Against the Altar

Chapter 7: The Long Night

The phone calls started that evening.

Ava had barely made it back to her apartment—her soon-to-be-former apartment, she reminded herself with a mixture of excitement and terror—when her phone began vibrating with such frequency it was like holding a live wire. She'd turned it back on during the drive from Liana's place, and immediately regretted it.

Seventeen missed calls. Thirty-two text messages. And they were still coming.

Her mother at first, her voice tight with rage and grief and something that sounded almost like panic: "How could you do this? How could you shame us this way? Do you have any idea what you've done? Your father—your father is—" The message cut off abruptly, and Ava could hear sobbing in the background before the line went dead.

Ava sat on her couch, surrounded by the sparse furnishings of a life she'd barely been living, and listened to voicemail after voicemail. Her mother called back three more times, each message more desperate than the last.

"Ava, please. Please call me back. We need to talk about this. You can't just—you can't just say these things and hang up on me. I'm your mother. Talk to me."

"The church—everyone is calling, asking questions. Mrs. Nkosi heard from someone who heard from someone at the university. The rumors are spreading. How am I supposed to face anyone? How am I supposed to show my face at church on Sunday?"

"Your father won't come out of his studies. He's been in there for three hours, praying, trying to understand where we went wrong with you. He won't eat. He won't talk to me. He just keeps saying 'my daughter, my daughter' over and over. Do you understand what you're doing to him? To us?"

The pain in her mother's voice was like a knife to Ava's chest. This was her mother, the woman who'd raised her, who'd sat up with her through childhood illnesses and teenage heartbreaks, who'd celebrated every academic achievement and worried over every setback. And Ava was breaking her heart.

But staying in the closet would have broken Ava's own heart. And she couldn't live like that anymore. She just couldn't.

Between her mother's calls were texts from church members. Ava scrolled through them with a growing sense of surrealism. How had the word spread so fast? Had her mother called people? Had the university rumor mill already started churning?

*Sister Ava, I heard some disturbing news. Please tell me it's not true. I'm praying for you.*

*Your poor parents. What you've done to them is unforgivable. You should be ashamed.*

*Ava—it's Janet from the Young Adults Ministry. I just wanted to say I support you. I know this must be hard. Stay strong.*

*This is what happens when young people reject traditional values and chase worldly desires. May God have mercy on your soul.*

*Hey Ava, it's Marcus. My sister told me what happened. Just want you to know—I've got a cousin who's gay, and she's happy now. It gets better. Really.*

*Praying that the demons of homosexuality release their grip on you, and you return to righteousness.*

The messages blurred together—some supportive, most not, all of them treating her life like public property, like something they had a right to comment on, judge, dissect. Ava's hands shook as she scrolled. This was what she'd been afraid of. This exposure, this judgment, this sense of her private life becoming a topic of congregation gossip and prayer circle discussions.

Then her father called.

Ava stared at the screen, at the name "Papa" glowing there, and felt her stomach drop. Her mother's grief had been hard enough. But her father—her father's disappointment would be devastating. Her father was the one who'd taught her to ride a bike, who'd helped her with her math homework, who'd been so proud when she got into university. Her father was strict, traditional, but he'd always loved her. Or at least, he'd loved the version of her he knew.

She almost didn't answer. Her finger hovered over the decline button. But she couldn't hide from this. She'd made her choice; she had to face the consequences.

"Papa," she said quietly.

"Ava." His voice was cold, controlled in a way that was somehow worse than if he'd been shouting. Nothing like the warm, affectionate tone he'd used all her life. This was the voice of a stranger. "Your mother is hysterical. She can barely speak. So I will say what needs to be said."

"Okay." Ava's voice came out small, childlike.

"You have chosen your path. A path that goes against everything we believe in, everything we've taught you, everything that is good and righteous and holy. And because you have made this choice, we are making ours."

Ava's hands trembled. She knew what was coming, had prepared herself for it, but preparation didn't make it hurt less. "What choice?"

"You are no longer welcome in this house." Each word was measured, deliberate, final. "Your belongings will be packed and made available for pickup at a time of our choosing. We will not attend any events you may hold. We will not speak your name in our home. As far as this family is concerned, we have one less daughter."

The words should have hurt more than they did. Maybe Ava was in shock. Maybe she'd already grieved this loss in the months of hiding and pretending. But hearing it made official—hearing her father actually say the words—it felt like a door closing, final and irrevocable.

"Papa, I understand you're angry, but please—"

"I am not angry, Ava. I am disappointed. I am heartbroken. I am devastated beyond words." His voice cracked slightly, the first sign of emotion breaking through the controlled exterior. "I prayed for guidance. I spent hours on my knees, asking God what I should do, how I should respond. And God showed me that we cannot condone this sin. We cannot welcome you back into our lives while you persist in this unnatural relationship."

"It's not unnatural. It's love. Why can't you see that it's just love?"

