THE BEAVERS: THE RETURN –PART ONE.

Blue skies. Chirping birds. Empty roads.
It's Friday, and it's a public holiday.
I sigh as I approach BEAVERS, my favorite restaurant in the whole existence of humanity. My face lights up with a smile. I love this place.

I push the door open slightly as I enter. The smell of fresh paint fills my nostrils.
I look around—no one inside. Weird. But I can't help but notice the chairs—and other pieces of furniture—have been changed. Wow.
I take in the whole room in awe. It’s different now, but not really.

I keep looking around when I see it. The wall.
My breath catches, and I instinctively dart toward it.
It’s... it’s the sketch I made a few years back.
I run my hands over it, and a wave of nostalgia hits me.
She had warned me not to draw on her walls—“Don’t ruin my restaurant,” she'd said—but I did it anyway.
God, that was... five years ago?
How time flies...

“Grace!”
A voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
I turn to my left to look.
It’s—
“Mama!” I yell, running up to her.
She holds her hands out, drawing me in for a hug, which I gladly take.
She might not be my biological mother, but she's been one hell of a mum for as long as I can remember.

“God, look at you, Gracie,” she says, breaking the hug to look at me. “You're a grown woman now.”
A smile curls up on her face.
“Well, I could say the same for you,” I say, nudging her.
“What do you mean?” she asks. “Don’t I still got it?” Her brows crease.
“You know I could dye my hair black again so the white doesn’t show.”
Her face breaks into a full-on grin now.
“M-a-m-a,” I say, giving her the side eye.
“What?” She mirrors me.
“I just don’t like it when my baby girl tells me I’m getting old.”

Her Black American accent slips out, and I’m forced to remember all she gave up for Cecile—my foster sister—and me. Her life. Her people.
I catch myself drifting and shove the thought back into my little box.
I let out a chuckle. Not today, though.
“Fine. You’re not aging at all. But I gotta say, I like the white in your hair.”
“Hmm. I guess I like it too,” she says—her accent still there.
She must’ve caught on to it. Hopefully not my expression, though.
“You really didn’t think I’d dye my hair, did you?” she asks, her nose twitching slightly.
Yep. This is Mama.
“No, of course not,” I say almost immediately, even though I know she would.
She rolls her eyes. Must’ve caught the sarcasm in my tone.

“Come, sit,” she says, gesturing to the chairs on her left as she moves to sit.
I let out a sigh as I sit on the chair opposite her—the table the only barrier between us.
I almost didn’t realize I’d been standing.

“How have you been, Gracie?” Mama asks, looking at me. “What have you been up to lately?”
She continues before I can answer.
“As you can see, I’ve been doing a lot lately.”
She scrunches her nose.
“We’ve been closed for about a week now. Trying to give BEAVERS a makeover. She’s long overdue.”
She looks around with a smile plastered on her face.
That explains why it’s empty.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, smiling—and the look I see on her face tells me she’s proud of how it’s coming along. I am too.

“The walls are freshly painted, but you kept the sketch,” I say, giving her a knowing look.
“How could I not?” she replies. “It was the only thing I had left from you.”

For a heartbeat, I see a glint of sadness in her eyes.
It hits me with a pang in my chest.

“Mama, it’s... it’s not like that. I... I didn’t mean to—”
That’s all I manage to say. The guilt stings like a bee.

“Gracie... it’s alright, baby,” she says, reaching for my hands across the table.
“It’s just... well, sometimes, I miss you. You could have called at least once. You know?”
She leans in closer, her grip on my hands firm.

“I wanted to. Every day, Mama. But I just...”
I take a deep breath as a lump forms in my throat.
“I didn’t want to be a burden to you anymore. You’ve sacrificed enough for Cecile and me...”

“Baby, you were never a burden to me,” she interrupts.
“Everything I did, I did for you and your sister. It was my decision. Not yours. I love you.”
She punctuates those last words, staring into my eyes—my soul.
Like she wants me to know how much she means it.

“But—”
“No buts. At least not today, okay?” she says, letting go of my hands.
“You must be hungry. Well, your favorite isn’t available.”
She leans back in her chair, grinning.
“I guess that’s what you get for coming back home unannounced after what? Fifteen years?”

“M-a-m-a!” I shoot her a glare, though a smile is plastered on my face.
“What? Did I lie?” she says, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s only been five years,” I pout, my gaze following her as she stands and moves toward me.
“It’s been forever.”
She pulls me into a hug and sniffs my hair.

“Well, someone’s been taking care of her hair properly now,” she says, pulling back and winking at me.

I am instantly mortified.
I look around, just to reassure myself there’s no one else in the room.
I don’t have it in me to reply, so I don’t.

“Let me get you something to eat, okay? You can freshen up later,” she says, moving toward the kitchen.

I want to follow her, but I don’t.
Right now, I’m just enjoying this comfortable silence. I'm home.