"i made my peace with sorrow,
and kept it all inside."
- nothing but thieves
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GUS WAS LEANING against a wall to an alleyway when Aurora found him. His head was buried in his hands, and she could see his chest heaving as he cried; could hear his sobs from far down the street.
When she walked around the corner and he spotted her, Gus quickly wiped the tears from his eyes and gave her a smile, the kind that reminded her of the sad boy that sat on a cliff, fascinated by lethal waves.
"Sorry," he said when she stood in front of him.
Aurora lightly jabbed her crutch into his hip. "Next time you run away from me, at least give me a head start, jerk."
Some of the heaviness faded from his eyes as he managed a small laugh, which Aurora knew was only for her benefit.
She closed the distance between them until her toes were touching his, Gus' hands instantly resting on her waist for balance. Aurora held his face, gazed into his eyes: the brown like sand and the blue like the ocean; as if his very eyes were created to reflect his future and the home he'd once find.
"What happened?" she said softly, wiping the tears from his cheeks. "Talk to me, Gussy."
"I don't know. . ." he trailed off, eyes focused somewhere above her head. "What if it's better not to know, Rory? What if it's better for me to live and imagine my birth mom as this woman who has always loved me, and always wanted to meet me, instead of knocking on that door and realizing that it all may be a lie?"
"That's possible," Aurora said, gently grabbing his chin until his eyes met hers. She felt like she could drown in them, in the waves hiding behind his irises. "But I don't think you want to do that. Do you really want to live with unanswered questions, Gus? Always looking back and wondering what if?"
He closed his eyes, resting his head against the wall. "I don't know," Gus said at last.
"Whatever you want." Aurora pressed herself to his chest, marvelled at the way his hands held her tighter, supporting her when her body failed to support itself. "If you want to go back and meet her, let's go. If you want to get in the car and drive right home to Maine, let's go. Whatever you want, Gus." She lifted her eyes to his. "Whatever you want, just tell me."
"The only thing I know for certain that I want, Rory, is you."
She smiled as he kissed her forehead, poking his chest. "This isn't about me. And you already have me, Gus. So what's it going to be? What do you want to do now?"
Aurora watched him debate with himself. His eyes flickered up to the sky as he chewed on his lip, brows furrowed in the middle.
She waited, until he said, "I want to meet her." Aurora was already stepping away, heading back to the street when Gus tugged her back against his chest. "But," he continued, "I'm scared."
She tucked her head under his chin when he rested his head atop hers. "Do you want me to go knock?" she asked. "You can wait here, if you want. I'll tell her about you, that you want to meet her, and see what she says."
Gus grabbed her face, and the disbelief in his eyes made her heart ache. "You'd really do that for me?" he whispered.
It was all she could do not to laugh. "I'd do anything for you, Gus."
He nodded, then she nodded. And when his lips met hers, she wished the world could melt away like a warm summer day until the two of them were left, standing in the aftermath, hand-in-hand, alone at last.
"Okay," he breathed, the beginning of a beautiful smile tugging at his lips. "Okay."
Aurora let go of Gus and placed her crutches beneath her arms, taking a step towards the street. "Can you help me to the porch?"
Gus carried her on his back, placing Aurora on the porch before he kissed her cheek, whispered a thank you, and walked away, back to the alley to wait.
Aurora was never one for nerves. She never really experienced the heart hammering unease that came with facing a situation she wasn't prepared for. But as she walked up the porch to Gus' mother's front door, her heart hammered in a way it never had before. And not because she was nervous for herself. Rather, for the boy whose heart lay in balance, hiding behind a wall down the street with his eyes closed, preparing for the familiar feeling of abandonment to settle into his chest.
Aurora knocked on the door and promised herself that she would not take no for an answer. That she would allow Gus' to have this—this small piece of happiness that was only the beginning in the lifetime of it he deserved.
When the door opened, Aurora sucked in a sharp breath at the woman that stood before her. Dark skin, tall enough that she had to tilt her chin up to view her eyes—eyes that were blue and brown, an exact mirror of the ones she loved so much. And her hair, spiralling in tight curls that pointed to the sky.
Aurora didn't need to ask. There was no doubt in her mind that this woman was Gus' mother.
"Hi." Her voice wavered and she cleared her throat. "Are you Aura?"
The woman's eyes narrowed slightly, shifting between Aurora's and the crutches beneath her arms.
"I am." She said the words slowly, hint of an accent present.
"I'm Rory, and this may sound crazy," Aurora began, laughing a little, "but I'm here with my boyfriend, Gus. He's. . . He's your son. And he really wants to meet you."
