CHAPTER SEVEN
Bee had been home for several days, but she still woke up confused about where she was. For a few seconds each morning, she expected to hear traffic outside her apartment or someone walking through the hallway. The dogs barking outside reminded her that she was in Grandma’s house again.
Bee had finally emptied her suitcase. A few folded clothes still waited on the chair until she decided where to put them. Her childhood room had changed so little that stepping into it felt strange. Morning light still spilled through the little window far earlier than she wanted.
That morning, Bee sat at the kitchen table with her phone in one hand and coffee in the other. Grandma moved around the kitchen preparing breakfast while Bee scrolled through comments on her latest video. She smiled at a few before passing over the rest.
Grandma opened the pantry and paused in front of the shelves. She reached toward the back before closing the door with a quiet sigh.
“We’re out of flour. Go get me Blue Bird,” Grandma said.
Bee lowered her phone and looked up. “Blue Bird?”
“Yes,” Grandma replied.
“What kind?” Bee asked.
Grandma gave her a puzzled look. “Blue Bird.”
Bee waited for another explanation, but Grandma had already turned back toward the counter. She watched her for another moment and tried to figure out what she was missing.
“Blue Bird what?” Bee asked.
“Flour,” Grandma replied.
Bee nodded slowly, even though the words did not connect with anything in her memory. She was sure she had heard the name before, but she could not picture seeing it on a grocery shelf. Bee was still thinking about how many different kinds of flowers there were when Grandma spoke again.
“Blue Bird flour,” Grandma repeated.
Bee nodded as though everything suddenly made sense. “Okay. Blue flowers.”
Grandma looked over her shoulder. “Blue Bird.”
“Right. Blue flowers,” Bee replied.
Grandma frowned slightly, but Bee was already reaching for her keys. “I’ll get it.”
Grandma watched her head for the door, apparently satisfied that the conversation was finished. Bee slipped on her shoes and grabbed her purse. She was already picturing something pretty for Grandma’s kitchen table.
Grandma had always kept little touches around the house to make the kitchen feel warm. Bee assumed the table simply needed more color. The request for blue flowers seemed oddly specific. Maybe Grandma had a certain kind in mind from years ago. Bee decided to find the prettiest ones she could.
Before leaving, Bee remembered her phone sitting on the counter. She picked it up and smiled at the screen. Her followers had been asking to see more of what her life looked like now, and Bee had been trying to post regularly since coming home.
The first few days had given her plenty to film. She was already beginning to worry that she would run out of interesting things to show them. Bee did not want every video to be her standing in Grandma’s kitchen and talking about how strange it felt to be home.
Bee lifted the phone and began recording as she walked outside. The morning air was cool against her skin. Grandma’s house and the quiet road filled the screen behind her.
“Good morning,” Bee said. “Grandma is sending me to the store, and I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Bee laughed as she walked toward her car and adjusted her purse over one shoulder. “Grandma says she needs blue flowers, so I’m going to find her some. I feel like this is probably something I should know how to do, but apparently I’ve been gone too long.”
She paused before getting into the car and smiled at the phone. “If I come back with the wrong flowers, I’m blaming her.”
Bee ended the recording and placed the phone on the passenger seat before starting the car. She was already thinking about where she might find blue flowers. Grandma had asked for them, so Bee planned to bring home the prettiest ones she could find.
The drive to the store was short. Bee spent most of it thinking about how she had once known this place without having to think about it.
She used to know where to go when she needed something, which roads were faster, and which stores carried certain things.
She could still picture which relatives would probably be sitting outside by afternoon.
Bee had been gone long enough that ordinary things sometimes required explanation. Returning home did not feel as effortless as she had imagined.
Bee parked outside the store and grabbed her phone before getting out. The cart she picked had one wheel that immediately began wobbling. She laughed when it pulled sharply to the side.
“Of course,” Bee said.
She adjusted her grip and pushed it toward the entrance while filming the cart as it fought against her. “Every time I come here, I get the cart that’s one bad turn away from retirement.”
