still a virgin!

Stop saying that.

Worn the same T-shirt for four days running

and appears to have no intention of taking it off!

- Get out here, Lucas! - Lucas!

Yeah.

Are we ever gonna be too old for this?

We'll be doing this when I'm 80.

Merry Christmas.

And lately, I keep playing our last Christmas together

over and over in my mind.

Me first.

Me first.

I get to go first.

Ooh.

Oh, no way! Is it vintage or something?

I knew you wanted one.

It was your father's.

He sent it?

I refurbished it.

- Lucas, don't be a little shit.

Somebody gives you something, you take it.

You take it.

I'm not the one who's ever wanted anything from him.

It's okay. He doesn't have to.

All right, you go ahead, honey.

Jess said that you needed one.

And I thought that it would be great for New York.

Do you like it?

Yeah, I love it.

Uh-- I do. I-- I love it.

You do? You love it?

Hey.

Uh, it's--

It's long

and subs-- substantial.

I thought it was unique.

I just wonder, does it--

Does it make more sense to get black?

Because it's dirty in New York, and it'll probably last longer.

And it's-- it's probably easy to exchange.

Sure. Sure. You should have what you want, honey.

I hope, in your sister's death,

you'll be able to do something that I haven't.

Create something of her life.

Make it beautiful.

And then, please, tell me how you did it.

Love, Clare.

Uh, that can come down.

You were so wasted last night. How are you even walking this morning?

I don't know, Shan.

Somehow I stagger on,

despite fielding the vitriol of an entitled millennial.

I mean, literally walking.

When you fell off the stage after "Me and Bobby McGee,"

I thought you, like, broke a hip... or something.

Would you just take the fucking sign down, Shan? Thank you.

Oh, Bev's daughter wanted you to come by. Room 19.

She told me it was urgent.

- When? - Like, an hour ago.

And I'm a Zoomer.

Krystal, I'm so sorry to keep you waiting.

I just got your message.

- Did you sleep in here last night? - Uh...

My mom said the admissions lady slept here last night.

I know that you get lonely sometimes.

And even though you know that I can't sleep in here,

I will always keep you company

and make sure you're feeling cozy and all tucked in, right?

- Right? - Mmm.

It's the Alzheimer's.

- There you go. - Thank you.

Gentleman.

- What? - Wow.

Oh, my God!

Sam! What're you doing here?

Oh, it's been-- Been forever! Shit!

- You look great! - Wha-- Oh.

- Wait, when was the last time-- - I don't know!

Was it, uh, Bread Loaf?

Uh, uh, City Lights. Hannah's reading.

Oh, fuck! Yeah.

Aah. Wait, are you still at, uh, uh, The Believer?

No. They folded in March.

But I left for The Mantros years ago.

Oh, I love The Mantros.

Essays... Dear Sugar...

I know! I got your fan letter last night!

You wrote in to Dear Sugar.

I'm Sugar.

I'll explain. Do you want to go somewhere?

Do you still not drive?

An advice column is easy clicks.

But who-- who wants to get advice from some middle-aged white dude?

I've literally been reading this column for the last three months,

and it's fucking you?

- How can it be you? - I'm detecting some disdain here.

You're pretending to be a-- a woman? What?

I know. I know! I am living a lie.

But then... you wrote in.

And I saw your name and I remembered your writing

and the essay-- That fucking essay.

And I realized that this woman that I'm pretending to be,

you know, working class, pulled herself up by her bootstraps,

- kinda disheveled-- - Okay.

- She's literally you! - Okay. Okay.

- Okay, just take a left at Elm. - You should be the one doing this.

Doing what?

- Being Sugar! - What? No.

I mean, it doesn't pay.

And-- And, you know, there's no credit 'cause it's anonymous.

But I would be your point.

And all you have to do is answer, like, one letter a week and--

Sam, stop it.

I'm not giving anybody advice.

My life is a fucking shit show!

And I--

I'm not a writer!

You're one of the best writers I know.

You didn't get a book deal off of that essay for nothing.

Doesn't count if you don't write the book.

Everything counts, Sugar.

Don't call me that!

I'm sorry about your sister.

Clare, I don't have a fucking sister. I made it up.

You made up someone having fucking cancer?

Take a right.

Yes, I made it all up!

This is why I need you!

Oh, you are the worst, Sam!

I can't believe I almost ever slept with you.

Pull over!

What are you doing? I'm-- I'm getting out.

Wait, what do you mean, "almost"?

We never slept together? Why not?

'Cause you're an asshole.

Oh, so you're done with me now? That's it?

I have therapy. Thank you for the ride.

- What? You're an asshole! - Okay, fine.

No, no, no, no. Here. Wait.

I-- I printed out the letters that I didn't answer

because I can't--

Just... read 'em. And if you want, just answer one.

Everyone's lives are a fucking shit show!

People, they need help.

You said it yourself, "Create something of her life. Make it beautiful."

Let me see if I can help you.

Did you happen to save the receipt?

I... did not save the receipt.

It was final sale.

I-- I can try to look it up.

I appreciate that.

I may need to talk to my supervisor.

- Did it work out? - Mm-hmm.

- It's okay? - It's okay.

You're late.

I'm actually two minutes early

'cause she's always five minutes late, so.

Make sure that's off.

Who is it?

Hmm? Lucas again?

I'm glad you both are choosing to be here today.

I know, in the past, that hasn't always been the case.

This feels like a particularly hard moment in your marriage.

I think a lot has been said.

And maybe... a lot hasn't been said.

Yeah. No, um, I-- I feel that same way.

Honestly, it's, um...

Uh...

Yeah.

