Smoking Stories

Bethany stared at the small, crumpled pack of cigarettes she’d found tucked away in the back of her daughter Emily’s dresser drawer. It was a half-empty pack of Marlboro Lights 100s, the kind she’d seen advertised in magazines with elegant women exhaling plumes of smoke like it was the height of sophistication. Her heart raced a little—not from anger, but from a strange mix of surprise and something else she couldn’t quite name. Emily was 18 now, just starting her freshman year at college, but still living at home to save money. Bethany had always prided herself on being an open-minded parent, but this? Smoking?

She sat on Emily’s bed, the pack in her hand feeling oddly light and forbidden. Bethany had never smoked a day in her life. Growing up in a strict household, cigarettes were the devil’s work, or so her mother had drilled into her. But times had changed. Bethany was 42 now, divorced for five years, and running her own graphic design business from home. Life had loosened its grip on her old rules. Still, finding this hidden stash made her wonder: What was Emily hiding it for? And why did the discovery stir a flicker of curiosity in her own chest?

That evening, Emily came home from her part-time job at the coffee shop, her backpack slung over one shoulder. She looked tired but vibrant, her long auburn hair tied back in a ponytail that mirrored Bethany’s own style from years ago. Bethany decided not to confront her right away. Instead, she waited until dinner, when they were sharing a simple pasta dish at the kitchen table.

“Long day?” Bethany asked, pouring them both some iced tea.

Emily nodded, twirling her fork. “Yeah, classes in the morning, work after. But it’s good. Met some cool people.”

Bethany smiled, but her mind was on the pack upstairs. As Emily excused herself to her room after dinner, Bethany heard the faint click of the door closing. She gave it a few minutes, then knocked softly.

“Come in,” Emily called.

Bethany entered, holding the pack loosely in her hand. Emily was at her desk, laptop open, but her eyes widened when she saw what her mom was carrying.

“Oh… crap,” Emily muttered, her cheeks flushing. “Mom, I—”

“I’m not mad,” Bethany said quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Just surprised. When did this start?”

Emily sighed, leaning back in her chair. “A couple months ago. Some friends at school smoke, and… I don’t know, I tried it at a party. It was just curiosity at first. Now it’s, like, a thing. Helps with stress, you know?”

Bethany turned the pack over in her hands. The cellophane was torn, and she could smell the faint tobacco scent wafting from it. “Stress from college? Or something else?”

“Both, I guess. It’s not like I’m chain-smoking or anything. Maybe half a pack a day.” Emily hesitated, then added with a shy grin, “You gonna ground me?”

Bethany laughed softly. “You’re 18. I can’t ground you. But… be careful, okay? I read all those articles about health risks.”

Emily nodded, but there was a spark in her eyes. “I know. But it’s not as bad as they make it sound. And honestly? It feels good. Like, empowering in a weird way.”

Bethany placed the pack on the desk. “Just don’t hide it from me anymore. We’re adults here.”

Emily looked relieved. “Thanks, Mom. You’re cooler than I thought.”

As Bethany left the room, she felt a pang of something unfamiliar. Empowering? She shook her head, heading to her own bedroom. But the image lingered—the way Emily had described it, the casual confidence. That night, as Bethany lay in bed scrolling through her phone, she found herself searching “why do people start smoking.” The results were a mix: stress relief, social bonding, even a sense of rebellion. One forum post caught her eye: “I started after watching my sister. Made me curious—turns out I loved it.”

The next morning, Emily was up early for class. Bethany heard her in the kitchen, then the back door open and close. Peeking out the window, she saw Emily in the backyard, leaning against the fence, a cigarette between her fingers. The morning light filtered through the trees as Emily lit it with a small pink lighter. She brought it to her lips, inhaled gently, and exhaled a thin stream of smoke that curled lazily into the air. There was a grace to it, a quiet moment of solitude. Emily’s shoulders relaxed visibly, her face softening as she took another draw, holding the smoke for a beat before letting it escape through her nose in two delicate streams.

