That sounds more like an order than Mindy prefers (unless she's being told to, like, get her ass into the bedroom) but she obliges, pulling a bright pink vase from beneath her sink and filling it up with water.

The flowers really are so pretty, inedible as they may be. She's peeling back their plastic wrapper when it occurs to her that she's not sure she's actually voiced the sentiment she's been feeling all day, or over the past couple of weeks of planning this. "I'm really glad you're here," she calls out, a rare stab at sentimentality. "I mean, I know it's super weird, but it's better with you."