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Several years ago, I went to an arts festival in a small town in North Carolina. I paid ten dollars for a clairvoyant to read my chakras. She took a pad of paper from her bag, each sheet printed with a human figure on it, and began coloring in my energy points.

“You are very stubborn,” she said, looking at her colorful picture. “And your sister is gay,” she added as she sketched in the bottom right corner a view of my sister’s future family.

“Gay? No! She lives with her boyfriend,” I pointed out defensively.

“Well, she is going to have a relationship with a woman, and she’ll have two kids,” she said very matter-of-factly with little regard for the shock she had just given to my system. She tore off the sheet of paper from her pad and handed it to me with Fran’s secret drawn on the bottom corner. I walked away from the tent completely shaken. Gay? Yeah, right! And me, stubborn? Please.

I called my sister a few moments later to tell her about my chakra reading, hoping we would laugh about the whole thing and my nerves would calm down.

“She told you I’m gay?” Fran asked, the panic in her voice matching my own uneasiness.

“Oh, Fran, don’t think anything of that. I’m in the boondocks of North Carolina, and this woman is just trying to make a buck. Don’t you think if she were really a psychic, she could tell me something about me rather than my sister?”

“She said you were stubborn, and she was right about that.”

“Fran, you’re not gay. Forget I ever mentioned any of this.” And we never spoke about it again until several years later.

Fran had never had much luck in her love life. Her first serious boyfriend stole her identity, opened a credit card under her name and left her with $5,000 of debt and a broken heart.  We thought her second serious relationship was destined for the aisle. He was charming, bright and talented. And he loved my sister. But he loved his bourbon more. She moved to Los Angeles to heal her heart and concentrate on her career. She never talked much about her personal life anymore, so it didn’t surprise me the night she called to tell me she was dating a woman.

“Experimenting” is what she called it. She wasn’t really gay; she was just trying it out. That’s fine, I thought, buying into the idea that she’d end up switching back to men once she curbed her curiosity.  But Rebecca, the “experiment,” wanted Fran fully out of the closet with her family and friends, and Fran wasn’t ready for that.

When Fran was with Rebecca, I was able to chalk it up to exploration, but when she met Duffy things were immediately different.  She was giddy with excitement, she couldn’t stop talking about her, and for the first time she was ready to tell our parents.  She decided to tell them when we were both home for Christmas. I was a nervous wreck.

“I don’t think that’s a good time for that, Fran,” I pleaded.

“When exactly do you think is a good time?” she snapped.

Maybe Mom and Dad were better left in the dark. I wasn’t sure how they would react, and that worried me. My parents have always had gay friends, but this was their daughter and neither one of them had a clue. They bought into Fran’s excuses of not being ready to date again and her need for privacy.

“I sure hope your sister finds a man that makes her as happy as your mother makes me. Is she dating anybody, do you know?” my dad would ask me.

“Not that I know of,” I’d lie. After all, it wasn’t my place to tell.

While home for Christmas, Fran wanted to share the details of her budding romance with me, and I completely shut down on her. She would read a flirtatious text message or email that Duffy had sent, and I’d give a quick “that’s sweet” or “cute,” and immediately change the subject. I have gay friends who confide in me about their relationships, and I’m always supportive and even excited for them. I’ve heard the details of their romances, and I have never been uncomfortable. So why was I so averse to it when it was my sister that was sharing?

Fran sensed my anxiety and offered to answer any questions I might have. I told her I just needed some time to adjust. “I understand that,” she said. “I’m just feeling very alone right now.” She left the room, and I closed the door and cried.

My parents and I met Duffy a few months later. She is beautiful, smart and witty—a perfect match for Fran.  And Fran seemed happier and more relaxed than we’d seen her in years.

That summer I received an email from Fran asking me to sign a petition against Proposition 8 in California. I had heard of the proposition; it was making national news. The California Supreme Court legalized same sex marriage in May of 2008, and now Proposition 8 threatened to strip that right away.

There are times in our lives when our philosophical views are tested, and we have the opportunity to stand up for what we say we believe in. I have always strongly supported gay rights, including the right to marriage. But when Fran told me she was gay, the views that were created from growing up in a liberal family and having gay friends entered a new dimension; they became deeply personal. Despite my initial apprehension to Fran’s new lifestyle—a lifestyle she did not choose—my wish for her has always been to have an authentic, rich and fulfilling life even if it’s not the life I always dreamed she would have.

Proposition 8 spoke to my own fears, because deep down I knew that she would never have a life with the same level of security and normalcy that I will have; that she would spend her adult life fighting for rights that are automatic for me; and that she may feel at times she has to hide part of herself to placate the fears of others.

Proposition 8 passed in November with 52 percent of the vote. I was angry and heartbroken for my sister and her girlfriend and all the other gay couples in California who desperately want to live normal lives. Currently there are ten states that recognize same-sex marriage, and over time, I’m confident that gay marriage will be accepted everywhere.

Fran once said to me, “My soul fell in love with another soul and we both just happen to be women.” Not everyone in this world is lucky enough to find a soulmate to share their life. It seems a shame to punish those who do.

Elizabeth Nichols has a B.F.A. from the University of Southern Mississippi. She is an interior designer and lives in Atlanta.