Page 87 of Exchanged

Gina steps next to Brock. “And you cried on the first day of school when I tried to drop you off, so I stayed in the back of the room all morning until you made friends, and you gave me a thumbs-up and I knew you would be okay. From then on, we couldn’t get you away from the other kids.”

“We know you,” Brock tells him. “We’ve known you so much longer than these people have.”

Garrett’s jaw trembles, his eyes locked on his father’s. I hate what is happening to him, hate this tug-of-war that he’s trapped in. I swallow, knowing that I have no idea which path is the right one for him and that the next words out of my mouth have the power to affect the trajectory of his life.

“You’re right,” I tell Brock and Gina. “You are his family. And I know he loves you and misses you and wants nothing more than to make you proud. But I also think he’s afraid of you, that he becomes less of himself when he’s with you. And I don’t know what that means for him and for your relationship. Maybe it’s fine. Maybe it’s something you can work through.” I try to wrench Garrett’s gaze away from his father’s with my voice. “But, Garrett,” I say, “they aren’t the only ones who know you. We … I…”

Except I can’t formulate what I need to say. Something has lodged itself in the back of my throat, preventing words from forming. Speak! I think to myself. Just fucking say how you feel! But everything has gotten too big and my words are too small.

And then Emma steps forward. My sister’s voice is soft, the quietest sound in this house since Garrett’s parents have arrived, but there’s a strength behind it. “Garrett, you’re my second brother. You remember everything I’ve ever told you about myself. You’re the person I can talk to about books and movies, the one I nerd out with. I know you, too.”

Before Garrett can respond, Dad’s voice rumbles from behind me. “And you know how to get along with everyone, even a bunch of old guys from deer camp who want you to pull a damn outhouse up a hill. Your teammates, your friends here and in Atlanta—they’d say they know you pretty well.” He swallows. “I’d say the same thing.”

Tears have begun gathering in Garrett’s eyes.

“You see the world like an artist,” Aunt Liz says. “You notice things and you care about them, and you make others care, too.”

“We know you and we love you,” I finally manage. “I love you. Everything about you. Not just parts. Everything. Maybe that’s what home is.”

A long silence falls as Garrett stares at us, his face a turbulent sea of emotion. Watching him, I’m reminded of the breakwater that juts away from Blue Harbor into Lake Superior. On windy days, waves will crash against one side, sending water spraying violently into the air while the harbor on the other side remains as calm as a forest pond. Even the color of the water is cut by the stark line of concrete and stone, gray and wild in the open lake but aquamarine in the sheltered bay. Garrett is that breakwater, a thin line straddling two different realities.

Brock pats him on the back as if shrugging off an inconsequential interruption. “Well, son,” he says. “I think it’s time we head out.”

Garrett blinks. “No.”

“What?” Brock asks, as if he doesn’t know what the word means. He probably doesn’t.

The tears that have pooled in Garrett’s eyes finally spill onto his cheeks. “No,” he repeats. “I can’t.”

His mother watches him break away from her like part of an iceberg calving into the ocean. “What are you saying?”

“I’m not going home with you. And I’m not going to Ellison in the fall.”

Brock releases a half laugh, like he’s discovered something obvious that Garrett missed. “And what are you going to do instead? Where are you going to live?”

Garrett turns and looks at our family, his face a question mark, and he becomes the same person I met at the airport nine months ago. The one who realized he was not who we were expecting, his self-assuredness stripped away, a lost boy who didn’t know where he would spend the night.

“He’ll live here,” Dad says. “For as long as he needs.”

A bark of amused disbelief erupts from Brock, marking the end of his brief attempt at reconciliation with his son. “He’ll live here?” he says, pointing upstairs. “Across the hall from his little boyfriend? You’re going to let these two shack up under your own roof?”

Dad looks uncomfortable, but before he or anyone else can respond, Aunt Liz steps forward, eyes glued to Garrett. Written on her face is the love she’s held for him this year, love that I was too busy to notice growing. I think back to how she instantly took to him when he first entered our kitchen. The wry sense of humor they’ve always shared. All the time he spent alone with her creating the photo tree in her studio.

“No,” she says. “He won’t live here. He’ll live with me.”

What a year it’s been! Host families and Youth Ambassadors have shared a journey, one of cultural discovery and relationship building that we at GYA hope you’ll value for the rest of your life. The end of the year can be an exciting and challenging time filled with a mix of emotions: gratitude for all you’ve experienced together, excitement at being reunited with family, and grief at having to say goodbye. As the program comes to an end, consider planning a celebration to bring thoughtful closure to your Ambassador’s year with you. And don’t forget to plan how you’ll all stay in touch!

—From The Global Youth Ambassadors Handbook,

Section 11: “Wrapping Up Your Year”

TWENTY-FIVE

Garrett’s parents leave. His dad utters half-formed threats about how much Garrett will regret this choice, about how he’s throwing away his future. His mom ushers his dad and a speechless Lana into the SUV, and they drive away. Garrett, already packed, moves two blocks away to Aunt Liz’s house, settling into her guest room.

Within hours, they are both back at our house, Aunt Liz preparing a big dinner and Garrett watching baseball with Dad on the couch. We gather around the table for lasagna that evening, unsure whether we’re mourning or celebrating. Garrett has lost so much—and Aunt Liz and Dad have grounded both of us for two weeks—but I can tell that a weight has lifted from him. He seems lighter than he has in a long time.

Having not returned to Atlanta, Garrett is formally kicked out of the GYA program, but it doesn’t matter much at this point since he’s an adult and has found a new home. We don’t file the paperwork to unenroll Garrett from IHS, and the school doesn’t seem to care about GYA now that Garrett has officially moved in with Aunt Liz. The weeks until graduation tick by, and instead of worrying about next year or about Garrett’s parents, we get to enjoy ourselves.