“It’s my friend,” Meryl says to the staff. The door buzzes and opens. A cold draft rushes over the floor and brushes my ankles like water. I wonder why her friend didn’t get Meryl cigarettes.

Mom asks if I want my coffee heated. I say yes. She heats hers too, in the microwave.

Again, when she brings the heated coffee, I blow and blow on it, watch the steam swirl and feel it dampen my upper lip and nose. It’s too hot to sip. I don’t want the coffee. I want to leave. But I wait before I say anything—she just heated my coffee up.

Mom’s talking again, and I’m listening. She’s saying she hopes she sleeps tonight. “God,” she says. “I need some sleep.”

My coffee’s too hot to sip, but I want to leave. Want to get home. For what? I lose the place in two days and no one’s there. Emptier than the litter box. But I want to get away, and so I drink the hot coffee in four sips and burn the shit out of my mouth.

“I don’t mean to rush,” I say to Mom. The coffee mug thuds when I set it down. “But I have to get going.”

“I know you do,” Mom says. “I appreciate your bringing me some smokes.” She pats the top of her packs on the table.

Meryl’s friend is gone, and Meryl’s standing near the long kitchen table. “I have that money,” she tells me. “If you don’t mind getting me a pack.”

I don’t know if I mind, but I’ll go get the cigarettes.

Meryl looks at Mom. “Is that okay?” Maybe Meryl doesn’t know I’m leaving, doesn’t know I said I have to get going. Maybe she thinks she’s interrupting us.

Mom doesn’t say anything, stares at Meryl.

“There’s a gas station right at the end of the road,” Meryl tells me.

I don’t tell her I know that. “I can get them,” I say to her. “I’ll go right now.”

Meryl’s looking at Mom though, waiting for Mom to answer her, like my going depends on my mother’s letting me. Then Meryl speaks again. “Is it okay if he runs to the store for me?”

Mom’s not saying anything. She’s tired. I think she’s looking for a word.

“Ma?” I say.

Nothing.