The Undoing

- Where is she? - She's in her studio.

She's working.

Why hasn't she come back?

Mm-hm.

It's crap. It's...

- Could you turn that down a bit? Please. - What?

I'm trying to concentrate on a very delicate operation.

Blenders don't have volume control.

That's a pathetic excuse. Just turn it down, anyway.

- Dad. - Yeah?

I did some research last night.

Yes?

On golden doodles.

- Oh, God... - And they don't shed.

- They're hypoallergenic. - No, no.

- They're really, really cute. - Listen, Hen. We're not having...

- Tell him. It's the dog thing again. - But why, Dad?

We can't have a dog because, as I've said before,

all dogs make my throat close up,

so no air gets to my lungs, which makes me die.

So, it's undesirable.

- But... - Think of another pet.

You can have a cat or a hamster.

I don't know what kids have these days.

Have a vampire bat.

- Is that a promise? - Yes. That is a promise.

Like the promise of a road trip, too?

Just you and me?

That's a low blow. That will happen.

- Will it? - It will happen.

Shit, my violin!

- Help me, please. I don't know why. - What is going on?

I'm suddenly 6 years old.

Oh, God. All right. Why the tie, hmm?

Not another funeral?

- It's The Turd's idea. - Oh.

And no, no. Not all my patients die, anyway.

Why are you so dressed up? What's his name?

Ladies' tea. Planning the fundraiser.

Oh, the school auction. Did I mention I'm not going?

- Oh, did I mention you are? - I think you'll find I'm not, my love.

Isn't it enough we give them tons of money?

We actually don't give them money.

- Your dad does, which is sweet of him. - Uh-huh.

Reminds me, we have dinner with him next Thursday.

Right. So, I have Reardon and your dad in the same week.

I'm just the luckiest girl in New York.

Don't you like Reardon?

Well, do you like Reardon? You like your school?

- Yeah. - Hey.

Then I love it. Kiss your mom.

- We have to go. - Mom...

- No, I'm not kissing Mom. You do it. - You need to clean this up.

- I'm not doing this every single morning. - I know, I want to kiss you. I like this.

Yeah. Right.

- Henry? Henry? - What?

No more smoothies. You never, ever clean up...

All right, here's a question and don't lie.

Did you, in fact, practice that thing at all this week?

Because I heard nothing.

No, I practiced.

- Really? - Yeah. I swear.

Do you know, he doesn't even think I'm any good.

Mr. Rosenbaum.

He actually said that, did he?

No. It's not that he says it.

It just...

He used to say a lot more good stuff.

I mean, sometimes with the looks he gives me,

like, I think he wants me to quit.

Well, is it possible that, as your mom might say,

you're actually projecting that sentiment.

Because somewhere deep down,

in the bowels of your teenage psyche, you actually want to give it up.

I don't want to give up.

- I love violin. - Okay, well, that's great, then.

You know, Rosenbaum, he's an unhappy man.

It is never a good idea

to take measure of ourselves through the eyes of the joyless.

Well, you can be joyless.

- Beg your pardon? - Yeah.

You can be joyless when you're stressed.

Do I seem stressed a lot?

Some.

Lately.

Ah. Brilliant. Well, now I'm...

Now I'm stressed about being stressed, so...

- thank you very much. - You're welcome.

You don't play your violin for Rosenbaum, anyway.

You owe him your respect and your hard work, but in the end,

your relationship with song

is between you and your music.

- Got it. - Great. And you're brilliant, okay?

So, fuck Rosenbaum.

I'm telling Mom you said that.

Take your violin and shove it up his Rosenbaum cheeks, okay?

Dad...

- Morning. - Good morning.

Rebecca Harkness has arrived way too early.

Oh, great.

- It doesn't make any sense to me. - Huh.

One minute, he's attentive, loving.

The next minute he's borderline abusive.

I got both swings last night. The full pendulum.

And fucking forbid I call him bipolar.

I mean, fucking forbid!

So, you're back to thinking that he's, um... That he's bipolar.

I don't know. The mood swings...

What do you think?

Well, I don't know him.

- I only know you. - Meaning?

- Do not give me that look. - This is your third marriage. Isn't it?

So, what, we're keeping score?

No. No, I'm just...

I'm not doing that.

Okay, this is going somewhere, and I'm not exactly sure where,

other than a direction not in my favor. So, just say it.

- Say it! I pay you. Say it. - Re...

Rebecca.

I have met few people more discriminating than you.

You read 100 Yelp reviews before choosing someone to install your carpet.

Am I right? You try on 20 pairs of shoes before making a choice.

You do background checks on your hair colorist.

You did a background check on me, no doubt.

You vet everything. Everything.

Which is fine.

- I mean, that's appropriate. - But?

But an attractive man comes along...

and shows an interest in you, and judgment be gone.

That is not what is happening.

I mean, the day that you met Kevin,

you floated into this office.

It was an appointment that was made to deal with the anguish

of husband number two,

only to declare that you'd met husband number three.

So, I'm saying...

maybe it's possible...

that you're less of a victim of Kevin's moods than you are of your own.

So, excuse me, this is my fault?

- No. - It is. You're blaming me.

I'm not blaming you. I'm just saying there's a particular

type of person that you want to be with,

and maybe you're a little too quick

to see that person in the men that you meet,

instead of seeing what's actually there.

Oh, well, I'll probably never see her again

because they hire you to give them the hard truths,

and then they fire you for delivering them.

Well, so just up your prices.

The more exclusive you seem, the more she'll come begging.

Wow.

I have some bad news. The, um...

The dress code for the fundraiser is fancy-glam.

I'm not wearing a tux.

Listen, this is for Henry's school.

If I can tough out a ladies' tea, you can stomach one fundraiser.

For Henry.

I will do it. But not for Henry's school.

I will do it for you.

Because you're hot.

Anyway, I'm here. Okay?

Later, smart-ass.

Yeah, later. Bye.

- Come in. - Hi.

- Let me take your coat. - Yes.

They're waiting for you upstairs.

Hello!

- Sorry I'm late. - Not a problem.

- We have a new mom. A scholarship. - Oh.

She brought her infant. She's changing her in the bathroom.

You look fabulous.

- Oh, hi, Grace. - Hi.

Is she, uh, on the committee?

Wants to be an involved parent.

Hi. Hi, hi. Sorry.

- Hey. - Thanks.

Did any of you even know that she was coming?

I mean, I'm usually the first one to learn of anything.

People can't wait to tell me stuff.

Because you're so quick to disapprove.

Well, exactly.

- We should get going here. - Sorry.

Somebody's a bit nervous. She's back to being the auctioneer.

- You got the guy from Sotheby's. - No, he dropped out.

- We'll be fine. I've done this before. - Hi.

Hi. Hi.

I'm Grace Fraser.

Elena Alves. Nice to meet you.

- Hi. - Elena has a boy in fourth grade.

You said his name was Miguel?

- Yeah, yeah. - Your baby's gorgeous.

- Thank you. - Hello. Boy or girl?

Girl. Teresa.

Oh. Teresa.

- I love your eyelashes. - Okay, come on, folks.

The auction's tomorrow.

Thank you so much for letting me join.

Are you kidding? We're happy to get all the help we can.

That you even have the time with two kids.

I have twins, so regret it.