How Was Your Day?

Edgar turned his key and stepped inside. The apartment was just as he’d left it — impeccably clean, almost staged. The air was thick with the scent of vanilla spray, underscored by lavender plug-ins, lemon wipes, and some kind of aerosol linen mist that clung to the walls. Faintly, beneath it all, was something else. Something old. The hallway light cast a soft glow over the entryway as he loosened his tie and slipped off his shoes. He glanced at the spotless coffee table — not a can, not a crumb. ...

Edgar entered the house he grew up in for the first time since he went away to university. The house was dim and stale with the smell of stale cigarette smoke, reheated meat and sour beer. The coffee table was cluttered with cans and pizza boxes, and where it wasn’t covered with crumbs, it was covered in a dust-like substance that looked like it would take more than a cloth to get it clean. ...

By late afternoon, Edgar’s head was spinning from onboarding. Logins, calendars, HR portals—a scavenger hunt of acronyms and passwords. He had a half-written checklist open and three browser tabs he wasn’t sure he’d opened himself. He was mid-scroll through a benefits FAQ when a head popped up over the cubicle wall. “Hey!” The voice belonged to a man in a button-down shirt rolled at the sleeves, lanyard dangling like a lazy necktie. “You’re Edgar, right?” ...

The ashtray was full again. Edgar stood near the sink, trying not to look at it. The kitchen window was cracked open just enough to let in a half-hearted breeze, but it did nothing to clear the stale smell of smoke or the heaviness in the air. On the counter sat a handwritten shopping list in blue ink. It only had four items — barely legible: Eggs, Cigs, Coffee. The last one, Beer, was scrawled in red ink — clearly his father’s addition. ...

The office was brighter than Edgar expected. Not just the overhead lighting—though those were harsh and flickering in a way he’d already forgiven—but the general atmosphere. There was a low hum of conversation and keystrokes, the smell of brewed coffee, and the occasional laugh from somewhere behind the cubicles. “Everyone, this is Edgar.” His new manager, Gwen, had the practiced enthusiasm of someone who had done this sort of thing before—smiling broadly, but not too long. “He’ll be supporting the Ops team. Let’s make him feel welcome.” ...

Edgar woke before his alarm. He always did. He stretched, yawned, and smiled to no one in particular. The sun poured in through the slats of his blinds, casting stripes across the modest room. First day. First job. First real step into adulthood, or so he’d been told. He sat up, ran a hand through his hair, and exhaled with purpose. “Gotta make a good impression,” he said aloud, nodding to the room. ...