My only experience of such hatred was secondhand—the stories I’d heard from friends who were twice my age, or those who’d been born in other countries. But the illogical stance of another’s sexuality being cause for anger was still an abstraction to me, and it was not until I became the subject of Zebulon’s repulsion that I truly felt its warmth. When he slammed down the phone I felt as if I’d been rejected by my own child. I never heard from him again.
