The next day, when Nick showed up to the funeral, he was obviously drunk — and so was the man he’d hired for $20 to play Elvis. (“I thought you wanted me to kill Elvis,” slurred the lout.) Nick told Jess he’d had approximately “one dozen beers” before writing the “gigliography.” No wait, the “urology.” Or maybe the “eulogish.” Of course he meant the eulogy, which said — in its entirety — “Walt Miller… amirite?” Brilliant in its simplicity, but yeah… Jess took charge, telling Winston to buy them some time while she sobered up Nick. She also told Schmidt, “Stop asking people if they can smell the body. That is rude! It’s inappropriate, and it’s offensive.”
From his perch at the door farthest away from Walt’s corpse, Schmidt noticed Bobby hovering over the casket to swipe Walt’s gold chain. He instinctively swooped in, all, “Long Island, son!” In the resulting scuffle, his face was pushed into the casket and brushed against Walt’s smooth, dead face. At first he panicked and screamed, “Desecration!” But once he had a moment to process what had just happened, a look of victory spread across his face. Schmidt was no longer afraid. Then, to prove his courage, Schmidt repeatedly dipped into the casket, threatening Bobby in hyper-masculine voice, “I could do this all day. All day, son. All. Day! Wassup?” (Just one of the things Schmidt could do all day, including ankle swirls and donkey raises, as we now know.) In any case, it weirded out Bobby enough to make him leave.
Over in the bathroom, we got a hint of an average day in Jess and Nick’s future relationship. She helped him put on his tie as he made excuses for not writing Walt’s eulogy. Seeing her disapproval, he said meekly (but in a husky voice that was super-sexy), “You’re mad at me. You got the mad face.” To Jess’s credit, she wasn’t mad, not even disappointed — that most dreaded of words used by parents, teachers, and lovers. She sweetly promised to have his back, no matter “how stupid things get — and you and I both know it can get really, really stupid.” She continued, “I’m going to be there. I’m going to hold your hand. And I wanted to tell you that last night, but you ran away.” They stood there. And there was no potential for a kiss for many reasons — his drunken vulnerability, the somber circumstances, and, of course, the wasted-faceded barfly emerging from the toilet stall in a too-tight Elvis jumpsuit. But it wasn’t about any of that. It was about these two people who don’t always need to fill silence with passion. They love each other and have each other’s backs. Maybe they’ll never get to the point where they’re properly in love (though I know you Newbies want that so very, very much!), but that doesn’t change the fact that they’ve developed a trust that has led to this tremendously satisfying and wonderfully authentic moment.
NEXT: Walt gets his Elvis, Nick gets verklempt