Rez Hearts

CHAPTER ONE

Bee woke before her alarm. This often happened when her mind started moving before her body caught up.

The city hummed outside her window. It was the steady noise she had grown used to over the years.

Cars rolled past in waves. Someone downstairs played music loud enough for the bass to thrum through the floor.

She lay still for a moment and let the familiar noise settle around her.

It was moving day. Excitement made Bee want to throw off the blankets and get started. Nervousness kept her still for another moment. She had promised her followers a vlog about returning home. She wanted to share the beauty of home with them.

Her phone buzzed against the nightstand before the alarm could ring. Bee reached for it and silenced the alarm. TikTok notifications filled the screen. Her moving post from the night before had picked up more comments while she slept.

@kaylamarie: Moving day???

@jennyrose: We better get a vlog!

@mariah1224: I cannot wait to see your home.

Bee smiled as she read through them. She tapped the heart beside each comment. There was no getting out of the vlog now. Bee pushed the blankets away and sat on the edge of the bed. She stayed there for a moment before standing.

Boxes lined the walls of her apartment. They stood in uneven towers that made the room feel smaller than usual.

Her ring light leaned against the couch.

Her camera sat on the table and waited for her.

Bee reached for it and held it for a moment.

The familiar weight settled into her hand before she turned it on.

Her reflection appeared on the small screen.

The morning light washed her out slightly.

Bee brushed her hair back and moved closer to the window.

She stopped when the light softened across her face.

Her expression settled into the gentle openness her followers recognized instantly.

The boxes stayed visible behind her. Bee left them there.

She sat on the edge of the couch and started recording. Morning light stretched across the floor behind her.

“Good morning,” Bee said with a soft smile. “It is moving day. Finally.”

Bee turned the camera toward the stack of boxes near the wall. She tapped one lightly with her fingers.

“I did not think I owned this much stuff,” Bee said. “I kept telling myself I lived simple. I guess I lied.”

Bee laughed quietly and walked toward the kitchen. She let the camera capture the empty shelves that once held her plants and small decorations. Pale spots showed where some of them had sat for years.

“This is where I made most of my content,” Bee said.

“I used to sit right here and talk about whatever was happening. Sometimes nothing interesting was happening. I would still film. Someone always listened. Someone always commented. Someone always said they felt less alone when I shared something small.”

She paused near the counter. The camera lingered on the space where she had spent years building a career out of pieces of her everyday life.

Bee pointed it toward the spot beside the outlet.

She could still picture her phone propped against a stack of books.

She had used them because she could not afford a tripod.

“I started right here,” Bee said. “My phone sat on a stack of books because I could not afford anything else.”

Bee ran her fingertips along the edge of the counter. She remembered the first time one of her videos went viral. She had stood in this same kitchen and refreshed the screen. The numbers changed faster than she could understand.

“My first viral video was filmed in this kitchen,” Bee said. “I thought something was wrong with the app because the views would not stop going up.”

She shifted the camera toward the refrigerator. Bee could still picture herself pacing between it and the sink. She had stared at the screen while comments appeared faster than she could read them.

“I called my mom when it hit a million,” Bee said. “Then I danced around this kitchen like an idiot.”

Bee laughed as she turned the camera back toward herself.

Nights spent editing until sunrise came back to her.

So did the mornings when she woke to thousands of new followers.

She had built this herself. People recognized her in grocery stores and airports now.

Brands emailed her. Strangers asked for advice.

Thousands of people knew her name, even if they only knew the version of Bee she chose to show them.

Bee carried the camera back into the living room. She sat on the edge of the couch again. The boxes filled most of the room behind her.

“I am going home,” Bee said as her voice softened. “I want to show everyone the land I grew up on. The red earth. The long stretches of sky. The quiet roads. I want to reconnect with my family. I want to remember what it feels like to be part of something familiar.”

Her smile remained. Some of the confidence behind it faded. Bee had talked about the move plenty of times before today. Sitting there among the packed boxes felt different.

“I know people think I am always confident. Moving is strange,” Bee said. “Leaving this place is strange. I am excited. I am also nervous. I do not know what it will feel like to be home again.”

She lowered the camera toward the suitcase waiting near the door. Its zipper sat slightly crooked after being opened and closed too many times.

“All right,” Bee said. “This is it. I am packed. I am ready. I will see you all when I get there.”

Bee ended the recording. The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen. The bass from downstairs continued beneath it. Without her voice filling the room, the apartment seemed quieter. Bee stood still with the camera in her hand.

She had never really noticed the silence before.

Her voice had filled the apartment for years.

So had the sound of editing videos and planning new ones.

Now the place felt like it was exhaling after years of being used as a backdrop.

Bee looked around at the boxes again. Pride warmed her for a moment.

Uncertainty sat beneath it. She had built a life here.

She had built a career here. She had also built a version of herself people recognized instantly.

Leaving felt like peeling away a layer she had grown used to wearing.

Bee watched a few seconds of the video before closing it. She slipped the camera into her bag and walked through the apartment one last time. She checked each room as she went.

The kitchen shelves were empty. Nothing sat on the counter except a paper towel she had forgotten to throw away. Bee picked it up and tossed it into the trash. She opened the cabinets one by one. Each one was empty.

Bee checked the bedroom closet next. Nothing remained inside. A hair tie sat in the back corner of the bathroom cabinet. Bee slipped it around her wrist before returning to the living room.

She walked through the apartment slowly and touched the tops of the boxes as she passed them.

She remembered the first video she had filmed here.

Back then, the apartment had felt like the beginning of everything.

She had wanted this life. She had worked hard for it.

Standing in the empty apartment made her feel strangely small.

