Page 102 of The Lies Always Told

“A baby, yes. Babies plural, no.” I don’t want a bunch ofkids—or at least I didn’t think I did, but the way his eyes are pure fire when he saysbabiesmight change my mind.

“Yes, plural. Ten of them.”

“TEN BABIES?” I scream, and our friends laugh. Okay, that’s too many. “We can practice making dozens of babies, but I think my vagina will be closed after two or three.”

Manny spits out his drink, Jake shakes his head, and Santiago stays silent, as usual. “What? All of you know where babies come from, yeah? Don’t act all surprised.”

“Babies are great, but ten of them is a lot,” Natalie says, walking by with baby Vero in her hands. Cara immediately takes her, offering a smile as she coos at Vero.

Natalie had Vero a month ago—Veronica Joy.The one who brings the victory of joy, a name fit for a princess, bringing happiness in the darkest of times. These past six months have been hard for this family they’ve made through love, joy, time, and heartbreak. Nick’s death has not been easy to move on from, but we’re all trying for Natalie and the girls.

Gus must see me with my eyes trained on them, because he squeezes my hand gently. I look at him, and he smiles softly, quietly, almost imperceptibly to everyone else but me. He has no issues showing me how much he loves me, but he knows I don’t want him to make a big deal of how I feel.

When we left the cabin six months ago, the first thing he made me do was call my therapist, who I’m back to seeing weekly. The transition has been hard, but I have a great support system in place, including all these wonderful people.

“How can you say no to ten of these when they look this cute?” Gus coos, mimicking a baby until Vero lets out the loudest fart, and we all laugh as he scrunches his face.

“Because the cuteness is only so we don’t eat them,” Natalie says, trying to stand up to take Vero from Cara, but she doesn’t let her.

“I got it. I’ll be back.” Cara goes inside, presumably tochange the baby, and the group falls back into easy conversation, setting the cadence of comfort and love.

“You good, Trouble?” Gus whispers in my ear, goosebumps breaking over my skin. Suddenly, I’m severely aware of how my body is molded to his. I sat on his lap a while back, and when I tried to get back up, he tightened his arms, keeping me in place.

I nod, turning my head to face him and drop a kiss on his nose. “I’m okay. I promise.” We’ve been making each other promises since that night, not always with words, but with actions too. I keep my promises by making sure he takes his medicine every day without making a big deal of it, by going to doctor’s appointments and asking questions when I don’t understand. I keep my promises by going to therapy so I can work through some of the feelings and thoughts that won’t leave my head, so I can keep learning strategies to cope.

He keeps his promises by showing up for me every day, reminding me he loves me no matter what. He gives me the space I need while simultaneously not leaving me alone when I need company, and he knows the difference between the two. We’ve talked about maybe moving in together in the summer so we don’t have to make the hour commute between our places. Not because we don’t already do it, but because it would just be easier.

Gus found some other passions that don’t require strenuous activities so he can do them more often. One of them, I benefit from greatly everyday—cooking. I can’t wait to live in the same place as that man so he can spoil me rotten.

I met Blair a couple of months ago, and although I didn’t want to like her at first, she reminds me a lot of Bee, so we clicked right away. We’ve gotten close; even though Bee only lives an hour and a half away, her situationship with Abraham and Jean Luis consumes her free time when she’s not at work. We talk every day, but Blair is physically there. Bee reminded me I’m allowed to love other friends, and I don’t have tochoose. She’s living her own why choose life with her lovers, and maybe I do the same with my friendships. I welcome it all. The book club, brunch, dinners with Blair and her fancy friends. Daily chats with Bee and Victoria. A full life. A reminder I’m still here, and I need to want this to be better for me. Victoria is finishing school soon and moving to New York for work, living her dream, and I couldn’t be happier for her. Bee and I will go visit her once she’s settled.

Happy. I am truly happy. This is the first time in my life I don’t feel out of place. I don’t feel like I know too much or like I’m too young. I don’t feel like I have to beg for attention or to be seen for more than my brain. Half the time, this group even forgets; they just care about me. Except Roe. That one mentions it every moment she can. I’ve learned to love her sassiness, so I don’t care at this point. I am smart. It’s part of who I am but not all that I am, and I love how all of them see that. I love how Gus sees that.

I love that he sees me. He sees my hurt, my happiness, my love, my struggles, and my passion. He sees my brain and my heart equally. He sees my body and my emotions. He sees it all, and he loves it all. I, in return, see and love all of him too. I never thought, at twenty-one, I would meet the love of my life, but I think I did. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I needed, even when I didn’t know it.

“Here,” Cara says, stepping out of the house, the screen door creaking as it swings shut behind her. She balances the baby on one hip, a bottle of wine in the other hand. The air is thick with the scent of the garden—Nick’s garden—where the flowers he planted still bloom, stubborn against the changing seasons.

She walks straight to Natalie, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before carefully handing the baby back. Bella is with some friends, so it was the perfect time to do this. She doesn’t want to talk much about her dad, and we all understand why.

“Get your glasses out, bitches,” Cara says, her voice lightbut steady as she uncorks the bottle. The wine flows into each glass, deep red and rich. Not Gus’, of course. He gets water.

The small circle of friends stands close, their faces lit by the porch light and the flickering candles on the table. The night hums with the distant sounds of the neighborhood—laughing kids, a barking dog, the faint echoes of the pre-game show from inside.

“These past six months have been brutal,” Cara begins, her voice carrying the weight of shared grief, “but especially for Nat. When I asked her how she wanted to spend today—Nick’s six-month angelversary—she didn’t want something somber. She wanted what he would’ve wanted. A night with friends watching the Superbowl. A night of laughter. A night of love. So, here we are.” She glances around, eyes shining. “No tears—at least, not too many. Just good memories.”

She lifts her glass. “To Nick. The best friend, dad, husband, brother, teacher, and coach this town has ever seen.”

A murmur of agreement ripples through the group—the group of friends he left behind.

“Most of us grew up with him. We knew him as the boy who couldn’t sit still, the teenager who drove us all insane, and the man who somehow found his way to Natalie like it was written in the stars. He’s missed every single day, but he’s never really gone. We see him everywhere.” Her voice wavers just slightly before she swallows and continues. “We see him in our laughter because he wouldn’t have had it any other way. We see him in Bella’s kindness, in Vero’s eyes. We see him in the flowers he planted with his own hands, in the home he built for Nat. We see him in the changes—better rules, better resources, the kind of things that might mean another family doesn’t have to go through what we did.”

She exhales a soft, shaky breath. Around her, people nod their heads. Some smile. Some don’t even try to hide their tears. Livie, Alex’s wife, presses her face into hisshoulder, her body trembling. Alex—Nick’s closest friend—stares down at the ground, jaw tight, eyes red.

“But more than anything,” Cara continues, “we see him in Natalie. In her heart. In the way she loves us, in how she lets us in, even when grief makes it hard. In how she keeps his name alive, keeps his memory warm, and never lets him become a story of the past. For that, I’m grateful, and I know you are too.”

A quiet beat. Then, she raises her glass higher.

“Long live our friend.”

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