Meanwhile, at the church potluck, Mary is flustered by the arrival of "Reverend" Dave, a laid-back, tattooed youth pastor from a neighboring megachurch. He’s charming, plays acoustic guitar, and has a "Jesus is my co-pilot, but we're taking the scenic route" vibe. He’s also an old flame from Mary’s pre-George, "wilderness years." He compliments her casserole and says, "You always could make something out of nothing, Mare." George Sr., watching from the sidelines with a beer (which he hides in a foam cup), is immediately suspicious. "He’s got a guitar and a CrossFit bod," George grumbles to Meemaw. "That’s not a pastor, that’s a sales rep for male insecurity."

A Slip of the Tongue and a Parkinson's Push

Mary, feeling guilty, goes for coffee with "Reverend" Dave. He’s not trying to poach her; he’s lost. He confesses his megachurch fired him for being "too honest" about his doubts. "I don't know if I believe in a God who micromanages parking spaces anymore, Mary." Mary, a woman who clings to her Baptist routine like Sheldon clings to his train schedule, is shaken. "You can't just... un-believe," she whispers. Dave replies, "Maybe belief isn't a lever. Maybe it's a fulcrum. A point you balance on, not something you push." Mary goes home, stares at her Bible, then closes it and pours herself a small glass of Meemaw's hidden bourbon. George walks in. Sees the glass. Sees her face. He doesn’t say a word. He just takes the bottle, pours himself a glass, and sits next to her. It’s the most intimate moment they’ve had all season.

Meemaw is teaching Dr. Sturgis how to two-step in her living room. He counts the steps aloud: "One, two, pivot. One, two, pivot." She laughs. "You dance like you’re solving for X." He replies, "Aren't we all?" They bump hips, and he falls over a footstool. Cut to black.