“Mom, no.” My horrified shout stops Beth short as she starts to place our dishes down. I glance between her and my mother. “Sorry.”

“Let me know if you need anything.” She hurries off and I’m left alone again with my mother, who apparently has some shockingly archaic views on straight relationships.

“Paul wasn’t unfaithful, Mom.” I poke at the egg, covered in a thick layer of creamy, rich, and golden yellow hollandaise.

“I was just wondering,” she says, clearly offended.

When I get home, I’m going to send Julie a congratulatory email. I’ll never admit this to my mother, but I am a little disappointed she eloped. I would have loved to watch her marry the woman she loves.

Mom cuts into her waffles with enough force to scratch her plate. I pull out my phone and snap a few photos, slapping a filter on one and writing a caption about what makes the best hollandaise, making sure to tag the restaurant and hotel, and the chef, who I know tangentially through the industry.

“We broke up because I felt like I wasn’t getting what I needed,” I say, picking up my knife and fork. It’s easier to explain it that way than to tell her he hurt me and wait for her inevitable questions of why and how.

Mom stops with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Sophie. You were unfaithful?” I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mother look more disappointed, which is confusing since she just told me that it’s totally acceptable if men cheat.

“No, I...” I slice my fork through the egg and warm, gooey yolk oozes out. This is a good poach.

Julie told her parents she was gay. She, undoubtedly, had the same fears I do, but she was brave and she did it anyway. I channel a bit of my cousin Julie, of Amy, who lives like she dares you to question her existence. She stands so sure in her authentic self.

“I like women, too.” I keep my eyes on my plate where the egg and hollandaise meet and mix. The words have barely passed my lips before I say my next ones. “I’m bi, Mom.”

I didn’t know I was so terrified to say the words until I said them. My blood pumps slowly. I feel a little like this egg, my insides oozing out onto the table. But I said it. And the world hasn’t ended. I’m still here. That alone gives me the courage to meet her eyes.

She chews quickly at her waffle. How she can chew so fast without choking is some kind of superpower.

“That’s wonderful, dear.” She shoves another bite into her mouth. “So, you’re dating a woman, then?”

I blink quickly. As if blinking will somehow help me hear better. “N-no.”

She tsks. “But you like women?”

“Y-yes.”

“And men?”

“All genders, really,” I clarify.

She cocks her head to the side, her eyes wide with the kind of scandalized excitement she usually reserves for gossip about the folks from the church she barely attends. “You’re dating a man and a woman?” she whispers.