United States of Tara

Previously on "United States of Tara"...

Who are you?

I'm Bryce Craine.

The relevant term here is "abuser alter."

It's a personality modeled on a primary abuser.

Hattaras isn't seeing Tara anymore.

Bryce tried to poison him with crab.

These are two doctors that I can refer you to.

One of them resides in Chicago, the other, Boston.

The one in Boston. Him.

Lionel Trane's dead. It was a car accident.

Kate: I really like Evan, but that kid...

Evan: Monty, come down here!

Max: That kid's a handful.

Why can't we live in the same city?

'Cause life, my dear, is not that neat.

- I think we should sell the house and move to Houston. - Are you serious?

You think that mom needs to be locked up?

Organic veggies?

And round-the-clock psychiatric care.

It's a fancy nuthouse.

Boom!

I'm sorry.

Organic veggies, huh?

Max: Tennis courts.

Ta-- Tara!

Fuck!

Te iubesc in continuare Ali until the end

This ends today!

I don't deserve this!

I didn't deserve any of it! I have a life to lead!

Oh, and it's going so well.

Shall we say "swimmingly"?

You have no idea how much crazy

is bouncin' around that lopsided skull of yours.

I deserve to be left alone!

To be set free -- free to read a book

or join a club or mop the fucking floor!

Kill me already, would ya? All you do is complain.

Whatever happened to that sweet little girl

with the pussy that tastes just like candy?

Ohh!

Aaaaaah!

Die!

Oh.

Tara!

Swimming?

You went swimming?

Yeah.

I love to swim.

I, uh... It was so hot, you know?

Indian summer and all. I mean, no offense to Indians. I used to swim competitively.

But the water just looked so cool... She's very competitive.

Challenged me to a race. And refreshing.

Well, it's, uh, obvious you two think

I'm some kind of retarded hillbilly,

so, uh, I'm gonna go type your little story

in our brand-new "big-city truth machine"

and wait for the results with a tin cup full of moonshine.

Maybe I'll take a shit and clean my asshole with a corncob.

Y'all stay put now, y'hear?

Holy fucking shit!

Max, hold it together.

If he figures out what happened back there,

they'll throw me in state.

Tara --

You do not want me in state.

I'm talking fucking "Shutter Island."

You know, padded rooms and drugs and drooling

and straitjackets, throw away the key.

You jumped off a goddamn bridge!

Because I'm crazy.

But you can't let them take me. I'll rot up there.

And I can't go to that fucking country club

Charmaine came up with, either.

Yeah, yeah, you're right.

Let's just head home, grab a bucket of chicken,

tell the kids you auditioned for the universal stunt show.

That's not what I'm saying. I need real help.

What does that even fucking mean anymore?

Boston.

What?

I need to go to Boston.

Hattaras said I should go there.

There's a doctor there who's supposed to be the best --

What the fuck was that? Huh?

I was trying to help you --

All of you.

Please, Max.

Boston.

We can't tell anybody about this.

I can't believe you came home!

We talked about this! You were on your way!

I mean, what the fuck?

We changed our minds.

But Boston?

Yeah, it's the best in the country.

They have a three month in-patient program

followed by ongoing aftercare as long as I need.

For someone who's about to hop in the first clown car to Goofyville, Mass.,

you seem a wee bit keyed up.

Yes...Kate.

Because, Kate, I am ready to fight.

I looked at the worst parts of myself

right in the eye and said, "I mean something.

I matter. I have a life to lead."

That's great, but what if Bryce comes back?

Bryce is dead.

What?

Don't. Just --

Dad, is this what you want?

Fuck no!

What I want is to get the hell out of here!

I'm done with it all!

Fuck the whole goddamn thing!

Yes. Hell yes, Marsh.

I-I want your mom to get the best help possible.

We still have some details to figure out.

Top of the list -- Moosh.

We don't want to take you out of school.

Well, if it's only gonna be three months,

why don't I just stay here?

By yourself? Absolutely not.

Then I'll stay with grandma Sandy.

Absolutely not! Absolutely not.

Look, I got it under control, Marsh, okay?

We're gonna make sure you're taken care of, buddy.

And, uh, I have one more favor to ask.

Oh, you've got some big, hairy balls, baby.

It's minor. I think you'll like it.

It would mean a lot to me

if we had one last family supper

that we all make together.

Kate, I haven't met Evan yet. I'd like you to bring him.

Sure. Should I tell him bring Monty?

No. No.

And, Marshall, I was thinking

you could be our chef de cuisine

and I could be your sous chef.

Yeah, that's an excellent idea,

seeing that less than 24 hours ago,

you punched me in the face.

Oh, God.

Look, Marsh... I know --

No, a-a dinner party sounds delightful.

It's exactly what this family needs.

Send me an invitation.

Oh.

Hey.

When you get to Boston,

forget all that world-famous clam chowder stuff.

There is a McDonald's near Faneuil Hall --

I'm not in the mood, buddy.

I just want to get through this week,

get her in the car, and get her to the doctor's.

I mean, this thing is... so much more complicated.

It's totally fucked.

And, uh, I'm just -- I'm barely hanging on.

That's why I brought this.

Remember when you said we should open this when we need it?

Well...

We really need it.

Whoo!

Yeah. Ohh.

What happened to us?

By now, weren't we supposed to own

the world's first combination strip club and pancake house?

"Titcakes."

I almost forgot about that.

Am I still Marshall's godfather?

No.

No, you lost godfather status

when you ate that plate of hash brownies

and stole my John Deere, tried to outrun the cops.

The fact that they were on foot

should've told me I wasn't going as fast as I thought I was.

Listen, I've done a lot of growing up.

And Charmaine was telling me

that you guys don't know what to do about Marshall,

so...what I was thinking was...

He should move to Houston with us

and we could take care of him.

You know, at least until you guys get back.

Are you serious?

Yeah.

Thank you.

Hey.

Any chance I can trick you into making

a batch of your famous blood-orange macaroons?

Look, I know you're hurt, angry,

and -- and you have every right to be.

But I'm begging you -- please don't shut me out.

I'm not.

No, you are, and you probably should,

but I'm asking you not to,