Don't Ask Don't Tell

My first real job out of school, I had developed a very casual relationship with one of the sales managers that my sister Dawn and I used to work with. My sister never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, had an inkling about me. During business meetings, my “friend” would give me those looks - you know - those ‘they have no idea we’re together’ type of smirks. Business lunches were always awkward. My friend would get up from her table and give me ‘the look’ to come with her to the ladies’ room. My sister walked in at .02 seconds after my friend had just planted one on me. My face went white and I thought for sure she knew. She had no idea. I don’t believe she knew anyone that were gay other than Boy George.
After a few incidents similar to that, I was sure my sister knew. I had to tell her before she finds out. I didn’t want the type of situation where your family knows before you "out" yourself. The worst thing in the world is: “Hey mom and dad, I’m gay.” And their response: “Yep, we know,” as they flip through the ‘parents with gay kids support group’ section of the paper. So I decided to take it upon myself to out myself to tell my sister Dawn, who I thought had an inkling about me. My other sister already knew, so I was sure that maybe somewhere, somehow, it may have slipped out or ‘guessed’ or ‘assumed’. Who knew...? When I first told her, I couldn’t seem to get the right words out, other than, “You know me and “Jen” are close right?”She just gives me a blank stare, “Well yeah you two get along great!”
“No, we’re very close friends.”
“Okay...” she says, in a ‘where is this going’ type of tone.
“It’s more than a friendship.”
“Like sisterly?”
“No.”
“Oh!” she said, with her jaw to the ground and her eyes fixated on me as though I grew a few more heads.
So needless to say, mom started giving me the “look”: that look that said, “I’m on to you kid.” It was the same look when I came home and she seemingly detected alcohol on my breath or if I had smoked pot, she’d say, “I smell that funny burnt rope smell!” I just ran to my room and insisted that she was crazy.

“Hey dad, you have four daughters, one married and the other two coupled up with nice men. Did you ever think that one may possibly stray out of the pack?” He sat there for a few moments, taking the longest drag from his cigarette. You could actually hear the paper burning as he sucked every bit of nicotine into his gargantua-like lungs.
“You tellin’ me you’ a fairy?”
“Yes.”
“You wid’ dat’ nice Spanish girl dat' sends me pastries?”
“Yes.”
“Good fo’ you. She’s a nice girl. I’d ratha’ see ya wid’ her than these lousy creeps dat’ are out ‘dare - yanno’ whad’ I’m tawkin’ abow’???”
And the very last thing he said to me was: “Don’t tell ya mutha’!”