Bethany watched, transfixed. It didn’t look harmful in that moment—it looked… peaceful. Intriguing. She felt a twinge of envy. When had she last tried something new, just for herself? Her life was routine: work, errands, the occasional yoga class. No sparks.

By afternoon, curiosity had gnawed at her enough. Emily was out for the day, so Bethany slipped into her daughter’s room and retrieved the pack from the drawer. Just one, she told herself. To see what the fuss is about. Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled out a cigarette. It was longer than she expected, the filter pristine white. She grabbed Emily’s lighter from the desk—pink and sparkly, a silly touch that made her smile.

Stepping into the backyard, mimicking what she’d seen, Bethany placed the cigarette between her lips. The paper felt dry and unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. She flicked the lighter, the flame dancing as she brought it to the tip. A quick puff to get it going, and the end glowed orange. Smoke filled her mouth—bitter at first, but with a subtle warmth. She exhaled without inhaling, watching the puff dissipate. Okay, not bad. But she knew that wasn’t the full experience.

Heart pounding, she tried again. This time, she drew the smoke into her lungs, just a little. It burned slightly, making her cough, but beneath that was a rush—a light-headed buzz that spread through her chest. She steadied herself, exhaling slowly. The smoke trailed from her mouth in a soft cloud, and she felt… alive. A giggle escaped her. This was ridiculous, a 42-year-old woman sneaking her daughter’s cigarettes like a teenager.

But she didn’t stop. She took another inhale, deeper this time, holding it as she’d seen Emily do. The warmth filled her, easing the tension in her shoulders she hadn’t even noticed. Exhaling through her nose, she watched the twin streams mingle with the breeze. It was satisfying, almost artistic. The cigarette burned down as she paced the yard, each pull more confident. By the end, she stubbed it out carefully, feeling a strange sense of accomplishment.

That evening, Emily came home to find Bethany in the kitchen, sipping wine. “Hey, Mom. Good day?”

Bethany nodded, but her eyes flicked to the pack Emily had left on the counter—apparently no more hiding. “Actually, yeah. Mind if I join you for a smoke later?”

Emily froze, then burst out laughing. “Wait, what? You?”

Bethany shrugged, a playful smile on her face. “I… borrowed one earlier. Out of curiosity. After seeing you this morning.”

Emily’s eyes widened in delight. “No way! Mom, that’s awesome. But seriously? You liked it?”

“It was interesting. Made me feel… relaxed. Like you said, empowering.”

After dinner, they stepped into the backyard together. Emily handed her mom a cigarette from the pack. “Here, let’s do this right.”

Bethany lit hers first, inhaling smoothly now, the smoke filling her lungs with that familiar warmth. She exhaled a long, steady stream, feeling the day’s worries fade. Emily lit her own, mirroring the motion. They stood side by side, smoking in companionable silence at first.

“So, how does it feel?” Emily asked, her nose exhale graceful and practiced.

Bethany took another draw, holding it longer this time. The buzz was stronger, mingling with the evening air. “Better than I expected. Like I’m rediscovering something I didn’t know I missed.”

Emily grinned. “Welcome to the club, Mom. Just don’t blame me if you get hooked.”

Bethany laughed, but as she exhaled another perfect plume, she wondered if that was such a bad thing. The cigarette dangled from her fingers, ash flicking away in the breeze. For the first time in years, she felt a spark of adventure. And watching Emily smoke beside her, she realized this curiosity had bridged something between them—mother and daughter, sharing a secret ritual.

Over the next few days, Bethany found herself reaching for the pack more often. Mornings with coffee, afternoons during work breaks. The inhales grew deeper, the exhales more elaborate—nose streams, French inhales she practiced in the mirror. Emily noticed, teasing her gently. “You’re a natural, Mom.”

One evening, as they shared another smoke on the porch, Bethany confessed, “I get it now. Why you started. It’s not just the nicotine—it’s the moment, the control.”

Emily nodded, her cigarette glowing in the dusk. “Exactly. And hey, now we can buy cartons together.”

Bethany smiled, inhaling deeply. The smoke curled from her lips, a symbol of her newfound freedom. Curiosity had led her here, but enjoyment would keep her smoking. And for the first time, she didn’t mind at all.