The show opens at Holly and Tommy’s Santa Barbara winery. Ooh, how posh! We learn the vineyard is called “Walker’s Landing”, which brings to mind Knots Landing. What, are the producers hoping to launch a spinoff? Let’s hope not. Balthazar, I love you-- but you’re no Joan Van Ark.

The vineyard makes for a lovely set however. Looks like they swiped it from Falcon Crest. Julia, Holly and Tommy are seated at a long farm table in an outdoor courtyard. Do Tommy and Julia live there now? It isn’t clear, but Julia sure seems at home sitting there sipping orange juice and periodically complaining about how the twins are kicking her. Not even out of the womb, and already they’re scene-stealers.

Holly and Tommy pat Julia’s hand and then basically dismiss her to focus on important grown-up work – preparing the guest list for their upcoming investors’ wine tasting. We get a close-up of Holly addressing the invitations by hand. A nice, personal touch. I guess those calligraphy classes paid off! Holly asks Tommy how many of the Walker clan will actually be attending—no doubt she wants to put little smiley faces on each of their invitations. Tommy tells her everyone is coming except Joe.

Holly: I’m slightly concerned what with all our potential investors coming. I mean the combination of the Walker family with endless amounts of alcohol?

Sounds about as combustible as a meth lab.

Tommy: Say what you want about my family, at least they show up when it counts.

To put the lie to his point, we cut to Sarah visiting Kitty at the Senator’s office.

Sarah: I’m not going.

She’s come to see Kitty to hand off a strawberry shortcake she baked for Tommy’s big night. Because, as any sommelier will tell you nothing goes better with expensive wine than a Betty Crocker frosted shortcake.

Apparently, Sarah is having second thoughts about attending this social occasion. All the other guests will know that her husband made out with a twenty-year old.

Oh please. I bet most of the old codgers attending will be jealous of Joe. And besides, this is hardly as embarrassing as the time you and Joe inadvertently included a homemade sex tape in Nora’s sixtieth birthday tribute video.

Kitty agrees to take the cake to the wine tasting and then asks Sarah how things are at home. Sarah tells her things are weird.

Sarah: It’s not even about the kiss anymore. Things have been said. Awful things. I don’t know how to move forward. It just seems like we’re stuck in relationship hell.

Yeah, I‘ve had the same feeling. It’s time for the show to break up Sarah and Joe once and for all. Watching him get treated like crap week after week just isn’t fun any more. For a change, I think the Walkers should stop torturing him and gang up on Julia instead. But I digress.

Enter the Senator. He’s come to tell Kitty to clear her schedule -- she’s coming with him on a trip to Washington, DC. And he’s brought her a little pink bag to sweeten the offer – looks like something from Victoria’s Secret.

McAllister: Consider yourself packed.

Sarah sneaks a peek into Kitty’s Victoria’s Secret gift bag and raises an eyebrow. What’s in there I wonder? Heidi Klum’s personal panty shield?

Sarah: Okay, I will leave you two to discuss politics or whatever it is you talk about.

Sarah leaves and McAllister asks what Sarah’s visit was about.

Kitty: I can’t go to DC. I have a family obligation.
McAllister: What? To deliver a cake?

McAllister pleads with her to ditch the baked goods and come to DC with him. He wants to discuss that marriage proposal she made last week. Kitty tells him that she wants to put the whole engagement thing on hold because she doesn’t want to make Sarah feel bad.

Kitty: My sister’s marriage is falling apart and I don’t think this is the time to be flashing some big rock in her face.

McAllister mocks her for presuming that he’s going to give her a big “rock” I wouldn’t count on anything flashy, Kitty. The Senator strikes me as a cheapskate. He’s an understanding cheapskate, however.

McAllister: Okay, spend some time with your family and we’ll talk when I get back.