My mother’s cabin comes into view, small and warm, smoke curling from the chimney. Before we even reach the porch, the door swings open.
She’s been watching for us.
Her eyes find me first, then move to Imani, then drop to the mark on her neck. Her hand flies to her mouth.
“You claimed her.” Her voice breaks. “Tolin. It’s real now. It’s official.”
Before I can say anything, she’s down the steps and pulling Imani into her arms.
Imani goes stiff for a second, startled by the sudden embrace. Then she melts into it, her arms coming up to wrap around my mother’s back.
I ache watching them. Imani told me about her childhood. The foster homes. The group houses. Never having a mother who held her like this.
Now she does.
My mother pulls back, keeping her hands on Imani’s shoulders, looking at her with tears streaming down her face.
“Welcome to the family, sweet girl.” She cups Imani’s cheek. “I’ve been waiting for you for a very long time.”
Imani’s eyes are wet too. “Thank you.”
“None of that.” My mother waves a hand dismissively and grabs Imani’s arm. “Come inside. I’ve been cooking all morning and you need to eat something before tonight.”
She pulls Imani up the steps and into the cabin, barely sparing me a glance. I follow behind, amused despite myself. I’ve been replaced already.
The cabin is warm and bright, filled with the smell of roasting meat and baking bread. My mother pulls out a chair for Imani and immediately starts loading a plate.
“Sit, sit.” She waves at me without looking. “Both of you. You’re too skinny. Does he feed you?” This last part is directed at Imani.
“He tries,” Imani says with a grin. “He’s getting better at cooking for humans.”
“He burned water once when he was twelve,” my mother says. “I wasn’t sure he’d ever learn.”
“Mother.”
“What? It’s true.” She sets a plate in front of Imani piled high with food. “Eat. You’ll need your strength for tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“The Winter Solstice celebration.” My mother beams as she settles into a chair across from us. “The whole clan gathers. We light the ceremonial tree, share food, give thanks for the year. You’ll stay, of course. Both of you.”
It’s not a question.
“That sounds wonderful.” Imani’s eyes are shining. “Can I help with anything?”
My mother’s face lights up like Imani just offered her the moon and stars combined.
“I’d love that.” She reaches over and squeezes Imani’s hand. “After you eat, you can help me with the baking. I’m making brown sugar pecan rolls for the gathering, and I could use an extra pair of hands.”
“I’d like that very much.”
I lean back in my chair, watching them talk. My mate and my mother, already falling into an easy rhythm. Imani asks about the cabin, about the clan, about my childhood. My mother answers eagerly, sharing stories I’d rather she kept to herself.
But I can’t bring myself to interrupt. Not when Imani looks so happy.
This is what she wanted. What she asked me for. Family. Connection. A place to belong.
And watching her here, in my mother’s kitchen,laughing at stories about my childhood disasters, I know I made the right choice bringing her home.