Jung once said, "I am not what has happened to me.

I am what I choose to become."

Does that bring up anything for you, Clare?

No.

How long am I supposed to stay out of my own home?

Well, how long do you think you need to stay out of your home?

What are we doing?

What is this space supposed to accomplish?

Or is it just, like, one long, torturous experiment

to slowly turn my own daughter against me?

It was her college fund!

Part of. That he will pay back!

You just gave it away without even talking to me!

What? You just thought I wouldn't notice?

What did you want me to fucking do? Leave him homeless?

It was our childhood home! It's my mother's house!

He lives there! And it was underwater.

Yeah, because he fucked up.

Yeah, he fucks up all the time!

Yeah, he does fuck up all the time and--

Yeah, fine, fine! But family takes care of family.

I'm it for him.

What would you do? Would you leave me on the fucking street?

Oh!

Clare, have you ever heard of the phrase "financial infidelity"?

Oh, my God.

It can be as destabilizing and damaging as sexual infidelity.

Even more so.

Yeah. Okay.

That's not even in the same ballpark,

- 'cause there's no betrayal here. - Right.

I needed to take care of my brother.

Yeah, when you do something wrong, it's-- it's different rules.

This is not about rules.

Not everybody comes from where you come from,

or just-- or, you know, starts life with an even playing field.

I'm a Black man in America.

I know people don't come from an equal playing field, Clare.

That's not what I mean. I'm talking about being rich!

- I grew up middle class. - Yeah, that's rich.

What do you want me to say? My brother's a fuck-up. I'm a fuck-up.

Okay, I'm an awful person.

I'm awful. I'm horrible. That's it.

I don't know what to say. I don't know what to fucking say.

Let's just start with how you're feeling, hm?

I am feeling hungry. I am feeling tired.

I'm feeling like a shell of a person.

- Like I'm staring into an abyss-- - I get it.

I mean, I'm not there yet,

but I think it's really common for women your age to feel this way.

You've spoken before

about your insecurities with getting older--

I thought we were talking about me giving money to my brother.

- And with the age gap between you and Danny-- - It's not that big.

And the way our society treats women over 50 as irrelevant--

- I'm 49! - You'll be 50 in a month.

Women over 50 are treated as if they are barely sexual beings.

Their beauty is fading, or at least our conventional ideas of beauty.

Because of that, their power wanes.

Their wants and desires are considered as an afterthought.

Okay.

Oh.

I mean, it's therapy!

It's not office hours. You don't stick around after class!

You know, that's like a cesspool full of bacteria, right?

Okay, why don't you ask your hot dishwasher to clean it out?

Oh, well, maybe I will.

- Hello. - There you go.

Oh, my God!

Thank you.

Jesus Christ, Amy!

I'm naughty!

Uh, are they having sex?

They-- Do they wanna have sex?

Is couple's therapy some, you know, sick psycho foreplay

where they're just telepathically jerking each other off in front of me?

And... is my insurance paying for it?

Oh, my God! Maybe I should be a couple's therapist.

I mean, I'm the one who found her!

He didn't even wanna go! And now he's like, what-- He's what?

He's, like, fucking some woman

who decorates her office with gnomes grabbing their own weird stone vaginas?

Okay. Danny loves you.

He's not fucking his therapist or any stone, uh, vaginas, okay?

She called me barely a woman.

Am I barely a woman?

I mean, she probably said it to get laid.

Thanks, Amy. Hang in there.

Thanks.

Hey.

Hey.

Hey.

Okay.

I can't get it in.

No, it's because, uh-- It's-- it's-- The angle is wrong

Okay, yeah, maybe we--

- Yeah. - Yeah, let's go.

What the f-- Wait, what the fuck is happening?

Wait, is this a waterbed?

Oh, my God! Oh, my God.

Am I in 1979?

Am I in a-- Am I trapped in a fucking Steely Dan song?

Oh, my God.

- Oh, my God. Oh, my God. - What?

- Oh, my God. - Are you okay?

I am not okay.

Wait, are you married?

- What the-- - The ring on your finger?

Are you gonna fucking judge me? You have a fucking waterbed!

So?

And I like Steely Dan.

Well, they're a great band.

Dear Sugar,

I'm 22, and my question is short.

What would you tell your 20-something self

if you could talk to her now?

Love, Seeking Wisdom.

Dear...

Dear Seeking Wisdom.

What would I tell my 22-year-old self?

I'd say, stop worrying whether you're fat.

Feed yourself, literally.

The people worthy of your love will love you more for this.

I'd also say that most things will be okay eventually,

but not everything.

One afternoon in your 20s,

when you've gotten yourself ridiculously tangled up with heroin,

you'll be riding the bus and thinking what a worthless piece of shit you are.

A little girl will get on the bus with her mother,

holding the strings of two purple balloons.

She will offer you one of the balloons, but you won't take it

because you believe you no longer have a right

to such tiny beautiful things.

You're wrong.

You do.

That's $127.62. I'm so sorry.

And someday, you'll look back on that one Christmas,

when your mother gave you a mustard-yellow coat

that she'd saved for months to buy.

Don't hold it up and say

it's longer than you like your coats to be,

and too puffy, and possibly even too warm.

Because your mother will be dead by spring...

...and that coat will be the last gift she ever gave you.

Are you okay?

I love you.

You know that, right?

Ab-- About the money, it's-- it's not gone.

It's not about the money.

Then what?

Do you want me to bring that in?

And you will regret the small thing you didn't say

for the rest of your life.

Have a good night.

You too.

When a gift is given, say thank you.

Mom?

You dropped something.

When a gift is given, say thank you.

When a gift... is given...

Thank you.