The morning of Gracie’s picnic is gentle, warm—the kind of day Gracie would have adored. Ava goes into town with Hope and the mothers to find sundresses, something bright and soft, something Gracie would have chosen. It isn’t Ava’s usual style, but today isn’t about her. It’s for Gracie. A tribute in fabric and color.
By the time they return, the road leading to Austin and Gracie’s house is lined with cars. Families walk together, carrying picnic baskets, their children skipping ahead, laughter drifting through the air like music. Some bring BBQs, others spread blankets under the orchard trees. It isn’t a funeral. It’s exactly what Gracie would have wanted.
Inside, Ava changes into the sundress. Austin’s nieces find her, their small hands working through her hair, braiding strands the way Gracie used to do for them. They step back, giggling, their eyes shining.
“You look like a forest fairy,” one whispers before they run off into the orchard.
Ava packs the last of her belongings, her chest tightening with the finality of it. Then, she walks down to the orchard.
The trees are alive with people. Laughter rings through the air, a stark contrast to the grief still lingering beneath the surface. Smoke from BBQs curls into the sky, and everywhere, there are people—talking, eating, picking fruit. No tears, no hushed whispers of mourning. Just life. Gracie’s parents and Austin’s stepmother move among the crowd, listening to stories of how Gracie touched their lives. Ava watches, amazed at how many lives one woman could have brightened. This is the biggest send-off she has ever seen.
She spots Hope. Austin’s brothers. Dre. But not Austin.
She scans the crowd again. Nothing.
Then she sees him.
He’s alone on a bench beneath the rose arch, his back curved slightly forward, his hands loosely clasped between his knees. No one approaches him. They don’t know how. They don’t know what to say. He’s been unreachable since Gracie passed, locked away in his grief, speaking only to his brothers.
Ava hesitates, but she knows she has to say goodbye. She’s leaving in the morning, and she won’t disturb him during his quiet dawn ritual with Gracie. So she walks toward him.
His eyes flick to her when she nears, and for a second, something almost like relief crosses his face.
“Miss Ava…” His voice is slow, hollow. “A warning… of how ripped up I’d feel… would have been nice.”
His tone is dry, but there’s no humor behind it. It’s just pain.
Ava rolls her eyes softly, fondly, and sits beside him.
“Would you have believed me if I told you?”
A small, broken huff of breath. “No… No, I wouldn’t have. I didn’t even know this feeling existed.”
She does.
People call it grief, but it’s more than that. It’s deeper, heavier. There isn’t a word strong enough to name it. It changes you. Alters the way you see the world.
Austin’s gaze drifts over the orchard, to the families, the children running between trees.
“What’s next for you, Ava? Where to now?” His voice is distant, but his fingers tighten slightly where they rest against his knee. He nods at the people passing by, accepting their murmured condolences, but there’s no real connection behind it. Just the motions.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “But I’m done being a nurse. I think… there’s something else out there for me.”
Austin nods, staring straight ahead. “Makes sense… You were a shit nurse.”
He bumps her shoulder lightly, but the joke falls flat. The exhaustion in his eyes is too deep for humor.
“And you?” she asks gently.
He exhales slowly. “Blank.” His gaze sweeps across the orchard. “Still blank.”
Ava nods. She understands.
“I’m leaving in the morning,” she says softly. “This is goodbye.”
Austin doesn’t look at her, but his arm comes around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. His breaths are uneven, slow, controlled—but just barely.
“You held me together when I was falling apart, Ava.”
She rests her head against his shoulder, sitting with him in the quiet as the orchard hums with life. The children from Gracie’s hospital visits are there, playing with their families, picking fruit, laughing. The orchard is alive. It should always be this way.
“I feel her,” Austin says suddenly, his voice rough. “I can feel her touch… on my skin. She’s everywhere.”
Ava closes her eyes. “I can still smell Carter,” she says after a pause. “Out of nowhere. Like I’ll be shopping or getting into the shower and suddenly—there it is. His cologne.”
Austin’s fingers twitch against his knee. “Can you still see him? In your mind… Can you still see his face?”
She swallows hard. “There was a time I couldn’t. It scared me. I kept photos of him everywhere. Forced his face back into my mind.”
Austin’s jaw tightens. “I woke up a few nights ago, and I couldn’t see her. Not in my head. It freaked me out.” He takes a shaky breath. “My dad says… he thinks it’s my brain trying to protect me from the trauma of losing her.”
Ava reaches into her pocket, pulling out an envelope. “I have something for you.”
Austin takes it, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulls out the photo inside.
It’s of Gracie.
She’s looking at him. Her eyes are sparkling, her smile wide and full of light. The photo is from Austin’s last show—one of the final moments where Gracie was truly happy.
A long, uneven breath escapes him as he runs his fingers over her face.
“She’s glowing,” Ava whispers.
Austin stares at the picture, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of it. “Thank you, Ava,” he murmurs. His voice is raw, wrecked.
Ava presses a soft kiss to his cheek, then stands.
“Goodbye, Austin.”
She walks away, into the orchard, toward the people who loved Gracie.
The next morning, she loads her car.
Austin’s and Gracie’s family gather around her, their embraces warm, their words soft. She isn’t just a guest anymore. She’s family.
“You’re always welcome,” Gracie’s father says, squeezing her hand.
“If you ever need anything—” Austin’s stepmother begins, but Ava smiles.
“I know.”
Hope clings to her, silent tears slipping down her cheeks.
“When you’re ready,” Ava whispers, “call me. We’ll meet up. Whenever you’re ready.”
Hope nods against her shoulder. It could be a week. A month. A year.
But when the time is right, it will happen.
Ava climbs into the car. The orchard fades behind her as she drives away, but she knows—she’ll carry Gracie’s light with her, wherever she goes.
YOU ARE READING
Yours Truly, Austin Post - Post Malone
Roman d'amourAva watches as Austin clings to Gracie, his shoulders shaking as he buries his face in her blankets, powerless to ease the grief that holds him. He's torn between the brief promise of two nights and the weight of his own emotions. Ava can't fix this...