Success had taught her how to build the life she wanted, but it had never required her to ask whether she still wanted to keep it.

Her suitcase waited beside the door. Bee grabbed the handle and rolled it toward her. One wheel caught on the edge of the rug.

“Come on,” Bee said.

She tugged harder until the suitcase bumped free. Bee steadied it and picked up her camera bag. She reached for the keys sitting on the table.

At the doorway, Bee looked back through the apartment.

Morning light stretched across the floor.

Faint marks showed where pictures had hung on the walls.

The apartment already felt different. It felt like a place she had left even though she was still standing inside it.

Bee let herself look for another moment.

She closed the door gently behind her and walked down the hallway.

The drive out of the city stretched for miles along the highway. Buildings gave way to open land. Traffic thinned. The sky widened until it seemed to stretch forever. Bee watched the city shrink in the rearview mirror. She wondered how something that once felt so large could disappear so quickly.

Bee rested her elbow against the open window. The wind brushed her arm. She felt the air shift as she moved farther from the life she had built.

Her phone buzzed in the holder beside the dashboard when she stopped at a red light. Bee glanced at the comments beneath the short clip she had posted before leaving.

@kaylamarie: Finally ??

@jennyrose: Drive safe!

@mariah1224: I cannot wait for the next video.

Bee smiled and left the phone in its holder when the light changed. She continued down the road with the window cracked.

She thought about her followers and the comments she would get when she posted the vlog.

People would be excited for her. They would say they could not wait to see her home.

Some would ask questions about rez life.

Others would tell her she was brave for making such a big change.

Bee appreciated all of it. Returning home felt more complicated than anything she could explain in a comment section.

None of them knew what it meant to return to a place that had shaped her long before she learned how to shape herself online. Bee was not sure she completely understood it either.

The landscape changed as she drove. The sky stretched wider. The colors deepened around her. The air carried dust and sunlight. The faint scent of juniper drifted through the open window. Bee breathed it in slowly.

The scent eased some of the tension in her chest. The juniper settled into her like a memory returning. Bee had forgotten how deeply she knew this land.

A distant hill caught her attention first. A turn she remembered came next. Bee recognized a house set farther back from the road. She smiled and kept going.

When she reached the rez, Bee slowed down.

Everything looked familiar, even though she had been gone for years.

The roads, the houses, the open land. It all brought back memories she had not thought about in a long time.

She turned down the road toward her grandmother’s house, feeling more at ease with every mile.

Bee drove past houses she recognized. She passed roads she had walked as a child. Places she had not thought about in years came back to her. Some looked exactly as she remembered them. Others had changed enough to make her look twice.

Her grandmother’s house came into view around the next bend. It looked almost the same. The porch sagged slightly in the middle. The windows reflected the afternoon light. The fence leaned where years of wind had pushed against it.

Bee turned into the yard and parked. She sat there for a moment while dust settled around the tires. Her hands rested on the steering wheel. The tightness in her shoulders eased as she looked at the house.

Her phone buzzed beside her. Bee glanced at the screen and left it alone. She opened the door and stepped outside.

Bee carried her suitcase to the porch and knocked once. Grandma opened the door without hesitation. Her sharp eyes moved from Bee to the suitcase before settling on Bee’s face.

“Hi, Grandma,” Bee said.

“You finally made it,” Grandma said.

Bee smiled at her. “I told you I was coming,” Bee said.

“I know what you told me,” Grandma said. “I was waiting to see if you actually showed up.”

Bee laughed when Grandma stepped aside. She lifted the suitcase over the threshold and set it near the wall.

“I am here now,” Bee said.

“I can see that,” Grandma said.

Bee walked inside and felt the familiar warmth of the house wrap around her.

The living room held the same woven rug.

Framed photos lined the walls. The ceramic bowl near the door still held keys and coins.

A few newer pictures had joined the older ones.

Bee recognized most of the faces without stopping.

Grandma headed toward the kitchen. Bee followed her after one last look around the living room. Grandma did not ask about the city. She did not ask about the drive or the vlog. She simply let Bee come home.

Bee reached for the mugs on the shelf without thinking. Her hand went straight to the one with the chipped rim. Grandma noticed immediately.

“You still like that ugly mug?” Grandma asked.

Bee looked down at it. “It is not ugly,” Bee said.

“It is chipped,” Grandma said.

“That does not make it ugly,” Bee said.

Grandma gave the mug another look before facing Bee again. “You keep telling yourself that,” Grandma said.

Bee laughed and carried the mug to the table. Grandma filled the kettle with water and set it on the burner. Her movements were slow and steady.

The same curtains hung over the window. The same small clock ticked on the wall. The same wooden spoon rested in the ceramic jar near the stove. Bee ran her thumb over the chip in the mug while Grandma moved around the kitchen.

When the water was ready, Grandma poured the tea. She sat across from Bee. Bee wrapped both hands around the familiar mug and let the warmth seep into her palms.

“I missed this place,” Bee said.

Grandma took a slow sip of tea. “It did not go anywhere,” Grandma said.

Bee laughed softly. “I know. I forgot how quiet it is,” Bee said.

Grandma looked at her over the rim of the mug. “You have been here five minutes,” Grandma said. “Give yourself time.”

Bee smiled and took another sip. Her phone buzzed from inside her bag. She left it there.

She had spent the entire drive wondering whether she would still recognize home. Sitting in the kitchen gave her the answer. Her body had remembered before her mind caught up. Bee had reached for the chipped mug without thinking. She had known exactly where to find it.

Grandma watched her for a moment. The teasing softened in her expression. A small smile remained at the corner of her mouth.

“You are home,” Grandma said.

Bee looked down at her tea. She was home.