E-mail

I was never so happy to receive a forwarded e-mail.

Not just any e-mail. But e-mail that let me know that everything would be ok. My "secret" wasn't going to end the world as I knew it. Which is a pretty easy thing to believe when you've been sitting on a letter for 6 months, debating, like a double-dutcher, when was the right time to jump in.

Summer? No, too much quality time together. Not to mention Mars' birthday.
Fall? No, Mars has soccer and I don't want to risk Dad missing out on that just to avoid me.
Holiday season? No, that'd be too much of a blower. The holidays are for celebration, not being railroaded by personal revelations no one saw coming.

Then he asked me what I wanted for my birthday. And the only thing I could come up with was "your acceptance." That's how February became the month and the 10th became the date. The excuses had run out and the need to free my psyche of this "secret" was too much to ignore any longer.

Now.

My hand shook. My breathing quickened, then stopped, only to double its pace again. When the initial shock of my brazen act subsided, an erie calm washed over me. It was over. He would either continue to love me, or he would not. Only time would tell.

Or an email.

I told my dad that I'm a lesbian, and, in reply, he forwarded me an e-mail. All was right with the world.

Hopeless