"It is sin. It is an abomination in the eyes of God. And until you recognize that, until you repent and turn away from this path, there is nothing more to say between us."

"What if I never turn away from it?" The question came out stronger than Ava felt. "What if this is who I am? What if I'm gay and that's not going to change no matter how much you pray about it?"

Her father was silent for a long moment. In the background, Ava could hear her mother crying, could hear other voices—were there people at the house? Had her parents called their church friends over for support? For prayer? For a strategy session on how to handle their wayward daughter?

"Then you have chosen your path, and we have chosen ours." Her father's voice was cold again, the brief c***k of emotion sealed over. "Goodbye, Ava."

The call ended.

Ava sat in the darkness of her apartment—she hadn't bothered turning on the lights—and felt the full weight of what she'd lost. Her parents. Her family home. Sunday dinners where her mother made all her favorite foods. Christmas morning opening presents. Easter services sitting between her parents in their usual pew. Birthday celebrations with her mother's elaborately decorated cakes. The comfortable familiarity of being someone's daughter, of having a place in the world that was unquestionable, unearned, just yours by virtue of being born.

All of it, gone.

Her phone continued to buzz—text messages from church members, some supportive but most not. Ava turned off the sound but couldn't stop herself from reading them, each one a fresh wound.

*We're praying for your family. They must be devastated.*

*Stay strong, Ava. Living your truth is worth it.*

*You've always been such a good daughter. I can't believe you'd throw that away for this lifestyle.*

*Love is love. Don't let anyone tell you differently.*

*Your parents sacrificed everything for you and this is how you repay them?*

The messages blurred together, a cacophony of judgment and support and everything in between. Ava felt like she was being pulled apart, stretched between competing versions of who she was supposed to be.

Around nine PM, there was a knock at her door.

For a wild, desperate moment, Ava thought: My parents. They've changed their minds. They've come to talk this through, to find some middle ground, to tell me they love me despite everything.

But when she looked through the peephole, it was Liana standing there, holding two bags of takeaway from the Indian place they both loved, wearing an expression of fierce determination and tender concern.

"I know you said you needed to handle your parents alone," Liana said as soon as Ava opened the door. "But I couldn't just sit at home knowing you were dealing with all this by yourself. So I brought samosas and curry and naan, and I'm not leaving unless you really, truly want me to."

Ava felt something inside her c***k open—all the emotions she'd been holding back while listening to her parents' voicemails, while reading the text messages, while sitting alone in the dark apartment. She reached out and pulled Liana inside, holding her so tight she could feel Liana's heartbeat against her own chest.

"Don't leave," Ava whispered into Liana's shoulder. "Please don't leave."

"Never," Liana promised, wrapping her arms around Ava and holding her like she was something precious and breakable. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

They stood like that for a long moment, just holding each other in the darkened apartment while the food grew cold on the counter and the city hummed outside. Finally, Liana pulled back enough to look at Ava's face.

"Tell me," she said simply.

And Ava did. She told her everything. Her mother's sob-filled voicemails, her father's cold dismissal, the text messages from church members she'd known her whole life who now thought she was either brave or damned depending on their theological leanings. The sense of being unmoored, of losing the foundation she'd stood on her entire life, of free-falling through space with nothing to hold onto.

"I knew it would be hard," Ava said, curled up on the couch with Liana's arms around her. "But knowing and experiencing are so different. They really disowned me, Liana. My father really said those words. 'We have one less daughter.' Like I died. Like I ceased to exist."

"I know." Liana's hand stroked Ava's hair, gentle and grounding. "And I'm so sorry. I wish—I wish they could see you the way I see you. I wish they could understand what they're losing by pushing you away. I wish they could see how brave you're being, how much courage it takes to choose yourself."

"What if they never do?" The question had been haunting Ava all evening. "What if this is it forever? What if I never speak to my parents again? What if I'm not there when they get old, when they get sick? What if they die and we never reconcile?"

Liana was quiet for a moment, and Ava loved her for not offering empty reassurances, for not saying "they'll come around" when neither of them knew if that was true. "Then you build a new family," Liana finally said. "You find your people—the ones who love you for who you actually are, not who they want you to be. And it won't be the same, and it won't fill the hole they left. But it will be real. And real is better than conditional."

"Is it though?" Ava pulled back to look at Liana's face. "Real love comes with real loss. Conditional love at least—at least it's something. At least you're not alone."

"Conditional love isn't love, Ava. Its control dressed up as care. It's 'I'll love you if you're who I want you to be.' That's not love. That's manipulation." Liana's voice was gentle but firm. "Real love says 'I love you because of who you are, not in spite of it.' Real love doesn't require you to kill parts of yourself to be worthy of it."

The words settled over Ava like a blanket. Real love doesn't require you to kill parts of yourself. How much of herself had she killed trying to be her parents' perfect daughter? How many pieces of her authentic self had she buried, denied, erased?

