Susan nods tiredly and hungrily and admits that's how she's been feeling: Justified and validated in being a weak-willed idiot by the fact that God gifted her with these attention-getting kidneys. Then a lightbulb goes off over her head and she realizes how she can make everything worse: By going over there and accusing her mom of... [Something, I don't know, don't ask me to explain Susan to you].
Aunt Claire balls up one mighty fist and says, "I will lay you out, little girl. That woman is the world to me, and I won't have you adding to her burdens." Something about the look in her eye, something about the way she moved so quickly to keep Susan in her chair... Claire nods as another lightbulb goes off. "I wondered how long it would take you to figure it out, Suze. Your mother and I, we're not 'sisters' in the usual sense. But things were different back then, you had to hide. It's not like today, like that big strong fella down the road that's just gay as the day is long. What's his name, Charlie? Quentin? Carlos. That's right, Carlos." Susan must admit she makes the case.
"You kids have it so lucky," Claire nods, getting maudlin. "Now, where's MJ? I need an Old-Fashioned." MJ's hiding on the stairs, like every night after the hairbrush since Julie moved away, trying to figure out how if Claire and Sophie aren't really sisters, then what does that mean about the Scavo Twins? His money's on at least one of them. Momma didn't raise no gaydar slouch.
(PS: I made up the whole lesbian subplot with Aunt Claire, who is played by Rhoda and looks the same age as everybody on this show, which is to say pretty hot, as well as pretending to give a shit where MJ is. I mention this not because I think you didn't know that, but in order to draw the stark contrast necessary for your full ironical enjoyment between the lies that I made up in the paragraphs above, and the near-total truth I am about to lay on you in the paragraphs to follow.)
Well, first a disclaimer: Say what you will, and possibly this has to do with my morbid childhood fear of Jane Wyman, but I think the scariest possible thing a woman of any age can do to onlookers is to button her shirt all the way up, and then stick a cameo in there between the collar points, where the top button buttons. Mother of pearl that shit creeps me out. Add shoulder pads and several strings of pearls -- which isn't the case here, but since we're on the topic -- and you might as well be Piper Laurie riding a donkey skeleton through the air. It gives me heebies in place I didn't know I had jeebies, that look. Only Dixie Carter, ever, in the history of the world, could get away with it. Everybody else, you just look like Sybil's mom coming at me with an enema bag and I-cannot-handle-it.