Yours Truly, Austin Post - Post Malone

47

Ava wakes with a weight on her chest so heavy, it feels like the world itself has settled there. She lies still, blinking up at the ceiling as if waiting for something to shift—some great tide of feeling to recede. But it doesn't. It never does. Not on this day.

It’s her birthday.

For many, birthdays are joyful markers—little flags placed along the map of their lives, filled with laughter, candles, and celebration. But for Ava, birthdays are reminders. Sharp, quiet reminders of what she lost. Of who she lost. Of Carter.

Carter had adored birthdays—especially hers. He used to treat them like national holidays. Even on the worst days, when his skin was pale and his limbs weak, he would slip from bed and sneak to the kitchen. He’d return triumphantly, singing—always off-key—carrying a tray of breakfast with sweet little gifts tucked beneath a napkin. He turned her birthdays into festivals of love, scattering affection like confetti across every meal, every hour. There was cake, always. Balloons. Movies. Candlelit dinners. Even when dying, Carter had celebrated her with all the love his body could hold.

Now, birthdays are silent. There’s a quiet text from her mother. That’s it. The rest is just her, and the aching, suffocating pressure that has settled where her heart used to beat freely.

She’s improved, in some ways. The first three years after losing Carter, she couldn't even get out of bed on her birthday. Just pulled the covers over her head and disappeared into the dark. But slowly—very slowly—she got stronger. Strong enough to stand. To shower. To acknowledge the day with a passing glance, if not a celebration. But not strong enough to celebrate alone. Not yet.

She remembers how Grayson had asked her when her birthday was, back when they were on tour. It had been the first time in years that she'd even said the words out loud. And now, Austin had invited her over—like he did most Saturdays—but she'd declined. He didn’t push, didn’t question. Just looked at her for a moment, eyes warm and sad, and pulled her gently into a hug. It had meant more than he probably realized.

She wants to celebrate. Or at least, she thinks she does. But she’s not sure how. Birthdays feel like another language now. Does she invite friends? Go out dancing? Does she even have friends to invite? Ava had faded out of her own life when Carter died—how do you come back from that?

Still, she finds the strength to send a thank-you text to her mom. It feels like moving a mountain, but she does it. It’s something.

The sun is high when her phone rings. She’s on the patio, curled on a lounger with Mr. Tubs napping beside her. The ringtone startles her. She scrambles up and dashes inside to answer it.

It’s Austin.

Just hearing his voice softens her chest, just a little.

“Hi,” she says, breathless.

“Hey! I was starting to think you weren’t going to answer.”

“Sorry. I was outside with Mr. Tubs. Had to run in.”

“That’s okay… Are you home? I thought you had plans today.”

She hesitates. The truth sits on the edge of her tongue, heavy and vulnerable. But if anyone could understand, it’s Austin.

“I lied,” she says softly. “I’m sorry. It’s my birthday today. And I’m… I’m not great with birthdays.”

“I know,” he says, quietly. “You don’t like celebrating?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it. I just… don’t know how anymore. Carter always… he used to do it all. So now I just… don’t.”

“Do you want to be alone?”

She sighs. “I don’t know. Part of me does. But part of me doesn’t.”

“Then how about this: come over for dinner. Just the three of us—me, Grayson, and you. We have a gift for you, but you don’t have to open it. No pressure. No expectations. Just… us. You can decide how much or how little you want to do. We’ll take it slow.”

Ava feels her eyes sting. “Okay,” she whispers. “I think that sounds really nice. Thank you.”

“Alright. First decision,” he teases gently. “Balloons and streamers—yes or no?”

She lets out a soft laugh. “No… Maybe a few balloons.”

“Perfect. We’ll see you at six.”

And so, for the first time in eight years, Ava puts on a dress and stands outside someone’s front door on her birthday. Her heart is thudding against her ribs like a frightened bird, but she’s here. She’s doing it.

She rings the bell.

The door swings open almost immediately and there stands Grayson, beaming like the sun.

“Hi!” he says brightly. “Can I say happy birthday and give you a hug? Maybe get a little excited? Dad says you get to choose everything today, so what do you want?”

Ava blinks back sudden tears. “I want you to do what your heart tells you to do.”

Grayson lets out a delighted cheer and throws himself into her arms, kissing her cheeks with reckless joy. She laughs, the sound unfamiliar and wonderful in her throat. The warmth in her chest is something she hasn’t felt since Carter—an echo of love, soft and safe.

Behind them, Austin appears, leaning in the doorway with a shy smile. “Hi,” he mouths as she hugs Grayson.

“Dad’s wearing a tie,” Grayson whispers, giggling. “He looks so handsome.”

Ava smiles as she sets Grayson down. “You look very handsome,” she says to Austin.

“Thank you,” he says, stepping forward and pulling her gently into a hug. “It’s a special day after all.” He kisses her softly. “Happy birthday, Peach.”

It’s the first time he’s called her that. Her heart stumbles over the nickname. Odd, maybe—but deeply Austin. Unfiltered and heartfelt.

Grayson grabs her hand and leads her through the house, out to the patio. The table is set for three, with a vase of garden flowers in the center. Balloons drift gently in the breeze, tied to each chair.

“Dad got blue because it’s his favorite, I got green, and you got white,” Grayson says proudly. “Also, two glitter ones because Dad told the store lady you were like glitter.”

“Glitter?” Ava turns to Austin with a smile.

He shrugs. “You get everywhere. You sneak into all the empty spaces.”

She sits, heart full and aching all at once. Maybe—just maybe—this could be her favorite birthday yet.

“Alright!” Austin says, clapping his hands. “I made dinner. Coming right up.”

As he walks inside, Grayson leans over, grabbing the salt and tucking it under the table. Then, with great drama, he tips out a pitcher of juice into the garden.

“Have you eaten Dad’s food before?” he asks.

“Not since before you were born,” she says, amused.

“Well… just follow my lead and smile. We’ll survive.” He reveals a hidden bucket behind a pillar and sits down, grinning.

And Ava does smile, because this—this strange, sweet, imperfect night—is the first time in a very long time that her heart has dared to feel something close to joy.