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“I don’t know,” I shrug. But I do. “It’s less stuffy. I know the customers aren’t judging me. They’re just having fun. They don’t know if my technique’s off, so long as it sounds good. It’s less pressure. And I don’t know. I guess I feel that music more. I like classical, but… I don’t know if I just made myself like it because I knew I’d have to play it forever. But it’s not me. Not like the stuff I play at the restaurant. That’s our history, it’s in my blood. Not Chopin and Pachelbel.”
When I raise my eyes from the table, I expect to find disappointment, but Baba’s smiling at me like he’s never been prouder.
“So then, that’s what you’ll play. No more Chopin. Greek music only.”
“Baba!” I laugh. “I’ll never make any money.”
“So what?”
“You’ll find a way,” Mama says. “We did.”
“Yeah, but Baba cooks, everyone likes food.”
He laughs. “And anyone who isn’t a sociopath likes music.”
He and Mama laugh and I let myself get caught up in it.
“So you’re not disappointed?”
“Disappointed? Hon, how could we be?”
Baba leans across the table and squeezes my other hand. “Stef, you, your sister and brother are our whole hearts, nothing you could do could ever disappoint us.”
Oh God.My eyes instantly fill with tears and Mama puts her arm around me and squeezes me tightly.
“Wait, there’s something else.”
I wipe my face. My heart pounding.They love me.I remind myself.Baba just said nothing I do can ever disappoint him. NOTHING.
I take a deep breath and look them both in the eye one at a time. “I’m gay.”
Mama presses her lips and Baba rubs the back of his neck.
“We know hon.” Mama says.
“What?”
“You used to kiss pictures of Zac Efron on your sister’s wall.”
“I what? I don’t remember that.”
Baba laughs.
“But… what about the church, what about…”
Baba waves his hand. “We’ve been talking about this and we decided, if God tells us not to love our son, then we don’t want to follow a God like that.”
“If the church doesn’t want you - the kindest, sweetest boy on the planet - then we’ll find another church.” Mama says.
I press my face against her shoulder and let her hold me, trying to take it all in.
“I really wish you’d told me you knew, it would have saved me years of worrying.”
“You really worried we wouldn’t accept it? Stefanos, who do you think we are?” Mama asks. “You could marry that beautiful hockey boy on the beach in Mykonos. That’s where all the gays go, so I hear.”
“Mama!” I wriggle out of her arms.
“What?” She laughs.