Previously on Bob Hearts Abishola...
You know, it's important to have the support of the community
when you first move to this country.
Yes. I am so thankful for it.
Then you should be very careful.
Regarding?
I know you are...
(whispers): gay.
Don't worry. I will not tell anyone.
I would appreciate that. Mm-hmm.
You heard about Morenike? I did.
She just did not seem like that kind of girl.
Well, you really can't tell that kind of thing by looking.
Although my mom thinks she can.
It just hurts to be rejected over something I cannot control.
I think that's better. It's not you.
If she's gay, she's gay.
She's gay?
We just need to warn Morenike
that her secret may be getting out.
Mm-hmm. Because of Bob.
Do we have to mention the Bob part?
Did you have to mention the gay part?
Fair.
PASTOR: Be gone, servant of Satan!
That can't be good.
There they are. Welcome to Dave's Coney,
the crown jewel of Detroit.
I thought you were taking us to the best restaurant in the city.
It is. This is a hot dog stand.
I know.
Across from a Jiffy Lube.
Yeah.
Dave's has been here for 80 years.
Dave smells like it.
Be nice, Kemi.
Thank you, Bob.
I look forward to eating 80-year-old hot dogs.
Trust me, it's a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
No, I've had food poisoning before.
I, too, once thought this place was disgusting.
Yeah, but then you gave that greasy underdog a chance
and fell in love.
Sound familiar?
Ugh.
And I thought the hot dog
would be the thing to make me vomit.
CHUKWUEMEKA: We are in your hands, Bob.
Tell us what to dip where and when.
Smart move. You're about to see chili used
in ways you never thought possible.
Next customer, please.
Uh...
Morenike? Oh.
Hello, everyone.
What are you doing here?
Working.
In this den of salmonella?
I needed a job.
I thought you were in school full-time.
I am. Well, when do you sleep?
Like the sign says,
when the chili runs out.
So this is why you have been nodding off in church.
I assumed you were out burning the midnight lesbian oil.
You should be focusing on your studies. Does this job even pay well?
You should still be focusing on your studies.
BOB: Guys, guys, come on.
Maybe she's in it for the free hot dogs.
I am not, Bob.
Okay.
But I have no choice.
Once my parents heard about my situation,
they disowned me.
Oh, no.
Is there anything I can do?
You have done enough already.
Now do you wish you had taken us to a steakhouse?
("Ifanla" by Sola Akingbola playing)
(scoffs)
Morenike's family Photoshopped her
out of every picture on Facebook.
Even her graduation photo.
Her parents are just hugging a certificate.
That's cold.
But very professional.
I know who to call
when I declare one of my children dead to me.
So, what's gonna happen to Morenike?
Without her parents' money,
she will have no choice but to return home to Nigeria.
Where they can control her life and force her to marry a man.
That's awful. Mm-hmm.
I know how she feels.
When I refused to go back to Nigeria with Tayo,
everybody turned their back on me.
Everybody?
Didn't your aunt and uncle give you a place to live?
I had to beat out 12 other applicants for that room.
Well, what about me?
What about you?
I supported you after Tayo left.
You told me I was making the biggest mistake of my life.
I was supporting you with honesty.
You shouted, "Get off my couch and go home to your husband."
I was testing your conviction.
You refused to be seen with me in public.
I was testing my conviction.
Here. Go grab lunch from Dave's.
200 bucks' worth of chili dogs.
Oh, no, are you getting divorced again?
It's not for me. Buy us lunch. Put the rest in the tip jar.
You should throw in your watch.
You ruined that little gay girl's life.
Starting to feel like a drug deal.
I assume.
Morenike will think you are doing this
just to relieve your guilt.
That's exactly why I'm doing this.
She's a Nigerian.
Her pride will not allow her to take your money.
Oh, BS. Everybody's got a number.
300,000. What?
That's my price. For what?
You got the cash, you tell me.
Years ago, after I lost my professorship
and then my home, an old colleague offered
to let me stay at his house for free.
Oh, that was nice. It was.
But I could not accept.
My pride would not let me.
That is why I admire you, cousin.
Then you admire a fool.
He had a Jacuzzi and two eligible daughters.
I was single, and they were ready to mingle.
And by "mingle," I mean...
Yeah, we got it.
So there's just no way I can help her?
I'm afraid not.
Morenike will want to resolve this problem on her own.
I prefer the American way.
You ruin somebody's life,
the lawyers figure out an amount to pay them off,
and nobody ever talks about it again.
You mean like that UPS guy you hit?
Nobody ever talks about it again.