The minute the woman's eyes widened in alarm, Aurora felt Gus' hopeful happiness slip between her fingers.
"My son?" She said the words quietly, like whispering would make them less true; would make him go away. "He's— here?"
Aurora gripped her crutches firmly, nodding at the woman before her. The familiarity she had just seen in her eyes seemed to vanish, replaced by terror. By regret.
"He wants to meet you," Aurora said, nodding down the street.
The woman shook her head frantically. "No," she said quickly. "No. This wasn't supposed to happen." Her eyes wandered around the doorway as she spoke to herself. "He shouldn't have—" Her attention quickly snapped back to Aurora. "You two you should leave. I— I'm sorry. I can't be the person he wants."
Gus' mother began to shut the door when Aurora slammed her crutch inside, pushing it back open with the little strength she still had.
"No," she demanded, pushing the door with all her weight until it opened again. "You don't get to turn your back on him."
The woman began to speak, mouth agape, when Aurora silenced her with a braced hand.
"Just—" She tripped over her words, forcing herself to take a deep breath to slow the hum of her heart before she said, "Please, just listen to me. I've known your son—Gus—for less than a month, and he's changed my life. I can tell you that he is the most special person I've ever met. He's kind, and he's funny and he has the biggest heart. And he's just filled with so much damn goodness that it takes your breath away. And he's . . . He's been having a rough time lately, with finding a home, somewhere that he belongs. I know he thinks he can find that with you. He's placed so much hope in this idea of you, and I don't know if he can handle being turned away again."
Aurora paused, collecting her thoughts.
"I've seen Gus happy. I've seen his smiles and his laughter but I've never seen him look as happy as he did when he found out that he could meet you. And if you close this door on him, you have no idea how that'll make him feel," Aurora whispered, quickly rubbing away the tears falling down her cheeks.
Aurora finally paused long enough to see the woman's eyes were filled with tears, too, dropping off her chin and falling onto the ground.
Aurora begged. She promised Gus she'd do anything for him, and she wasn't going to break it.
"I've known your son for three weeks and I've fallen completely in love with him. Please, please just give him ten minutes and I promise you'll love him, too," she finished, forcing herself to stand straighter, ignoring the ache in her ribs.
He was worth it. Worth all the pain.
Gus' mother shifted on her feet, running her palms down the front of her loose grey dress. Aurora peered behind her, into her home where the walls a light yellow, no photos or any sign of memories decorating them. The house was empty, too. She lived alone.
No family accept for the boy hiding in an alley.
"Please," Aurora begged one last time. "Just ten minutes."
And to her own disbelief, the woman stepped outside and stood beside Aurora on the porch, her eyes wandering down the street.
"Where is he?" she asked, turning to face Aurora who cupped her hands to her mouth, yelling his name.
A second later, Gus stepped out from the alleyway. He began to call her name back when his voice cut off, and Aurora could see his eyes lock on the woman standing beside her.
He walked towards them, and every step he took seemed to take an hour until he was standing at the end of the driveway, gazing up at the woman he placed all his hope in.
Gus' mouth was hanging open, until it shifted into a small smile. "Mom?" he asked, hesitant.
Aurora nodded when his mother didn't respond, and Gus took a step closer. Then another. Then another until his arms were wrapped around the woman's waist, his face buried into her shoulder. Gus' mother stilled, arms hanging limp at her sides.
Then, she hugged him back.
Gus didn't notice the way her hands touched him without actually holding him; or the way her jaw tensed when he stepped closer into her embrace; or the look in her eyes, the discomfort.
Gus didn't notice, but Aurora did.
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Her house was nicer on the inside. The walls were painted shades of bright yellow, pink and even red. The floors were worn-out wood, covered with shaggy carpets that Gus' feet sunk into as he followed his mother into a room with two couches lining the walls, and a large window that the sun poured in from.
Gus watched as his mother took a seat on one of the couches. He analyzed her brown and blue eyes, her long, thin limbs, and her hair that stood up in tight curls. Gus began to see himself in his mother, and the realization alone made him feel a sense of belonging he had always searched for.
"I didn't think you'd want to meet me," she said, hands folded tightly on her lap.
Gus could tell she was nervous, and that made him feel more at ease—knowing that his heart was not the only one threatening to fall from his chest.
Slowly, he took a seat on the opposite end of the couch, turning slightly to face his mother.
"I didn't," he admitted, "until a few days ago."
"Why?" The question was harsh, and Gus wondered if his mother's looks were all he inherited. Perhaps his personality—his kindness—was from his father.
