Page 63 of Symphony of Salvation

“In the end, I won’t defend myself because I’ve already spent the past two decades fighting that war and I have nothing leftto give, so I’ll pour myself more wine, smile, and tell him everything is great. He won’t hear me because he was never looking for an answer and will have already moved on to another topic.” Niles dramatically sighed. “The end.”

“Sounds harrowing.”

“The only thing that would make it worse is if I brought a date home, and no, I’m not extending a late invitation. I wouldn’t do that to my worst enemy.”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

The tone of the connection changed again, and I assumed I was no longer on speaker. “Same scenario except insert disapproving looks and an abundance of pointed referrals to my siblings’ heterosexual relationships and the lovely grandchildren they have produced naturally as god intended it to be done. Also, the aggravating insistence on referring to my date as a ‘friend’ lest the aforementioned grandchildren ask too many questions. We wouldn’t want to confuse them or have to explain anything untoward.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

More than he knew.

Niles chuckled. “Hence why I tend to avoid family functions.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“So, what’s your story, August? What’s the root cause of your… repression? Are we still calling it that?”

I laughed when he failed to finish the sentence without a humorous inflection. “It’s a perfectly good word to describe me.”

“It made my night.”

“Good.”

“So? Nothing you want to share?”

“There’s not a whole lot to tell.”

“Come on. Out with it. I want to hear your story. I need to if we’re… exploring this further.”

“Are we… exploring it further?” A hopeful flutter tickled my ribcage.

“You tell me.”

The old man finished shoveling and went inside his shop. Across the street, a woman and two young teens struggled to rope an evergreen to the roof of their car.

I considered how to explain. “By the time I got to Juilliard, I already knew my interests were… versatile. I hadn’t had an opportunity to explore anything before leaving my country, so I was nineteen before I met someone proper.”

“A man. Say it. You met a man.”

“Before I met a man. Happy?”

“Go on.”

I drank the last of my cold cocoa and tossed the cup in a nearby trash can before continuing. “His name was Lincoln, and he was from New Zealand, studying abroad as well. He played trombone with astounding skill. He was formal. Shy. He, too, had never…” I left the words unsaid, and Niles didn’t insist I fill in the blank.

“This is hard for me.”

“You’re doing great. Keep going.”

“It was February of our second year when things got serious. We’d been secretly dating for a while. I invited him to come to Greece with me over summer break. He agreed. His family didn’t know he was gay, and mine had no clue I was bisexual, so we traveled as friends. We stayed with my parents, naively believing we could hide our relationship. I took him sightseeing every day, so we were rarely home, but we always managed to end up in the same bed at night.

“Our secret was quickly discovered. My parents asked Link to leave, and following his departure, I endured the one and only conversation I’ve ever had with my parents on the subject of my sexuality. They listened, and to their credit, they didn’t disownme, but my father pointed out how career-damaging it could be and implied as politely as possible that I should do my best to ignore these irregular feelings toward men. Being as I had sexual feelings toward women as well, he thought it prudent and more socially acceptable that I didn’t risk mine or the family’s reputation onboyhood silliness.”

“His words, I assume.”

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