Chain Smoker

A puff. Exhale. Then another puff. She frowned at the smoke trailing off into the stars.

"I thought you quit."

"I quit for three whole weeks."

"World record."

He rolled his eyes and threw his cigarette into the dead bush nearby.

"Happy?"

"You didn't put it out."

"I didn't put it out."

"Ricky, that's basically dry brush-"

"Relax. It's supposed to rain or something. It's late. Morning dew will get it. I'll even piss on it if that'll make you happy. You worry too much, Ser."

A small, pathetic wail came from inside the house. Ricky, moving past his long-time girlfriend, pulled open the screen door. As he walked inside, he wailed loudly, mimicking the tone and cadence of his son. Serevina rushed in behind him, ready to tend to the newborn.

"Relax. I got it."

"Are you sur-"

"Ser. Sit down. Have a drink. There's beer in the fridge if you want one."

"Did you wash your hands?"

Ricky, unresponsive, headed up the stairs into their son's room. Serevina sat on the couch staring into the darkness of the stairway, eavesdropping on Ricky's interactions with the newborn. After a moment, Ricky left the nursery and wordlessly swaggered to his girlfriend's bedroom. Serevina waited to hear the thud of Ricky's body onto the mattress and then followed his steps into the nursery.

As if on cue, the infant heard his mother's gait and wiggled within the tightness of his swaddle. RJ spat out his pacifier, chewing on his hand in between soft, desperate grunts. Serevina lifted her son from his bassinet, took a seat in a chair on the other side of the room and guided the baby to her breast.

As Ricky Jr. nursed, Serevina craned down her neck to kiss his head. Mixed in with the inexplicable sweetness of infancy was a touch of lavender lotion and the unmistakable stink of discount cigarettes.