Well my friends, like life and I guess football, we’ve come to an end. It’s the season finale of Very Cavallari.
What a journey it’s been. From my introduction to a basically narcoleptic football star to the world’s awareness of said-football star’s obsession with miniature goats, we’ve all learned a lot. And it hasn’t always been a goat-filled romp, no, there have been moments of strife, fury, vasectomies and uncertainty, all marked by the same, squinty-eyed look on Jay Cutler’s permanently pillow-marked face. But fear not, there’s lots of Jay to go around in this one—a promising nod at a potential spin-off with the already perfect title of this column, perhaps?—and an explicit assurance from E! that season 2 is coming in 2019. Probably the most anticipated show now, even more than Game of Thrones. It’s been a wild ride to the end zone (it’s end zone, right?) and now all there is left to do is gather round the kitchen island and enjoy one last ep.
Jay is up, bright and early, and he’s barreling into the cavernous bathroom to say good morning to Kristin and his mother-in-law, Judy. You can tell it’s a big day because he matched his hat to his camo.
Jay and Kristin’s mom began to razz Kristin about the speech she must make during the Uncommon James store opening party later that day because she’s already nervous and stressing to them that it is not a speech.
“Do you want me to,” Jay pantomimes dinging something against a glass, to signal a speech, though his version is more like he is feeding a little bird with tweezers.
“Speech, speech, speech!” Judy begins to chant. Jay joins in.
“I’ll kick you guys out,” Kristin says.
“Do you promise?” Jay asks.
A man arrives at the opening party in a matte black Range Rover and—Cut-Stans forgive me—I was like, “Who the hell is this now?”
Jay without a ball cap affixed to his head like some new appendage in man’s next evolutionary stage. Jay with his hair, by definition, “done.” Jay wide awake and in a suit jacket that matches his nice, outside pair of black jeans. But the open collar on the untucked and billowing shirt should have given it away.
“Where’s my mom?” Kristin asks.
“She couldn’t make it.” He says.
“You ditched my mom?”
“The place looks great,” Jay avoids the questioning like he’s out-maneuvering an incoming linebacker.
A little later Kristin decides she’s not doing the speech. It’s too loud in the room.
“Jay!,” she shouts, “I’m not doing the speech.”
“What?” Jay responds like he’s been waiting for this speech his whole entire life. “I’ll get everyone to be quiet.” He assures her, his head brushing up against a chandelier. Either Jay Cutler is Kevin Love’s long lost, slob of a brother, or the light fixtures in this place are hung like emergency lighting in a mine.
“I’m not doing it,” Kristin shakes her head, “I’m not. If you make me do it I’ll divorce you.”
“I’m thinking.” Jay thinks, out loud.
Later still, Jay interrupts Kristin in the middle of a conversation to cryptically announce, “It’s time.” For someone who tries to speak as little as possible on a daily basis, Jay Cutler sure loves speeches.
Jay takes Kristin into the recesses (back room) of the store so she can take a minute.
“I’m not ready,” she says, holding the speech in her hands.
Jay, not to be fooled, not when it comes to speeches, questions, “Then why did you write that?”
They run through it a few times and Jay, posted up against cardboard boxes and looking like the cop in a movie who is down on his luck who’s about to get a call to come crack the impossible case tells Kristin, “Go, rip the band aid off,” before fist-bumping his wife.
Jay stands in front of the crowd and begins shouting. Not for “quiet,” specifically, just shouting. Voices hush and eyes expectantly turn to this booming neck-beard. Jay is very comfortable in front of a crowd, my guess is because Jay lives in a world of his own making mainly comprised of his kitchen island and dreams of small livestock ownership and when let out of it, if only for an evening, he behaves like an enlightened monk hell-bent on getting back to his sanctuary. He will do whatever needs to be done.
Kristin begins by thanking Jay and the camera does a hard zoom to our guy, who’s eyes are—you guessed it—closed.
The sun rises on another day and another hat atop Jay Cutler’s head. He says his daily sun salutation of, “Well, hello” to Kristin from his perch at the kitchen island as she enters his sanctum.
“What did you think of last night?” She asks him.
