Under the pale neon of Mitchel's bar sign, Trish looked sickly. Her face was washed in blue light that stretched out the lines on the woman's defeated expression. She groaned in Mitchel's arms as he moved her. Her body strained to keep up with his motions.
"you make me shick." Trish slurred.
"Lady, I'm just tryin' to walk you to your son's car." Mitchel replied while he dragged the middle-aged woman through the gravel parking lot.
Ryan, Trish's son, watched the scene from behind the wheel of his car. He was too embarrassed to get out and help. The shame of seeing his mom dragged like a rag-doll was compounded by the fact that this was his third trip to the bar this week. It was to the point now where Ryan recognized Mitchel's number when he called.
"I'm so sorry, man." Ryan said, after he leaned over and opened the passenger door for the pair.
"Don't sweat it, kid. My first divorce did a number on me, too." The bar owner half-grunted.
He placed Trish down in her seat and Ryan buckled her in place. There was a moment of silence while Mitchel wiped the sweat from his receding hairline with the back of his thick arm. Off in the distance a beer bottle shattered as it was thrown into the dumpster behind the bar.
"Will it get better?" Ryan asked.
"Yeah," Mitchel replied, his hand now on the top of the car door. "Give her some time, she'll snap out of it. Now get her to bed before she pukes all over your civic."
Ryan nodded and started up the car. Mitchel was half way back to the bar by the time the small vehicle left the parking lot. The journey was almost one of muscle memory after tonight. Two nights ago, Ryan had to use the GPS app on his phone.
Now he let his mind wander while he navigated back to the other end of town.
He thought about his mom, mostly. She aged exponentially by the day now that she had the stress of the divorce looming over her head. Her days were spent crying and pleading and stressing over how she would make ends meet. Her nights? Ryan glanced over at his mother's slumped form. Her soft snores matched the rhythmic heave of her chest. She shifted down in her seat, which forced her short dress to hike up her thighs. This exposed far more of her legs than Ryan meant to see. He looked back at the road, his cheeks suddenly hot.
"Your dad usedta like me in this dress." Trish slurred.
"You look pretty in it." Ryan replied, his cheeks burning hotter.
"I had to stop wearing panties with this dress," Trish turned in the chair and studied her son's expression with blurry eyes. "Now... I don't know, Ry."
Ryan said nothing after that.
***
The next few days came and went with little incident. Trish remained relatively sober, opting to grab a bottle or two of wine from the store after work, as opposed to downing a half-gallon of cosmos at Mitchel's. Work helped keep things normal. Trish would busy herself with the ins and outs of the job to shut her brain off while in public. Still, she made time daily to cry in the restroom. She would sit in the stall and sob silently into her hands. It happened as quick as a storm on a summer afternoon and ended just as fast. When her tears dried, Trish would reapply her makeup and go back to work.
Evenings were the hard part. The prolonged solitude of a silent home illustrated the absence of domestic purpose. Trish was by no means a traditionalist when it came to marriage, but with no husband and Ryan spending all his time with college or friends, Trish found little for herself to do at the house. Little to do, except chug zinfandel and work up the courage to make a dating profile. One week to the day since her last bar trip, she finally downloaded an app and made a profile.
"Make a profile name," Trish read aloud while she contemplated what to call herself. "Trishalicious? Ew, no. Mama Cakes. Gross. Ms. Trisha, nope. Zin!"
It was an easy choice once she looked at the bottle of wine beside her. Trisha entered the information into her new profile. She decided - for better or worse - to be as honest as possible. Most of it was simple; she was 44, divorced, and lived in Peterslick, TN. Her photos would give her physical description for her, but there was still the matter of writing a short bio. For that she needed a fresh glass of wine.
"And finished." Trish said, one bottle and three attempts at a bio later. "Watch out, fellas, Trish is on the hunt."
She giggled to herself as she acclimated to the dating app. Soon enough she was swiping through profiles of men her age in the area. There were a grand total of fourteen, most of whom Trish knew well enough to avoid. She widened her search to men ages 18-60. After a dozen or so profiles she stopped reading the names.
The photos told her all she wanted to know and after swiping another few profiles, she clicked on one.
He was a fireman, cliché sure, but his shirtless pics sparked a smoldering fire in
Trish's stomach. Each photo was better than the last, and nearly all showed off the man's muscled chest. Trish guided her fingers down the front of her pajama pants while the other hand continued to swipe through photos. Her imagination ran rampant with pent up desire.
She imagined the two of them alone in the garage of a firehouse. He held her while she ran her nails along those over-developed muscles. Trish wanted this stranger to bury his face in her neck, she wanted to feel the stubble on his chin graze her skin as he kissed up and down her body. She wanted his strong hands to push her onto the bumper of the nearest firetruck. She needed a pair of thick fingers spread her legs and douse the fire that was burning in between her thighs with his...
"Mom, I'm home." Ryan called from the kitchen.
Trish was yanked from her fantasy far too soon. She fumbled with her phone screen and withdrew her sopping fingers from her pajamas. She cleared her throat and called out to Ryan, "Hi honey. Why are you home?"
Ryan's footsteps grew louder as he walked toward the source of his mother's flustered voice. Trish caught her breath and straightened the area around her in an attempt to regain her composure. Ryan stepped into the room and Trish stood to meet him, wobbling a bit as she did.
"What are you up to?" Ryan asked.