What are you doing?
Just helping our forgetful friend.
(scoffs)
"Kemi got me my first job here."
Mm-hmm.
"Kemi braided my hair
and gave me my signature look."
I did.
"Kemi told me to marry Bob.
She's the reason I am a happy trophy wife"?
Look, If Abishola will not give me any credit,
then I will have to take it by force.
(scoffs)
You know how prideful she is.
She just wants to believe
she pulled herself up by her bootstraps.
I bought her the boots!
Boots.
You remember when Abishola first came to this hospital?
Of course. She was pathetic.
She was doing the wrong paperwork,
mixing up all the old white patients.
That's why you give them nicknames:
Toothless, Big Ears, Spits When He Talks.
The point is,
we both saw a young girl who looked like us,
and we wanted her to succeed.
We helped Abishola because we were her support system,
not because we wanted credit.
No, I always wanted credit.
Give me this.
What are you doing?
Writing down all the times
I saved your ass from getting fired.
"Naked with Andrew in the deep freezer."
"Fistfight with janitor."
"Naked with janitor."
I didn't know you knew about that.
Oh, I knew, and erased the security camera footage.
Wish I could erase it from my memory.
Well, unlike some people,
I can show my gratitude, so thank you, Gloria.
You're welcome.
You have looked out for me like a much,
much, much older sister.
Please. You're just one hot flash behind me.
E karo, Auntie. E karo, Uncle.
E karo, Morenike.
It is a wonderful day, isn't it?
As beautiful as a rainbow.
You got new mugs.
We did.
(hushed): The rainbow is a symbol
of people who are like you.
You do not have to whisper, Uncle.
And in time, I will not.
Thank you.
It is a small way to show
we are proud of you.
A small, private way that we will hide
if anyone from church comes to visit.
You are so good to me.
Which is why I'm ashamed to say I cannot make rent.
Oh, do not worry. We can give you a few days.
But a few more days will not help.
I cannot afford to pay for school and live here.
What will you do?
MORENIKE: I have options.
I found an experimental drug trial
that lets you sleep in the lab
while they study the effects on your brain.
(sighs)
You will not be anyone's guinea pig.
You belong here with us.
We will pause your rent.
The last thing I want is to be
a burden to those who have stood by me.
What if we call it a loan?
That would help.
And to make you feel more comfortable,
we can require you to sign a binding contract.
I would like that. Of course. You are family.
I do not know what I would do without you.
Do not worry.
We offer a competitive, adjustable-rate loan
with no prepayment penalty.
Abishola. Yes?
I have decided we need to put our differences aside
and focus on the greater good.
What differences?
I will also put the fact that you are unaware
that we had differences aside.
Morenike needs our help.
I agree.
And who best to assist her
than two flourishing Nigerian women?
"Flourishing." I like that.
I thought it summed us up quite well.
We should get her a job at the hospital.
Yes. She cannot spend her nights peddling salty wieners.
I'll ask around and see which floors need a nurse tech.
Or I could just give her a job in the cafeteria.
How will moving from one greasy place to another help her?
My kitchen is not greasy.
Kemi.
My kitchen is not as greasy.
We need to do what is best for Morenike.
And what does that mean?
A job in a kitchen does not set her up
for success in her career.
Oh, really?
Because I seem to remember a certain somebody
who got their start in my kitchen.
And not on dish duty.
I let you run the waffle maker.
I only worked there for a few months.
It was a year, and it put money in your pocket
when you had nothing.
Your nose is turned up so far,
you have forgotten who got you where you are.
You?
Yes!
Let me refresh your memory, eh?
I let you stay on my couch when your husband left.
I lent you money for textbooks.
I told you when the hospital was hiring nurses.
And I got the job.
I studied for years to be qualified.
I did all the hard work,
and you cannot take credit for that.
I do not want all of the credit.
It would just be nice if you would acknowledge a single one
of the many, many things I have done for you!
This is nonsense.
I gave birth to Dele myself.
Yes, but I prayed for a boy!
Oh, hey. Hello.
What are you doing here?
Uh, it's been a while since I checked on Mom.
I've been so busy with the new job.
Oh. I'm sure she understands.
Yeah, she doesn't.
Sorry, it's been a day.
I've also had a day.
Oh, do tell.
It's nothing.
I don't want to bother you with it.
Why not? I'm always boring you with my problems.
That is true.
So come on, have a drink
and tell me all about it.
Did Kemi spend hours at the immigration office
after my visa expired?
Did Kemi get a nursing degree
despite having to deal with racist professors?
