The restof it came in waves, over days and weeks.
The league put out a statement that said the right things in the careful language of organizations navigating something they didn’t yet have a playbook for. Evan read it once and moved on. What mattered were the other responses that came in directmessages and tweets and in the brief, specific moments when someone said something that lodged itself inside him.
Not just in baseball either.
A point guard from Boston whose name Evan had always respected put a single word on his story the afternoon the statement dropped:Support. Then he tagged Evan and CJ, and that was it. No comment, no elaboration. Just a single word of support that said more than a million words of hate.
Some players said nothing, which meant different things from different people, and Evan let them mean what they needed to. Some players were publicly loud about their bigotry, and the response that came for them—from fans and other players—was swift and punishing.
But it was the fans’ reactions Evan understood the least when they came. He’d expected the negative and knew there would be a contingent of old-school fans who would be loud with their disapproval. That part existed, but it was the rest of it that surprised him. He hadn’t known what it would feel like to have strangers respond to their coming out with relief, like they’d been waiting for it. Like it mattered in a way that had nothing to do with him or CJ and everything to do with what it meant for them to be honest.
There was a teenager outside the stadium one afternoon a couple of weeks after they’d released their statement, wearing Evan’s jersey and waiting near the side entrance the way fans sometimes did. When Evan came out, she looked up, and for a second, she just stared at him. Then she said, “Thank you.” Nothing else. Just two words before she walked away.
He stood there for a moment after she’d gone, but he thought about her for a long time after that.
The Hartmans flewin on a Saturday in August when the team was in San Diego for a series of home games. CJ had told him they were coming in a way that was meant to warn him so he could prepare. Evan had offered to make himself scarce, and CJ had been offended at the idea. So he’d suggested that he cook dinner for them, and CJ accepted, and that’s how he found himself in the kitchen when CJ’s parents knocked on the door.
He stayed in the kitchen while CJ let them in, focusing on stirring the sauce and sautéing the vegetables. Then they were in the kitchen, and Evan couldn’t avoid them without being incredibly rude, so he turned from the stove and wiped his hands on a towel. He’d met them before, back in college, but he’d been introduced as CJ’s friend.
Mrs. Hartman came forward immediately and pulled him into a hug, her grip warm and certain. “We would have done this years ago,” she said, looking at him like she was seeing him for the first time. “He should have brought you to us.” She glanced at CJ and winked.
“Mom,” CJ said, but he laughed and came over to kiss Evan on the side of the head, then showed his mom where they would be staying while they visited. CJ was giving them his apartment and staying with Evan.
Mr. Hartman was still in the doorway, and he looked at Evan for a long moment, then he extended his hand. “Evan,” he said. Just his name, but it carried the weight of a decision made by a father who had just assessed whether he was worthy enough for his son.
Evan shook his hand. “Mr. Hartman. Good to see you.”
CJ’s father held the handshake a beat longer than necessary. “Something smells good,” he said.
“Evan cooked,” CJ said as he reentered the living room.
Mr. Hartman looked at Evan again, and something in his expression looked almost like he was impressed. “Is that right?”
“I can take credit for the bread,” CJ offered.
“You bought the bread,” Evan said with a laugh.
“That’s what I said.”
CJ’s parents laughed, and Evan relaxed.
Evan’s mothercalled on a Sunday toward the end of August.
He was at CJ’s, watching a preseason football game that neither of them cared about and enjoying the freedom of a day off. When his phone lit up with her name, he looked at it for a moment, showed CJ, and disappeared into the bedroom.
“Hi, Mom.”
She didn’t say anything immediately, but he heard her breathe and gave her time.
“I owe you an apology, mijo,” she said finally.
Evan sat on the edge of the bed. “Mom?—”
“I said things that weren’t true.” She sounded like she’d written this down so she wouldn’t forget what she wanted to say. “Things I would take back if I could, but I can’t, so I’m telling you instead that they weren’t true. You are my son. That’s not conditional. It has never been conditional, and it won’t ever be.”
Evan felt his eyes start to sting, and he didn’t try to stop the tears that fell when he closed his eyes.
“I need time,” she continued. “I’m just being honest. I don’t— I’m going to have to learn some things, and undo some of theteachings I grew up with. But I’m not going anywhere.” There was a long pause and then, “Is he good to you?”
