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.
His mother sat at the table in a sagging T-shirt and sweatpants, one slipper on and the other nowhere in sight. A cigarette dangled from her mouth, the ash so long it seemed to defy gravity.
She reached over, picked up the mug with the faded university seal, and tapped the ash into it.
Edgar flinched.
“That was… that was a gift,” he said quietly. “From school. I got it for you guys.”
She looked at him, eyes narrowing slightly as she let the cigarette hang from her lip.
“This thing?” She snorted, shaking more ash into it. “Well, aren’t you just precious.”
He didn’t respond.
She exhaled a long stream of smoke. “Thought I threw this piece of crap out months ago.”
“I just… thought it meant something.”
She laughed — short, sharp, humorless. “Yeah, well. It means I don’t have to empty the damn ashtray as often. That count?”
She took another drag, then continued, her voice rising. “Let me guess — you brought it back to impress us, huh? Thought we’d ooh and ahh over our little Ivy League prince and his fancy-ass coffee mug?”
“It wasn’t expensive,” he mumbled. “Just thought you’d like—”
“I don’t drink outta shit like that,” she snapped. “I ain’t one of your fancy college people with their fancy coffee and their little mugs they think mean something.”
She stubbed the cigarette into the mug and immediately lit another, jabbing the lighter like it had personally offended her.
“You get all puffed up out there with your books and your brainy little friends, and now you think you’re better than the rest of us. That it?”
“No,” Edgar said, emptying the mug and the ashtray into the trash. “That’s not it.”
She squinted at him, took another drag, then smirked. “Whatever you say, college boy. Just don’t forget who wiped your ass when you were too dumb to walk. Crying over a cereal box ’cause some snot-nosed kid said you had girly hands. Degree didn’t fix that, did it? Still pathetic.”
Edgar set the mug down carefully and placed the worn ashtray in front of her.
“Ohhh, thank you, college boy — you emptied an ashtray!” she barked, voice dripping with mock pride. “Let me get the parade balloons. My son, the genius.”
She stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly across the linoleum, and brushed past him on her way to the fridge.
He flinched slightly as she passed.
“Still a pussy, huh? Flinching at your own mother.” She sneered. “Guess college didn’t do a damn thing to toughen you up. Figures. Off living your little fantasy while I’m stuck in this shithole you couldn’t wait to escape. You think that makes you a man? You’re still just a scared little boy playing dress-up in your precocious scholarship.”
She opened the fridge, still talking.
“You ain’t no better than me.”