The store was busy enough that Bee kept the phone close and filmed only herself or the shelves around her. She passed several snacks she remembered from childhood without stopping. Finding the flowers felt more important than turning the trip into another tour of everything she used to eat.
“I’m staying focused today,” Bee said. “Grandma gave me one job.”
Bee continued through the store and talked about the trouble she and her cousins used to get into whenever Grandma brought them shopping.
They had raced down aisles and hidden behind shelves when they were supposed to stay close.
Grandma caught them every time and always knew who started it before they could blame one another.
Eventually, Bee reached the seasonal section near the front of the store. Several displays of flowers stood in buckets along the wall. She stopped when she saw a cluster of blue flowers and immediately moved closer.
“Oh, these are perfect,” Bee said.
She lifted the phone so her viewers could see them. “I think Grandma will like these. She specifically said blue, so I feel like I can’t mess this up.”
Bee picked up one bouquet and turned it slowly in her hands. The flowers were bright and cheerful. She imagined them sitting in a jar on Grandma’s kitchen table.
She liked the idea of bringing home something that would make the room feel a little different. The house had barely changed since she left. Adding something of her own might help Bee feel like she was contributing instead of simply taking up space in a home that had continued without her.
Bee carried the bouquet to the register with the other things she had picked up. After paying, she walked back to her car and settled the flowers carefully on the passenger seat.
“I nailed it,” Bee said.
She laughed to herself as she pulled out of the parking lot. The bouquet rested on the passenger seat beside her as she headed home.
When Bee walked into the kitchen a short time later, Grandma was standing at the counter. Bee held the bouquet in one hand and kept her phone raised in the other.
“I found the blue flowers,” Bee said.
Grandma turned around. Her eyes dropped to the bouquet before slowly lifting back to Bee’s face.
“The what?” Grandma asked.
“The blue flowers,” Bee replied. She held them out with a smile. “You said you wanted blue flowers.”
Grandma stared at her for several seconds before looking toward the empty flour container on the counter. “I said Blue Bird flour.”
Bee’s smile disappeared. She looked at the flowers in her hands before looking back at Grandma.
“Oh,” Bee said.
Grandma nodded slowly. “Yes. Oh.”
Bee stared at the bouquet as the realization settled over her. She had spent the entire trip looking at flowers while the thing Grandma needed had been somewhere else in the store.
“I thought you said blue flowers,” Bee explained.
“I said Blue Bird,” Grandma replied.
“Blue Bird flowers,” Bee repeated.
“Blue Bird flour,” Grandma corrected.
Bee covered her face with one hand and started laughing. “I can’t believe I did this.”
Grandma took the bouquet from her and placed it in a jar on the table. “You’ve been gone too long.”
Bee laughed harder. “I really thought you wanted flowers.”
“I can see that,” Grandma replied.
Bee leaned against the counter and looked at the bouquet. “Okay, but they’re pretty.”
Grandma glanced at them. “They are but pretty doesn't feed us tonight.”
“So we’re keeping them?” Bee asked.
“We’re keeping them,” Grandma confirmed.
Bee smiled. “Good. Then technically I did something right.”
Grandma shook her head and returned to the counter while Bee looked at the flowers again. She still had to go back for flour, but at least her mistake had given Grandma something pretty for the kitchen.
Bee showed Grandma the recording before she posted it. Grandma watched long enough to hear Bee announce that she had nailed it before handing the phone back.
“Can I post it?” Bee asked.
“After you get my flour,” Grandma replied.
At first, the comments were exactly what she expected. Bee laughed as she scrolled through them.
@marissa.kay: GIRL ??
@kaitlynmarie: BLUE FLOWERS????
@ashleyb97: Grandma was so patient. I would’ve sent you back immediately.
@jennamarie22: I’m crying because you were so confident too.
Bee liked several of the comments. She had expected people to tease her, and she was perfectly willing to laugh at herself when the joke really was funny. Then she noticed the comments beginning to change.
@ashleynicole: Wait, how do you not know what Blue Bird flour is? ??
@kelseymarie: You grew up there. How do you not know that?
