That night, my mother and I peeled apples to make a pie. We ate cookies with vanilla frosting until two in the morning.

The fact is that was the last night my mother and I laughed together. Or even hugged, for that matter.

You see, when I left home for the first time, I made a promise to myself that I would live as authentically as I possibly could. No matter the consequences.

So, I did.

I picked up the phone and I called my mom and I said, “Mom, there’s something I need to tell you and Dad.”

She exhaled; the dim rumbling of her breath clogging in the pit of her throat sounded like a thunderstorm breaking apart as it passed through a stretch of mountains.

I waited until I could hear my father milling about in the background, close enough to hear what I had to say.

Finally, I said it: “Mom, Dad. I’m gay.”

There was a long, painful pause, and I recall I could feel my heartbeat hammering in the space between my ears – the blood rushing to my face and pooling there as violently as whitewater rapids.

Finally, my mother spoke. “My child isn’t gay.”

And she hung up.

That was the very last thing she said to me. I haven’t talked to her in two years.

The apple peeler was one of the last things she had given me before we stopped talking – something I thought I would keep as a memory of my family until I had a family of my own one day. But that doesn’t seem that likely anymore.

You had asked me why exactly I was selling the apple peeler if it held such a profound sentimental value. The truth is I would keep it if I could. I don’t want to bore you with the details or throw myself a little pity party, but I’ve been struggling to make my rent payment for the last several months because of a pay cut I had to take at my job. The extra $250 would really help me out this coming month and keep me afloat so I can bide my time before I can figure out what I’m going to do next.

I had never planned to reveal exactly why I was planning to sell the apple peeler to whoever I arranged to purchase the item. But you seem so genuine and so thoughtful. I know you won’t judge me or think ill of me for discarding such a precious remnant of my family’s history.