“It went well,” Jay says, clearly relieved to be back at home where no one will speak to him.
But there’s a problem. As Kristin and Jay try to navigate her store’s newly launched website, it seems some links are not yet live. A meltdown ensues, which, seems completely warranted because Kristin’s staff are perpetually on the verge of getting fired.
“Drop the hammer on some people,” Jay nods, a rockin’ instrumental begins to play in the background. Kristin is fired up and we need to know it.
“Get ‘em! Get ‘em!” Jay begins to chant as Kristin leaves. This is a big episode for chants, which Jay understands intuitively and loves.
Night falls and we find Jay foraging in the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” He asks Kristin, who is obviously unloading the dishwasher.
“Unloading the dishwasher.”
Talk turns to the earlier fuck-ups of Kristin’s staff, and if positions need to be reevaluated. Jay has some advice.
“Well that’s the thing about being the boss sometimes,” (who is Jay the boss of?) “sometimes you gotta let ‘em know that if this isn’t important to you—” Jay is cut off by one of Kristin’s staff, Brittany, FaceTiming her.
“Fuck Brittany.” Jay murmurs as the call starts.
It concludes quickly, everything is fine again. Jay is not done, his bloodlust unabated. “Next time that happens just suspend them for a week.”
“And not have anyone running social media?” Kristin asks, incredulous.
“What do you mean, like Instagram? You mean putting up some pictures? I’ve got, I’ve got an iPhone,” he makes motions like texting.
“Instagram is a full-time job, it is.” Kristin assures him.
Jay, incensed, makes the hand motion of teens and queens everywhere, “You need to stop.” His voice climbs in pitch, “You need to staaahp.”
“If it wasn’t for Instagram I wouldn’t have a fucking company.” Kristin, who is right, tells him.
“Mmm,” Jay grumbles.
“So if you want to sit here and say that’s not a job you can get out of my house.”
“Uhh, this is half my house.” He reminds her.
“51 percent mine.” She reminds him, more forcefully.
Jay has acquiesced.
The Cutler-Cavallari’s arrive at their new home. None of the keys work but this is reality television so the door is open. Jay and Kristin tour the house but quickly make their way outside to what really matters—the chicken coop. The coop has a chandelier and it is higher than the ones hanging in Uncommon James.
Back in their new and empty kitchen, Jay tries for a long time to open a bottle of champagne. He wins this latest battle and they toast.
Later, in the car, Kristin asks Jay an important question.
“What are your sunglasses?”
“Awesome.” Jay responds.
“I’m not trying to win, any contest of beauty,” the poet laureate of the fourth quarter has returned, “Functional.”
Hearing enough about his terrible sunglasses, Kristin asks Jay her second most important question, “So,” she starts, as Jay dramatically removes his sunglasses, “what are your plans for the next couple months?”
He’s ready. “Gotta move, I gotta finish up, gotta uuuuh, gotta get my garden goin’.”
“Aren’t you going to get bored?”
“Oh yeah.” He agrees. “You just run the world with Uncommon James and I’m kinda co-pilot.”
Kristin tells Jay a part of her five-year plan is having an apartment to herself in Nashville so when she needs to go to the store she can stay there, alone.
“Wait, what?” Jay is laughing but there is a panic rising in his voice. “We’re not doing that.”
“Well I could just buy it with my money.”
Jay is silent, driving, not even looking at the road.
“You have your money, but my money, is our money.” Jay says, letting the world know about their finances.
“That’s how it should be. Every girl should have a stash. No girl should ever have to stay in a relationship because a guy is supporting her.” Jay is doing the horse lips, he goes to say something and Kristin raises her hand to stop him, “I’m with you because I love you, not because I need you.”
“That’s, that’s good to hear—“
“Boom!” Kristin borrows a Jay-ism, “Power of the pussy!” The last part is definitely not a Jay-ism. But maybe? He did read that article.
Back in the new house, they begin to ceremoniously demo it. Well, Kristin does. Jay watches in a gigantic rain poncho as Kristin smashes the drywall with a hammer. He is truly happy. A blinking creature emerging from his hibernation amidst the rubble of what will be his future, bigger, and better kitchen island.
This article originally appeared on VICE Sports US.