Well, I don't know Kemi's journey,
but I'm gonna say no.
Correct.
Okay, you know what I'm hearing?
Hmm? You need a reset.
A reset? Mm-hmm.
I've got a place in Arizona.
In the morning, you have therapy and you empty your mind.
And then in the afternoon, you have a coffee enema
and you empty your colon.
I-I don't... I don't think the answer is in my colon.
Oh? I will still be in debt from nursing school.
Mm. And will add more for medical school.
Mine and Dele's. Oh.
I didn't realize that.
And I still worry if I am raising Dele the right way.
Is he American enough? Oh.
Is he Nigerian enough? Mm-hmm.
Am I Nigerian enough?
(sighs) I want to say yes,
but I don't think it's my place.
Correct again! Ah!
(both laughing)
Next customer.
Bob.
Wonderful to see you.
I will get your back medicine.
Actually, I'm here for something else.
Your mother's anxiety medication?
No. Your sister's anxiety medication?
Boy, we are a family of pill poppers.
We are a country of pill poppers.
Go, Big Pharma.
Right.
Listen, I was hoping you could help me out.
Anything for you, Bob.
I'm trying to get a job
for a promising young pharmacist.
Oh, no, not that, Bob.
Come on, Chuey. You know Morenike's good.
She's a hard worker, super smart,
top of her class in pharmacy school.
I have no doubt that she is qualified.
Then what's the problem?
In my culture, it is not acceptable
to be associated with someone like her.
I get it. When I was in high school,
we had a gay guy on our wrestling team.
Made me uncomfortable 'cause we all had to change
in the same locker room.
What did you do?
Well, I was a jerk for a long time,
and then one day, I talked to him.
Naked in the locker room?
No. In school, fully clothed.
But once I knew more than that one thing about him,
we became buddies.
He came over to the house. We hung out all the time.
What did your mother say?
Are you kidding? She was crazy about him.
Said she always wanted a gay son
because they love their mothers more.
Yeah, I do not think my mother would have the same reaction.
I'm not talking to your mom.
I'm talking to you.
You're a good guy, Chuey.
Always looking out for people.
Because that is my duty as a pharmacist.
I took an oath to "consider the welfare of humanity
and relief of suffering."
Sounds like you know what you need to do, then.
You're asking too much of me.
I am just a man.
You're not just a man, damn it.
You are a pharmacist.
(loud typing)
Do you have to do that?
My job? Yes.
Why the hell were you getting drunk on a Tuesday anyway?
Because my sister-in-law loves me.
(wheels squeaking loudly)
I heard that someone up here has a headache.
I would imagine this cart is making it much worse.
Kemi, please.
(squeaking continues)
Either apologize or get the woman some WD-40.
She should apologize to me.
(scoffs)
(squeaking continues)
I can't take it.
I'm going up to pre-op and help shave people.
Strange, you would think my cart would be well-oiled
from all the grease in my kitchen.
E kaasan, Aunties. E kaasan, Morenike.
I am so glad you're both here.
What is happening?
I just wanted to thank you.
Eh, you don't have to do that.
But I do. I'm overwhelmed by your kindness.
You should be.
What kindness?
You got me the job, didn't you?
Of course we did. (chuckles)
What job?
What Abishola is saying is
we planted seeds all over this city.
You just have to remind us which one's fruited.
The CVS.
The pay is better. The hours are better.
I get to work in my profession.
I start next week,
and it is all because of you.
Oh, no, we don't do it for the credit.
I cannot wait to tell Auntie and Uncle
and thank them for all their help.
Why is she thanking them?
They had nothing to do with it.
Those two better not take credit for what we apparently did.
E kaasan, Auntie. E kaasan, Uncle.
Oh. Hello.
That is my wonderful niece.
I'm sorry to interrupt.
I did not realize you had a guest.
Oh, no, James is not our guest.
He is for you.
I'm sorry, I do not understand.
Neither do I.
They said they had a tax emergency.
Uh, I can explain.
That was a lie.
James lives in 418.
He has a rainbow welcome mat outside his door.
Which is helpful for the other gays to find him.
I should really go. Oh, no.
Did we offend you?
Oh, we're sorry. We don't know how to do this,
but we are trying to learn.
Our niece is newly gay and needs some guidance.
They mean well.
It's all right.
People always think that being gay
is like being in a secret club.
Is it not?
It kind of is. (laughter)
You are very funny, James.
Would you mind being our gay friend, too?
What the hell? Why not?
Wonderful!
Olu, uh, we are going to need more mugs.
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