Gus shrugged. "My parents told me you lived in Jamaica. I thought that even if I wanted to meet you, I wouldn't be able to make it there to see you. . ." His voice trailed off as he purposely left out the money issues his family had. "When I found out you moved to the States, meeting you seemed possible. And then it was all I could think about."
Gus left out that he always searched for a sense of belonging; that his adoptive parent's marriage was falling apart and he believed he was the cause of it; that he loved them, but he never really felt like he belonged to them, or that he was wanted.
Gus chose to leave out that he hoped he would find a home in his birth mother. And by the way her eyes creased when he spoke, narrowing ever-so-slightly, he felt that hope slowly begin to slip away, like the sand that always ran through the spaces between his fingers.
His mother nodded once, tucking a leg beneath her thigh. "Where do you live?" she asked. Each word came out after a brief pause, as if she wasn't sure what to say. "Your life—Is it good? Are you. . . happy?"
Gus told his mother about Maine. He told her about the ocean and the waves he became attached to, and he left out the cliff he would sit on, staring. He told her about school and left out that he couldn't afford to go to college. He told her about his adoptive parents and the life they had given him, and left out their separation. He told her about Aurora, the girl he loved, and left out her impending death.
Gus told her the story of his life and left out the bad parts; the parts he wished he could change. Instead, he painted her a picture of sun-kissed water, nights spent studying for tests, and a girl he loved and planned on spending forever with.
He thought his mother would feel less guilty about putting him up for adoption if she believed the life she chose for him was filled with smiles and rainbows, opposed to the reality.
When Gus had spun his story, he asked, "Can you tell me about my father?"
His mother sucked in a sharp breath, and Gus noticed the way her hands began to tremble before she tucked them beneath her legs.
"We met when I was nineteen," she began. "He came to the island for summer vacation, and we met on the beach. His name was Khean." She paused, averting her gaze from her lap to stare at Gus. "He was kind, your father. I met him as he helped a few local children build a sandcastle."
She smiled briefly at the memory, eyes far away, lost in another time—another place.
"He was only on the island for a month, and I fell in love with him," she continued. "I only realized I was pregnant after he left to return home. I had no way to contact him, only a name." Gus' mother stood up quickly and walked to the window, peering outside. "I had you, Gus, and, well, you know what happens after that." She turned back to face him, words coming out quickly. "I'm sorry I couldn't raise you. I wanted to tell your father about you, but he was gone, and a first-name wasn't enough for me to ever find him."
His mother continued to apologize, but Gus' mind had drifted elsewhere. His parents had met on a beach. They fell in love within a month, which was all they had. The story was frighteningly familiar, and he was brought back to Aurora sitting in the car outside, waiting for
him to return.
"I'm sorry." His mother's voice brought him back to the moment, and he got off the couch and walked to her, slowly, for her sake. "But I'm glad you seem happy, Gus."
His hand reached out to touch her arm and, when it did, he saw the physical strength it took her not to flinch away.
Still, Gus smiled. "Don't be sorry," he reassured her, "I get why you did it."
And, he did. But Gus also understood that sometimes, the stories spun in your mind are better than reality. Sometimes, it's better to live in your own head and see the world a certain way, where it isn't shadowed by the weight of truth.
Now, a small part of Gus—a part he wanted to ignore—wished he had never came here; wished he would have continued to live with the idea of his birth-mother loving him endlessly and spending everyday waiting for her son to walk through the door and wrap his arms around her.
Instead, Gus stared at the woman before him and thanked her, then apologized for the abrupt visit, and said goodbye. When his hand was on the doorknob, door creaking open, his mother called behind him.
"I'm glad your parents kept the name," she said.
The words confused him enough that he paused to turn around. She was standing in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over her chest with an apron hanging from her shoulder.
"What name?" he asked.
His mother smiled, and he noted that was the first time he had seen her do that.
"When you were born, even with the adoption, I wanted some part of me to remain with you, Gus, so I asked your parents to promise me they'd pass my name along to you." His mother sighed, smile never faltering. "I see they chose to shorten it, but I'm grateful."
Gus' hand dropped from the doorknob. His feet brought him a step closer to his mother. A cold wind chilled his back, and he felt his shoulders tense.
"What do you mean?" he breathed.
His mother smiled. "Your name, like mine, is August."
Gus stared. He waited for her to laugh, to admit that she was joking and his name was not a shortened version of the word that haunted the girl he loved.
He waited for his mother to laugh, but she only nodded.
And it was then that Gus realized Aurora was never meant to die this summer.
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