“Another,” I stammered, raising my hand to get the bartender’s attention.
“Ma’am, don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink?” He asked with concern in his voice as he picked up the empty glass in front of me.
I shot him a contemptuous look. I’m old enough to know when I’ve had enough, but not old enough for you to call me “ma’am.”
He must have understood the message I was trying to convey because he set down another glass and poured an excessive amount of whiskey into it.
As much as I was putting on a brave face at the thought of being cut off, the bartender’s gentle reprimand had made me feel embarrassed. Afraid I had made a scene, I glanced around the horseshoe-shaped bar to see if anyone was watching me. Stop being paranoid, Sara. At this late hour, no one cares what you’re doing. Everyone who’s still here is drunker than you are.
Suddenly, an overly cheerful voice rang out behind me. “Sara? Sara Curtis, is that you?”
I was hoping no one would recognize me, but what came out of my mouth was, “Heather, it’s been a long time.”
“I know, I know,” said the blonde girl, sitting down on the stool next to me. “I’ve practically disappeared since I started dating Max. He’s such a great guy. And the sex is… Well, if he wasn’t away on a business trip right now, I’d be at home getting my bells rung.”
Heather then raised her hand to get the bartender’s attention. “A Cosmopolitan, please.” She ordered as if she were exhausted and the only thing that could revive her was a fruity vodka drink. “So what are you doing here, alone, dressed up, and drinking straight whiskey?”
I picked up my glass of Jameson and stared intently at the amber liquid. If only the answer were written at the bottom of this drink. Oh, well, bottoms up. I swirled the whiskey before downing it in one gulp. “Another,” I barked, pushing the cup toward the bartender.
“I had a date on Tinder. The guy seemed nice when we were messaging. He was supposed to meet me at seven but never showed up,” I said, telling the story and glaring at the slow bartender.
“Too bad for him,” Heather replied as the bartender finally refilled my glass. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re still here at 10:15 getting drunk.” Heather stirred her Cosmo with a straw before taking a sip. “Oh yeah, that’s the good stuff. Don’t tell me you couldn’t stand being alone in your big empty apartment.”
I picked up my freshly refreshed drink and smiled at her as if it were a man across the bar that I found interesting. “If my apartment were empty, I’d be there in my pajamas eating rocky road straight out of the box. But it’s currently occupied by my son.”
“Your son? I thought you only had him during the holidays?” Heather pondered as she finished her cocktail.
“Not anymore. He lives with me now. He wants to go to Washington State. His dad and I decided it would be better for him to settle in here and get used to the area. But I think my cheapskate ex just wants to make sure he gets in-state tuition,” I said before downing my last glass of whiskey. “Anyway, he and this girl Laura he’s seeing were going out for their six-month anniversary, and he was going to drop her off at my place after dinner. I’m trying to be the cool mom and leave him alone.”
The bartender reappeared and offered to refill Heather’s glass, but she raised a hand to stop him. For my part, I motioned for the man in question to keep the whiskey flowing. “That’s very thoughtful of you. But I have to say, from the tone of your voice, you don’t sound like you want to be the cool mom.”
“Yeah, well…” I began before stopping myself. Then, with the alcohol acting as a truth serum, I threw caution to the wind. “The thing is, I got my son back ten months ago. You know, really back. He lives with me and doesn’t just visit during the summer and Christmas holidays. At first, it was hard, living together. All those years on the other side of the country made his visits feel more like vacations than normal life. It was always: Who wants ice cream? Of course, you can stay up as late as you want, and look at the gift sexy mommy got you. Now I have to do all your homework, go to bed, eat your vegetables. I hated it. And to top it all off, David was so distant and shy with me. I worked hard to break down his walls, and it wasn’t easy. Sometimes it felt more like I was fighting with my ex than with my son. Eventually, I made progress. David even hugged me in public on his own initiative. And then…”
“Then little Miss Laura came along?” Heather finished for me as I stopped talking and stared at my amber brown liquid therapist.
“Yeah,” I said with a sigh. “I’m happy he found a girl. And she seems nice.” I looked up at the bright lights surrounding the bar, feeling the familiar pangs of jealousy that were usually reserved for when I saw a guy I liked having an intimate cappuccino with an attractive woman at the local coffee shop. “I don’t know. Is it wrong to be jealous of a sexy woman who’s half your age?”
Heather laughed. “I think that’s the most common type to hate.” She then placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “You have to remember that David is your son, not the sexy student you sublet a room to. If it’s not Laura, it’ll be another pretty young girl who’ll take him away from you.”
“You’re right,” I whispered, picking up my glass again. “It’s just that most mothers have years to come to terms with their sons leaving them. I, on the other hand, have a few months.” But that’s not all, is it? That’s the hardest part, isn’t it? The part that even in your drunken state you can’t bring yourself to tell Heather. That you, Sara Curtis, have a hard time seeing David as your son. All this time apart makes living with him feel exactly like what Heather just described.
Heather then gave me a worried look. “I think you might want to slow down on the alcohol. You have to get home at some point tonight.” She then took out a twenty-dollar bill and placed it on the bar. “Make sure you call a cab. I don’t want to find out you’ve been arrested for drunk driving or that you’ve had a terrible accident.”
Heather then turned and left the bar. My gaze lingered on her until she disappeared through the front door. Why can’t I find a man like her? Rolling my eyes at the injustice of it all, I turned back and downed my last glass of whiskey. I took out my phone and fumbled with it for a moment before opening the Lyft app and ordering a ride. “Check, please,” I nodded. The bartender quickly took my empty glass and ran the tab before I could change my mind.
It was 1:30 a.m. when I returned to my apartment. I staggered to the door labeled 95d. Damn, I’m drunk. I hope David and Laura moved some stuff into his room because I’m not going to be able to be discreet in my current state. I took my keys out of my purse, dropped them, bent down to pick them up, almost fell over, picked up the keys, and after a few stabs at the door lock, I finally got in.