Flames licked at my feet, comfortably propped up against the rim of the crackling firepit. Above, the stars slowly faded into view as the sun sank between the trees.

To my left, the giddy laughter of my father turned my head.

He handed me his phone, and for the following ten seconds there was nothing but forced laughter and rolled eyes on my part. Then, something on the screen caught my eye. The video was saved to his “likes” section. On the cover, elementary-age kids run through a rainbow balloon arch. Without thinking, I clicked on it.

Mistake number one.

Joe Rogan rambled in my ear about how schools are forcing politics onto kids. God forbid a child to say the word gay.

But I was used to it. However horrible it sounds, I grew up in a house split with warring political opinions. I didn’t understand it then, and for the sake of my family, I pretend not to understand it now.

Silence fills the void as the video ends and starts again.

I handed the phone back, my face a little pale and my heart too heavy. Then I was on my feet, trying to get inside before I said something I’d regret. My dad fired excuse after excuse about why he was right and I was wrong.

“In one ear and out the other!” I shouted, not caring about the neighbors also enjoying the night.

“These kids are too young to know what they want!” He tossed back.

The words “too young” ran through my head as I stomped inside, the slam of the screen door behind me echoing through the empty house.

No one to see me cry; A small mercy.

I felt myself spiraling down down down but up up up the stairs. Finally, I got to my room and crashed into my small closet. The irony of it was almost enough to make me laugh.

Almost.

I imploded. My hoodie became a fortress, guarding my heart as it broke.

In my meltdown, I almost overlooked the familiar, heavy steps coming up the stairs. I almost didn’t notice my dad sit down, elbows braced on his knees.

He talked to me so lovingly that I almost vomited. But he was only trying to protect me, after all. I must have felt so pressured in a school that was shoving the rainbow down my throat at only thirteen.

All I could think about was his position in space and time, in my room. He was in my space, my sanctuary. I didn’t want him here, but there he was.

Back and forth we went, arguing about things that fathers and daughters shouldn’t argue about. And then, I forfeited.

“Why do you care so much, Tal?” He asked me.

“Dad,” I began, “I’m a lesbian.”

Kingdom come, I thought. That was it. It was what I had been waiting for, wasn’t it? I always knew that I wouldn’t get a fairytale coming out, but I had never imagined that it would be this...embarrassing? Stressful? I guess there was no way to describe it with words, but maybe colors would do. There was no celebratory rainbow shining from my head; I doubted the universe cared that much. But I had still expected something less blue.

“Okay? Congratulations?” He said without missing a beat. He threw me a thumbs-up, mocking my words.

I stared at him with wide eyes and trembling lips. That was a piece of me, of my heart. Not to mention that for years it was a piece that I did not want and couldn’t choose.

Shattered.

I still think about the moment I felt myself falling. I was not spiraling like before, but tumbling into oblivion. She was gone, that girl who lied about herself, to herself.

No grandma, I don’t have a boyfriend yet.

Well, I just don’t have time to talk to boys, Aunt Lauren!

Time stopped.

Hey Elena, I think I like girls!

Uncle Dan, how did you come out?

Mom, I like girls. Only girls.

Dad, I’m a lesbian.

Time pulled me back, reeling onward. I left a piece of me frozen in the last two minutes.

Somehow, I knew that she wasn’t coming back.

Click, went the front door.

My mom and sister entered the house, the quick thumping of my tiny dog running up the steps to greet us the only fill for the awkward silence. He ran right for me, and trails of sticky slobber replaced the tears. I hauled him off of me and made to exit the room.

I greeted my sister and mom as I made my way down the stairs. I was grateful that they didn’t turn on the lights, and my splotchy face remained hidden.

“Do you want to come on another walk with me?” I asked my mom. Code for, crap hit the fan, and Dad and I are at each other’s throats.

She agreed and headed back out into the warm air of a summer evening.

“I came out to Dad,” I told her, shoving my hands in my pockets.

“How did he take it?” She asks.

In the silence, I noticed that the glowing stars from an hour ago only shone dimly now as clouds rolled in from the horizon.

“What did he say to you?” She asked, this time slowly.

“He said ‘Okay? Congratulations?’” My voice cracked at the memory.

She let out a breath and shook her head.

I told her everything. All the words I said. She comforted me, and this time, her attempts at calming me down didn’t trigger within me the urge to retch. Instead, she was able to distract me. My legs could carry me for the whole night as long as I was able to vent my spleen to her. She was my safe person; someone I could trust. She had already guessed that I was not straight, and she didn’t make a fuss about it.

Eventually, we returned home, and that was that.

Things didn’t go back to normal for a while. I wanted to be angry, to yell. But I kept my mouth shut, and we never really talked about it again. I went to school, told him I loved him, hugged him goodnight, and went on walks with him. But I didn’t tell him when I got my first girlfriend, or when it ended.

As twisted as the whole ordeal was, I didn’t regret any of it. I forgave him, and I forgave myself. I learned something very powerful that day: That the hardest truths are far better than the easiest lies.