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her a look. This wasn’t funny. “I didn’t hang out with living people other than my family and Mom’s coven members when I was growing up, and most of my interactions were with Leotie,” I explained, frowning. She patted my hand and pursed her lips. I could see that she was trying hard not to smile. “Have you ever heard the word ‘gay’?” she asked.
    Now it was my turn to smile. I rolled my eyes and said, “Yes Nilda. I do read. Gay means happy.” Nilda laughed out loud then. When she had finally gotten herself under control she explained the alternate meaning of gay to me and left me to think about it. It took a while for all of it to sink in. I really couldn’t accurately even say whether I was gay or not. I’d never considered it. Now I thought about it.
    All of my life, the people I had most been drawn to were all women. Granted, I’d never been around men much but I’d never looked a man and thought, “Gosh, he’s beautiful!” I thought that about women all the time. However, it still seemed to me that there should be more involved in being gay. It was all too confusing for one day. I took a walk and got some ice cream before I went with my go-to solution for when things got too muddled. I called my mom.
    I know that every child in the world thinks his or her mother is the most beautiful woman in the world, but in my case it was absolutely true. My mother’s name is Rhiannon and she looks like what music would look like if it could be made solid. She was tall and slender with chestnut hair that fell to her waist in gleaming waves. In the right light her hair shone almost a dark red, in other lights a deep, rich brown. Her eyes were the color of emeralds and her skin was that creamy shade of pale that generations of Southern ladies had coveted and cultivated.
    I grew up wishing for nothing more than to look like my tall, beautiful mother but I just didn’t. I was short, coming in at just 5’1” with blond hair and a face full of golden-hued freckles. I had inherited Mom’s green eyes but they just didn’t look the same on me somehow. Where she was slender effortlessly, I was slightly rounded everywhere. I was clumsy too. Where Mom glided from place to place, I clomped. Where she agilely avoided obstacles, I tripped over thin air. I was always healing some bruise or scrape or scratch.
    I’d grown up hearing that I was the most beautiful girl in the world from my mother, but it was hard to believe when you had someone who looked like my Mom to compare yourself to. Even if it was hard to feel beautiful in her presence, she was still my favorite person. Mom and I were extremely close and if anyone could help me sort this out, it would be her.
    The phone only rang twice before Mom answered. “Hey baby bear! How’s today treated you so far?” she asked, her voice full of warmth and home and…love. My heart swelled and my eyes welled all at the same time. By the time I answered her, my voice was already quivering. I poured out the whole story, half afraid that she would be horrified and disgusted with me.
    I should have known better, though. Short of me up and choosing to murder someone, my mother was never going to judge me. And even if I did end up killing someone, Mom would find out my reasoning before she decided I was in the wrong.
    “Baby bear, have you been beating yourself up over this? You have to stop that now. If you are gay, so be it. You will still be you, I will still be me and when it becomes time for you to think about giving me some grandchildren we will just find you the nicest sperm bank around.” I had to laugh at that and I felt the stress draining away. Mom would help me figure it out and once I did, it wouldn’t change how she felt. Everything was going to be fine.
    We talked for over an hour. Mom asked if I had ever had feelings for a woman before. I told her what I’d worked out so far, that I hadn’t had any specific attractions but that I had always looked more at