@saralee: This is what happens when you leave and forget where you came from.
Bee had learned to separate herself from the comments and remember that people only saw what she chose to show them.
This felt different. They were not criticizing her clothes, her makeup, or something she had said in a video.
They were questioning whether she belonged in the place she had come home to.
Bee kept scrolling even though she knew she should stop. The comments became harder to dismiss because they touched the exact uncertainty she had been trying not to examine too closely.
@saralee: If you’re going to make content about the rez, you should probably know basic things first.
@taylorann: How are you going to show people home when you don’t even know what Blue Bird is?
@haleyb14: Maybe city life changed you more than you realize. ??
Bee locked her phone and set it on the counter. The kitchen suddenly felt much quieter. The laughter she had felt over the mistake disappeared. Bee had expected people to make fun of her, but she had not expected the comments to hurt this much.
She knew she had changed during the years away. That was part of why she had come home. Bee had told everyone she wanted to reconnect with her family and remember what it felt like to belong somewhere familiar. Returning home did not automatically restore the person she had been before she left.
Bee looked toward the jar of blue flowers on the table. They were still pretty, and the sight almost made her laugh again. The feeling did not quite reach her face.
Grandma noticed Bee’s expression from across the kitchen and stopped what she was doing. “What happened?”
Bee picked up her phone and turned it over in her hands. “People are making fun of me.”
Grandma looked at her calmly. “For the flowers?”
Bee nodded. “They think I should’ve known what Blue Bird was.”
Grandma returned to what she was doing. “You were gone a long time.”
Bee looked down. “I know.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t learn,” Grandma replied.
Bee watched Grandma move around the kitchen. The answer was simple, but it did not completely silence the comments still running through her mind.
“They think I forgot everything,” Bee said.
Grandma stopped what she was doing and looked at her. “Did you?”
Bee opened her mouth, but no answer came. Instead, she looked around the kitchen at the familiar curtains, the old wooden table, the chipped mugs, and the jar of blue flowers.
She remembered countless mornings spent at that table while Grandma cooked. Little pieces of a life she had not thought about in years returned to her.
“No,” Bee said quietly. “I didn’t.”
Grandma nodded. “Then you know.”
Bee looked at her grandmother and smiled faintly. “I just feel like I should know more.”
“You will,” Grandma assured her.
Bee picked up one of the flowers from the jar and turned it between her fingers. The sight brought back the confidence she had carried through the store. Some of the embarrassment began to feel funny again.
“I really thought you wanted flowers,” Bee said.
Grandma smiled slightly. “I know.”
Bee laughed. “I was so confident.”
“You were,” Grandma agreed.
“I even filmed myself saying I nailed it,” Bee added.
Grandma shook her head. “You should probably delete that.”
Bee laughed again as the tension began to disappear. She returned the flower to the jar and smiled at Grandma.
“No. That part is staying,” Bee said.
Grandma gave her a look but did not argue. Bee smiled because the expression said enough.
“People like when I embarrass myself,” Bee explained.
“They seem to enjoy it,” Grandma replied.
“They really do,” Bee agreed.
Bee picked up her phone again, but she left the comments unopened. She replayed the video instead. Onscreen, she moved through the store with complete confidence and chose flowers as though she knew exactly what Grandma had meant.
Watching it now, Bee could see how hard she had tried to hide her confusion. She had been too embarrassed to admit that she did not understand Grandma. The confidence on the screen looked different now that Bee knew why she had needed it.
She had spent years building a life where she knew exactly who she was. Online, Bee knew how to speak, what to film, and what to share. She knew how to make people feel connected to her. Bee had become comfortable being the person who knew what she was doing.
Coming home had shown her that there were still parts of herself she needed to rediscover. Rediscovering them did not mean she had ever stopped belonging here.
Grandma reached for the jar and adjusted the flowers before looking at them with quiet approval. “They look nice.”
Bee looked at them and smiled. “They do.”
“You should leave them there,” Grandma said.
“I will,” Bee promised.
Bee set her phone down and pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. She sat beside Grandma while the smell of food filled the room.