They sat in silence for a while, Liana just holding Ava while Ava processed everything. Finally, Ava remembered something she still had to do.

"I need to call Thabo," she said.

"Do you want me to step out? Give you privacy?"

"No. Stay. I need you here for this."

Ava pulled out her phone and dialed Thabo's number, half-hoping he wouldn't answer, half-hoping he would. He picked up on the second ring.

"Ava," he said, and there was so much compassion in his voice that Ava nearly started crying again. "I heard. My mother called me about an hour ago. She was—well, she wasn't pleased."

"I'm so sorry, Thabo. For everything. For using you, for the position this has put you in with your family, for letting this go on as long as it did when I should have been honest from the start—"

"Stop. You don't need to apologize to me. I'm glad you did it. Glad you finally stood up for yourself."

"My mother says I've humiliated you and your family. That I've ruined your reputation."

"My mother says the same thing. But Ava, we were both being used. Both of us trapped in this arrangement we never agreed to, being pushed together by parents who saw what they wanted to see rather than what was actually there. If anything, you freed us both."

"Your mother must be devastated."

"She is. She's already making calls, trying to do damage control, spinning the story to make me look like the victim of your deception." Thabo laughed bitterly. "But honestly? I feel lighter than I have in months. Because now I don't have to pretend anymore either."

Ava sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"

There was a long pause. Then Thabo said quietly, "I have my own secrets, Ava. My own life doesn't fit into the neat little box my parents have designed for me. I'm not ready to tell them yet—I don't have your courage—but watching you do it, watching you choose yourself, it's making me think that maybe, someday, I could do it too."

"Thabo—"

"Don't. I'm not ready to talk about it, not even with you. But I needed you to know that what you did today—it matters. It's not just about you and your parents. You're showing people like me that it's possible to break free. That you can survive it."

"Can you though?" Ava asked. "Survive it? Because right now I feel like I'm drowning."

"You'll survive. You have Liana, right? You're not alone in this."

Ava looked at Liana, who was watching her with concerned eyes. "Yeah. I have her."

"Then you'll make it through. It won't be easy, and some days you'll wonder if you made the right choice. But Ava—you're free now. Really free. That's worth something."

After they hung up, Ava relayed the conversation to Liana. They talked about Thabo, about what secrets he might be hiding, about how many people were trapped in lives that didn't suit them.

"Do you think he's gay too?" Liana asked.

"Maybe. Or maybe something else. It doesn't matter. The point is—we're all walking around pretending to be who people expect us to be instead of who we are. And it's killing us. Slowly, but surely."

They finally ate the now-cold Indian food, reheating it in Ava's microwave, sitting cross-legged on the living room floor because Ava's apartment didn't have a proper dining table. As they ate, Ava's phone continued to buzz with messages, but she ignored it. Tomorrow she'd deal with the fallout. Tomorrow she'd start packing up her life and moving it to Liana's apartment. Tomorrow she'd figure out how to navigate a world where her parents had disowned her.

But tonight, she just sat with Liana, eating curry and trying to believe that she'd made the right choice.

"I'm scared," Ava admitted as they cleaned up the takeout containers.

"I know."

"What if I can't do this? What if I'm not strong enough to build a life without my family?"

Liana took Ava's face in her hands, forcing Ava to look at her. "You are strong enough. You already proved that today. You told your mother the truth even though you knew what it would cost. You chose yourself even though it meant losing them. That's the hardest part, Ava. Everything else is just logistics."

"Just logistics," Ava repeated with a weak laugh. "You make it sound so simple."

"It's not simple. It's going to be messy and hard and there will be days when you want to take it all back. But those days will pass. And eventually, you'll wake up and realize that you're happy. Really happy, not just going through the motions. And that will make everything worth it."

Ava wanted to believe her. Standing in her sparse apartment with Liana's arms around her, she tried to imagine that future—the one where she was happy, free, living authentically. It felt impossibly far away, like looking at a destination across an ocean with no idea how to get there.

But she'd taken the first step. She'd jumped off the cliff.

Now she just had to learn to fly.

They spent the night together, Liana refusing to leave Ava alone with her spiraling thoughts. They lay in Ava's bed—the one she'd slept in alone for too many nights, the one she'd never invited Liana into because this apartment was supposed to be her "straight" life—and talked until the early hours of the morning.

About what moving in together would look like. About how they'd handle running into Ava's parents or church members around the city. About whether Ava should try to salvage any relationship with her family or just let them go completely. About fear and courage and the thousand ways love requires you to be brave.

"I'm glad you're here," Ava whispered as she finally started to drift off to sleep, exhausted from the emotional upheaval of the day.

"Where else would I be?" Liana murmured back, her arms tightening around Ava. "This is where I belong. With you. Always with you."

And despite everything—despite her parents' rejection, despite the church's judgment, despite the uncertain future stretching out before her—Ava felt something she hadn't felt in months.

Hope.