You are Yuna Hollander. Your son is in primary school and tells you he wants to be a hockey player because he loves the ice. Heâs talented and he has drive, even if he can be a little awkward and reserved. He is your only child, he is your world. You are committed to making this happen for him.
You are Yuna Hollander. Your sonâs brand new boss should be talking about how skilled he is at his job, instead he talks about your sonâs race. The way he looks like you. Your son tenses up by your shoulder. You cover the discomfort coming from the both of you, because this is the price for his dream and it is your fault.
You are Yuna Hollander. You know Shane has to work twice as hard to be half as visible as the white players even though heâs better than all of them (except maybe that Russian in Boston). Youâre grateful that he has his fatherâs last name, itâs easier to market. You spend your lunch breaks making calls, answering emails, securing brand deals. You get home from work and clock into your second shift, building your sonâs retirement plan. The body you made for him will only last him so long. Youâre determined that he will live beyond it.
You are Yuna Hollander. Your son is at lunch and heâs not acting like himself. Heâs tense like youâve never seen him. Heâs under so much pressure and you know youâve contributed to that and it kills you. Maybe he needs to break from this regimen. You suggest he has a glass of wine with yourself and David. Youâve forgotten how important routines and rules are to your autistic son. You donât know how to express that you think Shane is maybe in too deep with his hockey bubble, and that he perhaps should meet more normal people. Or at least, ones that arenât hockey people. You donât know how to say this because youâve pushed him into this, now youâre changing the game and he hates that. You make a joke about a Swedish princess. Really? says David.
You are Yuna Hollander and your son has a girlfriend. This has never happened before. For a while you thought he mightâve been gay, but clearly you were wrong. Heâs a hockey player. Heâs the best in the world. Heâs handsome, heâs talented, and heâs rich. Now thereâs a movie star girlfriend. He tells you a day before the media frenzy begins. It feels so short. You used to feel closer to him. Something feels distant, and you hope that this can bring you back into his orbit again. You ask him to extend an invite for the summer to his girlfriend. You hope that this Rose Landry sees your son, past the jersey to the quirky, funny, honest man beneath.
You are Yuna Hollander and your son is bleeding on the ice.
You are Yuna Hollander and you visit your son in the hospital. Heâs babbling away like he used to as a small child, before the other kids told him that the way he spoke and thought and acted was strange. Itâs unashamed and giddy and you wish it wasnât from the morphine. You havenât seen him this unguarded inâ you canât remember. He keeps a tight hold on your hand even when he falls asleep. The nurse says the visit earlier from Ilya Rozanov tired him out.
You are Yuna Hollander and youâve just witnessed hockey history. Scott Hunter has just come out in the most public way possible. No one will remember this cup for anything else. Your son has been texting his friend throughout the whole game. His phone starts ringing and he practically sprints out of the room to answer it. You look to your husband in shock. I canât believe someone did it, you say. I canât believe it was Scott Hunter, he says. You donât know what Shane thinks. He stays on the phone for a long, long time.
You are Yuna Hollander and your husband has just told you. Why didnât your son tell you? Why didnât he tell you years ago? What have you done or said that he felt he couldnât tell you? How did you not notice your son was living a lie? Did he love his girlfriend? Did you not notice that he didnât love his girlfriend? You are a terrible mother. You are a terrible person. Your son is your world. Your son has not let you know who he is. Your heart is breaking.
You are Yuna Hollander and Ilya Rozanov is in your home, eating your food and drinking your husbandâs vodka. Heâs also been fucking your son for a decade andâ
You are Yuna Hollander. Your son is gay. Your son has been in some kind of relationship for a decade. Your son has been afraid of the world, of the media, of the reaction. Your son has been afraid of you.
You are Yuna Hollander and your son is telling you that he tried so hard. You are going to throw up. You have never wanted him to be something that he isnât. You have never wanted to stand in his way. All you have ever wanted is the best for him. All you have ever wanted is to help him achieve his dreams. You take him into your arms and you feel his heart beating against yours and you remember his heart used to be inside of you. You havenât known him. But now you do. You feel like the luckiest woman on the planet.
You are Yuna Hollander and you will meet your son and his boyfriend for dinner at 5PM. And you will be texting first.
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