You still felt a bit awkward smoking in front of your family.
Not because you knew they would care. They wouldn’t.
If anything, you’d been the odd one out.
For years it had just been Mum and Chloe, filling the house with the smell of tobacco and trailing smoke wherever they went. You had spent half your life complaining about it. Opening windows. Spraying air freshener. Delivering lectures nobody asked for.
You’d been especially disappointed when Chloe started.
Mum was one thing. She’d been smoking for as long as you could remember.
You still remembered finding the packet in her jacket pocket when you were sixteen.
“What the hell is that?” you’d demanded.
“A packet of cigarettes.”
The argument that followed had lasted almost twenty minutes.
You’d talked about addiction.
How ridiculous it was to knowingly become dependent on something.
Chloe had listened with the patience of a saint and the grin of a devil.
When you’d finally run out of things to say, she’d simply held out the packet.
You’d looked at her like she’d offered you rat poison.
From that day forward it became her favourite joke.
Every time she lit up she’d offer.
Every time you complained she’d offer.
Every time you coughed dramatically while she and Mum smoked in the garden she’d offer.
“One day,” Chloe would say.
“You absolutely will.”
She’d just laugh behind a cloud of smoke.
“Your sister’s right, sweetheart.”
“You two are impossible.”
“No,” Chloe would say. “We’re smokers. Different thing.”
The worst part was that you couldn’t escape it.
The house smelled like smoke.
The furniture smelled like smoke.
Mum’s clothes smelled like smoke.
Chloe’s clothes smelled like smoke.
Eventually your clothes smelled like smoke too.
“Seriously, Emily,” Sophie said one afternoon. “You can just admit you smoke.”
“You smell like cigarettes.”
“That’s exactly what a smoker would say.”
It became a running joke among your friends that you were secretly smoking and refusing to admit it.
Or at least you thought you did.
Then came the night everything changed.
You told yourself it was curiosity.
You just wanted to know what the fuss was about.
You’d spent years around smokers.
Years hearing about how relaxing cigarettes were.
Years watching Chloe and Mum step outside for “just one smoke.”
Proof that they were wrong.
Proof that cigarettes were disgusting.
Proof that you were right.
So one night you stole a cigarette from Chloe’s packet.
You waited until everyone was asleep.
Opened your bedroom window.
The first drag made you cough.
The second made your eyes water.
By the fourth you were surprised.
By the fifth you were worried.
Because it wasn’t horrible.
It wasn’t even unpleasant.
The sensation felt strangely normal.
You’d spent years breathing second-hand smoke.
The experience felt less like trying something new and more like remembering something forgotten.
When the cigarette was finished, you crushed it out and stared into the darkness.
That should have been the end of it.
Instead all you could think about was another one.
The next night you stole another.
Soon you stopped stealing them.
You told yourself it wasn’t a habit.
You told yourself it wasn’t a problem.
Then it became a problem.
You told yourself you could stop whenever you wanted.
Then one day you realised you hadn’t gone a full day without thinking about smoking in months.
It should have been enough to make you quit.
Instead it only made you want a cigarette.
You became skilled at hiding it.
Not because you were ashamed.
You just couldn’t shake the feeling that none of it was real.
Like you were still the old Emily somehow.
The girl who swore she’d never smoke.
Anywhere except in front of your family.
Then came the day you ran out.
The craving started as an itch.
Then became a distraction.
Then became the only thing you could think about.
By evening it felt like your thoughts were wrapped around a single desperate need.
Eventually you found yourself standing outside Chloe’s bedroom door.
Chloe looked up from her phone.
For a moment neither of you spoke.
Then her eyes drifted to the empty packet crushed in your hand.
A smile slowly spread across her face.
You immediately knew you were in trouble.
“Oh, this is wonderful.”
“You came to ask me for a cigarette.”
“Can I just have one?”
Chloe laughed so hard she nearly dropped her phone.
Years she’d spent predicting this.
Years you’d spent insisting she was wrong.
Exactly where she’d always said you’d end up.
“You have an entire packet.”
“Nineteen cigarettes.”
The craving twisted tighter.
“You are impossible.”
“You used to say that all the time.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“It is from where I’m sitting.”
Chloe picked up the packet and casually tapped it against her knee.
The sound alone made Emily’s stomach tighten.
Her eyes followed it automatically.
“You really need one.”
“You really, really need one.”
Emily hated how smug she looked.
More importantly, she hated that Chloe was right.
“Then why are you here?”
The question landed like a punch.
Because she couldn’t stop thinking about cigarettes.
Because she’d spent all day wanting one.
Because she was practically begging for one.
The silence answered for her.
Chloe’s grin became merciless.
“That’s what I thought.”
“You don’t beg for pizza.”
Emily buried her face in her hands
“This is humiliating.”
“Can I have the cigarette now?”
“Because I waited years for this moment.”
Emily knew exactly what she meant.
She stared at the packet.
“Couldn’t hear you.”
Chloe burst out laughing.
“Give me the cigarette.”
“There is absolutely more.”
Chloe leaned back in her chair.
“Say you’re addicted.”
The joke suddenly wasn’t funny anymore.
Because that one was true.
Wanted to insist she could quit whenever she wanted.
But if that were true she wouldn’t be standing here.
Wouldn’t be staring at a packet of cigarettes like it contained salvation.
For the first time Chloe’s smile softened slightly.
“Yeah,” she said. “You are.”
Then Chloe picked up the packet.
Relief flooded through Emily.
Instead Chloe pulled it back.
“One last condition.”
The annual family barbecue.
Emily already knew where this was going.
“I’m not smoking in front of the whole family.”
Because it would make it real.
Because she’d spent years judging smokers.
Because she’d spent years insisting she would never become one.
Because smoking in front of everyone meant admitting Chloe had been right all along.
“One cigarette tomorrow. At the barbecue. With the family.”
Chloe held up the packet.
Emily’s eyes locked onto it instantly.
“Then you can have one now.
Emily searched desperately for some remaining piece of pride.
Chloe immediately handed over the packet.
Emily pulled out a cigarette.
The relief that washed through her at the sight of it was immediate.
Because relief shouldn’t feel that good.
Chloe noticed the look on her face.
“Welcome to the family,” she said.
But she couldn’t stop smiling.
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