Bree pulls Gabii off the ceiling and sends the girls to a safehouse and asks Gabrielle what the fuck is wrong with her. Gabé says that everything is fine, that's not even her doll anyways, whatever, it's a gift for those two gay ones and their poor abused frizzy-haired ten-year-old adoptee that we'll probably never even see again, anyway. Bree just looks at her like she's out of her mind, because she is out of her damned mind.
Julie got a blood test, but she's not a match for the kidney. One stretched side of Susan's face is like, "I told you not to get tested!" and the other stretched side of Susan's face is like, "I have only ever asked you for one thing in your entire miserable life." Mom comes over to "help" and Susan tells her to cram her shuffleboard up her lido deck and the mom is like, "Well, can I buy you lunch or carry your bags or stand here silently weeping?" And Susan is like, "You do not have the privilege of looking at me at this time, you worthless harridan." Aunt Claire takes a swig from her flask and replaces it in the breast pocket of her tailored men's suit, slicking back her hair with one beefy paw.
Susan's mom won't quit, though. She's all, "Can I push your wheelchair?" and Susan's all, "I can't wait to push your wheelchair, into a rest home, and leave you there to rot," and then gives up and just jams her hand into her mother's abdomen, past the wrist, and starts rooting around for the kidney her damned self, but alas she produces only... Her mother's bleeding heart. Which she jams in her mouth and gnaws at, blood pouring down her pointy chin, while delivering this delightful little speech:
"You only had a 15% chance of being a match. That meant there was an 85% chance that I'd never know how little you cared about me. I could've gone the rest of my life thinking you were a wonderful mother who had the wrong kind of kidney."
Later, after the swelling has gone down and MJ has brushed his mommy's hair the requisite 100 strokes that will keep the goblins from coming while he sleeps, Aunt Claire arrives on her motorcycle -- tiny little Japanese number, what they call a "crotch-rocket" -- and explains to Susan that, of course, Sophie has breast cancer and isn't going on any dang cruise. She opens a domestic beer on Susan's jutting ribcage and kicks back in the recliner. "This is the one time your mother hasn't tried to get all the attention. She's worried enough about you that her cancer seems like more of a horrible illness and less like winning the I Am A Victim Sweepstakes. You know, like you would."