Extended Family

Dad, can I give this away?

It shrank, and it's really small.

Oh, it'll still fit.

Come on, give me that.

It looks like a child being born.

Push, push.

Grunt if you have to.

You're doing so good.

It's a dad.

This too dressy?

Not if you're a scarecrow.

I don't even want to go to this thing.

Well, I can't leave you here, so you're going.

We're having lunch with my oldest, dearest friends,

and I don't want them calling child services.

So this is about you, not me?

Yup, for two hours, I want you to look like

you're being raised by civilized people

and pose no threat to public health.

Didn't you always say

we should be honest about who we are?

Within the family, yes.

But to outsiders, it's a lifetime of deception.

Grandpa and I are going thrifting.

Ah, thrifting, a romp through the closets of the dead.

One woman's trash is another woman's treasure.

Thank God, or no one would ever get married.

Oh, look, it's Arthur Fonzarelli.

Where did your shirt go?

Grandpa said I could sell it.

Apparently, it's vintage.

Everything you own is vintage.

You are vintage.

I put it in a ziplock so you can't smell the Aqua Velva.

Won't work. You're gonna have to spray it.

- With what? - Youth.

You'll smell like me soon enough.

Perhaps the scariest thing you've ever said.

And since when do you thrift?

Since my granddaughter asked me to.

I'd do anything she wants.

She says museum, we go to a museum.

She says swimming, I'd be standing there in a Speedo.

Please never say swimming.

Better?

Take anything off him you think you can sell.

Don't you feel better dressed nicely like a grown-up?

I feel like I got a court date.

Beer for me and for my lawyer.

OK, we will look at the harmless

nonalcoholic beverage menu.

Jimmy, would you like a Faux-jito,

a Short Island Iced Tea,

or a Polite Hug on the Beach?

He'll have a rumless Coke.

Look, I know you're not happy, but today is important.

Every couple of months ever since college,

my buddies and I have met here for lunch.

Are you wondering why?

Nope.

Because it means a lot to me to be the kind of guy

who never forgets his friends.

I like to be that kind of guy, too,

but I had to go to lunch with my father.

Now, drink your mocktail.

Seems like a good time to introduce you

to the culture of alcohol.

Barkeep, keep 'em coming.

There he is!

Hey.

Hey! How are you, buddy?

all: Hey!

Oh, everybody, everybody, this is my son, Jimmy.

Jimmy, this is Petey D, Petey G, Mikey, Tommy,

Russo, Kevin, and Schwanz.

Holy cow!

Look at you, Jimmy.

I ain't seen you since your sonogram.

You remember?

Yes, sir.

All right, everybody, grab a beer.

I've got something to say before we sit down.

And, Jimmy, I want you to listen to every word

'cause this is about your dad.

Last time we had lunch here, I asked Jim

to write me a letter of recommendation

for my daughter, Denise, who is applying

to Our Lady of Sorrows, where your sister,

Grace, goes to school.

Half the city's trying to get in there, but they won't fit.

And no Boston school wants a transplanted New Yorker.

I mean, maybe you can't hear my accent no more,

but that's where I'm from.

Anyways, the school's decisions come out tomorrow morning.

But I ain't worried, Jimmy.

I believe you.

'Cause I know how it's gonna go.

Thanks to your dad, my old buddy Jim,

I've never been sure about a thing in my life

that'd be taken care of.

What a guy your dad is.

I love him.

I mean, we all love him, right?

- Yeah! - Thank you.

To Jim. all: To Jim.

This is some stack of cash.

I had no idea.

It's the sustainable economy, Grandpa.

Do they like clip-on ties or Hush Puppies

or Members Only jackets?

I could make a fortune.

- How about this one? - Too much.

This one is half off.

That's half off when it's on.

No. Ew.

No. No.

Hey, go b-- go back two dresses.

This one?

I don't think it's my size.

Or yours.

Do me a favor. I forgot my glasses.

Look at the label.

Tell me what it says.

"I belong to Rose Oliver."

How did you know that there was handwriting on this?

Keep shopping, honey. I got to go sit down.

Don't be too hard on yourself, Governor.

Pronouns are a minefield these days.

Please stop calling me "Governor."

I'm just a former governor.

But you get the honorific Governor

for the rest of your life.

I don't want it.

Just twists the knife.

Reminds me of days gone by when I could remake

the commonwealth with a stroke of my pen

and everyone took my calls.

I'm sure they still do.

More and more, they go through to voicemail.

I know what that means.

We need to fix your snafu.

How do you fix it?

You tell the truth.

People love the truth.

They respect the truth.

They respond to the truth.

["Batman Theme" ringtone plays]

Oh, my gosh, Former Governor. I'm so sorry.

It's my former husband.

Much less of an honorific.

He has our kids this week,

and he's putting up the Bat-Signal,

which is only used for emergencies.

Just be happy someone wants to talk to you.

Do you have another room?

Governors have other rooms, not former governors.

Go ahead.

Is everything OK?

- No. - Is one of the kids hurt?

- No. - Are you hurt?

This will go faster if you just let me tell you.

OK.

I need help, desperate, desperate help.

Go slow. Use your words.

I am using my words.

You are repeating words.

I repeated the word "desperate" to express

the gravity of my situation.

I forgot to write a letter of recommendation

for Petey D's daughter, who applied to Our Lady of Sorrows.

She is his only child, and I blew it.

You sure did.

What a disappointment.

You put up the Bat-Signal for this?

The decisions come out in the morning.

I am in a pitch meeting with Former Governor Devon Monohan.

I don't think you're supposed to call him that.

The Bat-Signal is for car accidents, fires,

staph infections, head lice.

Jules, I'm about to fail miserably

at being a good friend.

And if I am not the wonderful old friend that I think I am,

maybe I'm not the incredible father that I think I am

or the terrific former husband that I think I am.

Maybe I'm just a burden, a cipher, a zero.

Are you in public right now?

I'm public-adjacent.

But you, Julia, are not a zero, thank God.

You are whatever the opposite of zero is.

It's infinity.

That school loves you.

Heck, if you'd have been around

when the Blessed Mother was alive,

she wouldn't have had sorrows.

She would have been laughing constantly.

Our daughter's school would be named

Our Lady of the Ever-Deepening Guffaw.

All right, enough.

You have given endlessly of your time,

volunteered in the lunchroom,