“Alright! Dinner!” Austin declares, striding out of the kitchen like a game show host revealing the grand prize. He’s balancing two plates with the kind of pride usually reserved for Michelin-star chefs, placing one in front of Ava and the other in front of Grayson like he’s unveiling a masterpiece.
He steps back, arms crossed, grinning from ear to ear like he just plated up filet mignon.
Ava peers down at her dish, instantly questioning her life choices. She's... not sure what she’s looking at. There are peas—or at least she thinks they’re peas. They’re black, though, which is usually not a color peas aspire to be. There’s a smudge of something orange-ish that might’ve once been carrots, but could also just be lumpy mashed potato having an identity crisis. And then there’s the meat—if you can call it that. It’s grey. Not cooked-through grey. Just grey. And she’s fairly certain something smells faintly of vinegar... and despair.
“Oh wow, Dad! This looks amazing!” Grayson says with a level of enthusiasm that could win him an Oscar.
Ava glances up to see Austin beaming at her now, clearly fishing for validation.
“Yes... wow, this is... just incredible,” she says, smiling too wide. “You really outdid yourself.”
Austin puffs up like a proud rooster. “Well then! Dig in before it gets cold. I’ll just go grab mine,” he says, disappearing back inside.
The second he’s gone, Grayson dives for the bucket stashed under the table like a wartime spy on a covert mission.
“Okay, scrape a few peas in. And a little meat,” he whispers.
“Which one is the peas?” Ava hisses, horrified.
“I don’t know—just aim for the black blobs. But not too much or he’ll notice.”
They scrape fast and furious. Ava thinks she sees a mushroom... but it blinks at her. No, wait—it was a shadow. Maybe.
Grayson shoves the bucket away just in time. Austin reappears with his plate and a smile so smug he could power a city. “Wow, you two are making serious progress!” he says, sitting down. “You must love it.”
“Best meal yet,” Grayson says, chewing on... air.
“You think so?” Austin beams. “Maybe I should fire that cook your grandmothers keep pushing on us. I could handle all the meals from now on!”
Ava nearly chokes. “Oh, Austin, no—you can’t do everything! And Grayson loves that extra bonding time while someone else cooks. Let’s save your meals for... special occasions.”
He nods, clearly flattered. “Fair enough. But if you ever want another one of my creations, just say the word. Mom left me a whole cookbook. Oh—where’s the salt?”
Ava freezes. “Oh! Sorry—I couldn’t reach it when I set the table.”
“But you got the pepper. It was right next to the pepper.”
“...I was being selective.”
He raises an eyebrow but lets it slide. “No worries. I’ll grab it.”
As soon as he’s gone, the bucket comes out like clockwork.
“Is that... eggplant?” Ava whispers.
“Don’t look at it. Just scrape.”
They both flinch when Austin returns empty-handed. “Can’t find the salt,” he says, confused.
“Weird,” Grayson shrugs.
“You don’t need it,” Ava says quickly. “You’ve seasoned everything perfectly already.”
Austin positively glows and sits down again. “Glad you think so!”
They both watch him dig in like it’s his last meal on Earth. He eats with genuine enjoyment, fork moving like he’s slicing through butter instead of mystery mash.
“You’re not eating?” he asks, blinking. “You full?”
“No, just... really thirsty,” Grayson says.
Austin reaches for the juice, frowns when he sees the jug nearly empty. “You guys were thirsty.”
“All that hugging,” Ava adds quickly.
He rolls his eyes and stands. “Last time I’m getting up,” he warns, trudging into the kitchen.
Bucket. Scrape. Mushroom. Maybe a raisin. Who knows. Done.
When he returns, he pours them juice and flops back into his seat. “You two are worse than leg day. I’m getting a full workout just serving dinner.”
“Sorry,” Grayson grins. “But your food’s so filling. I’m stuffed. Ava?”
“Oh, beyond full,” she says. “Couldn’t eat another bite. You’ve set the bar so high.”
Austin looks delighted. “Well, dinner’s from me, but dessert’s all Grayson. He made a huge pie.”
Ava nearly cries from joy. Her stomach, which has been protesting in silence, practically applauds.
Austin and Grayson clear the plates (carefully avoiding the suspiciously light ones), then Grayson bounces back with a question.
“Alright. Time for pie! Want a birthday candle?”
“Yes please,” Ava grins.
“Can we sing happy birthday?” he adds hopefully.
“Grayson, we talked about this—”
“It’s okay,” Ava interrupts softly. “I’d love that. Thank you.”
Grayson squeals and bolts to the kitchen. Austin gives her a quiet, tender look before following.
“Close your eyes!” Grayson calls.
Ava obeys just in time for Austin to appear, holding the pie like it’s the Holy Grail. One candle flickers cheerfully. The singing starts—gentle, slightly off-key, but lovely. Austin’s voice is warm and rich like a growling bear. Grayson’s is sweet and chirpy, like a little morning bird. She’s never heard anything more perfect.
She feels the pie set down in front of her, hears Grayson’s eager “Okay! Open your eyes!” She does. She blows out the candle, and something inside her—something cold and curled tight for far too long—softens.
For the first time since Carter left, she believes it:
Everything is going to be okay.
Grayson cuts her a generous slice, and she takes a bite like a woman reborn.
“Oh my gosh. Peach pie is my favorite,” she hums, genuinely delighted.
Grayson tilts his head, curious. “You look different now. Like… grown up. But you’re still pretty. Just like your photo. I always knew peach pie was your favorite.”
Ava frowns, blinking. “What photo, Gracie?”
“I’ll show you!” He jumps up and runs off, returning with a worn recipe book.
She recognizes it instantly—Gracie’s pie journal. Ava leans in as Grayson opens it. On one page is a childish sketch of a steaming pie, and a photo pinned in the corner—her and Gracie under the orchard’s peach tree, arms linked, holding out fat peaches and laughing. Austin had taken it. A summer day frozen in time.
On the opposite page, in Gracie’s familiar loopy handwriting, is the peach pie recipe. At the top, underlined with a heart:
Gracie’s Peach Pie
(Ava’s favorite)
She doesn’t cry this time. Not tears of sadness, at least. This is joy. This is love that lasts, written in ink and flour-stained pages.
She loved Gracie with her whole heart. And Gracie—clearly, deeply, undeniably—loved her back.
YOU ARE READING
Yours Truly, Austin Post - Post Malone
RomansaAva 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...
