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It was inevitable, really, that one of them would overdose at some point. And that's exactly what happened, only three days after his and Alan's graduation. Edgar supposed he should be sad, or angry, at least, at his father's passing, but really he couldn't bring himself to feel much of anything. He'd run out of emotion for his parents a long time ago. As he downs the last of his coffee, his mother swishes into the room, pulling out the chair next to him and sitting down. He braces himself for the worst. She's sober, and he never knows what to expect from her when she's sober.
"Ed, you got a minute?" She asks, head in her hand, looking at him more directly than she has in years.
"No." He lies, standing to put his mug in the sink.
"Sit dahn, chile." She drawls, her tone grave behind her thick cajun accent. "I neva ask anythin of you, cuz I know I ain't owed it, but you can afford ta indulge your po motha jus this once. T'ain't gonna kill ya."
With a sigh, he sinks back into his chair a little more dramatically than strictly necessary. He won't meet her eyes. He doesn't think he can, really. He doesn't wanna know what's in that look she"s giving him, because she never looks at him.
"What do you want, Ma?" Edgar snaps, not bothering to disguise his hostility.
She just smiles at him. A weird, melancholy sort of smile that makes his skin crawl. He quickly averts his gaze to the sun-bleached tablecloth that hasn't been changed in his lifetime, at least.
"Ya know Eddie, when I was bout your age, an me an my mama would get inta it, she'd always yell bout how she wished to high heavens that God'd curse me by givin me a kid tha’s just like me." She started, and Edgar couldn't help but roll his eyes. He knew he was in for a long one.
"An' every time I see that fire in your eyes, an the way you usedta look at your Pa an me, I know that my mama's laughin her ass off in hell, cuz baby, you's just like your ma. Hardheaded an' stubborn as a mule, an' ya seldom forget, an' you nevah forgive, do ya Edgar?"
Edgar doesn't speak. He only shakes his head. As much as he hated it, he knew she was right.
"I mean, your brother, bless his heart, sure as hell ain't one lick like me. If he didn't look so much like me, an I wasn't there, I'd swear that sweet lil lamb of a boy came from some other broad."
"Where are you going with this, ma?" he interrupted. She glared at him, but seemed to get the message.
"I know I'm a shit mother." she sighed. "I shoulda gave that shit up when you boys were born. I did for a bit. But as you can see, that didn't last. I shoulda tried harder for you-"
"Yeah, but you didn't, did you?" Edgar shouts, slamming his hands on the table. His mother doesn't even flinch. "What do you want, huh? Me to forgive you? To tell you that it's okay? To trust you just long enough for you to hurt me again? Fat chance. That's Alan's thing. At least one of us has to keep your bullshit at arm's length, because one of us has gotta be there to scrape the other one up off the floor when you break his heart again."
"I don' want ya to forgive me, Edgar." she said, tone just as even as when she'd started. "I know damn good an well I don' deserve that. But I was like you once, an I jus wanna give you a bit of advice I never got myself."
"Well go on then!" he chuckled sarcastically. "Impart your motherly wisdom on me so that I can get back to comforting my grieving brother, and you can get back to trying to catch up to Pa!"
"Don' let yourself get too bitter. You got a good heart in there, and believe it or not, I'm damn proud of you. Don' lose that. You'll end up regrettin it."
"Right. 'Proud of me.' Thanks for nothing, Ma." Edgar scoffed, kicking back his chair and moving to leave.
"I love you, son."
He froze in the doorframe, nails digging into the wood. Edgar wants to yell. Wants to scream at her until he's blue in the face and tell her every terrible thing he's ever thought about her. But he doesn't. He looks at her over his shoulder, meeting her brown eyes that matched his for the first time in years.
"I loved you too, once." He turned and left, walking out the front door and down the street. It's the last conversation he ever has with his mother.