We Found Love in a Hopeless Place

Picture this: Smokes, 11p.m. Saturday. The bar is packed. Balding fifty-year-old fathers wearing quarter zip sweaters hover next to their crossbody-toting wives with fresh blowouts. Dads yell out at the overworked bartenders, asking to start a tab, and their tipsy daughters poke them for another vodka soda. 

Within a group of parents and children, one son stands off to the side awkwardly, nursing a Busch Light Apple. He anxiously looks over the shoulder of his friends watching NFL highlights on a TV across the bar as the DJ blasts "Danza Kuduro" for the second time. On one side stands his father, glasses falling down his nose, as he stares at his phone, and on the other stands his mother, chatting with a fellow mom. 

A bead of sweat falls down the son's forehead, as both parents glance up at the same time, catching each other's eye. This is the first time they have been in the same place in a while, even though it has been nine years since the divorce. As the dad reaches across his son to order another drink, his hand brushes the top of his ex-wife's, and she turns, batting her eyelashes at him. 

"Two whiskey sours, please," he tells the bartender, reaching across his son to hand her the cocktail with a wink. 

She turns to him with a smile, and her eyes wander as she remembers the first-ever drink they shared in this very same bar, the spring of Sophomore year. As she takes her first sip, she steps in front of her son, asking her ex-husband, "Do you want to dance?" 

They walk arm in arm towards the stage, awkwardly moving their stiff hips to the rhythm, as Ne-Yo sings, "Give me everything tonight." Their son stares in astonishment as he watches them later leave Smokes together, smitten, and holding hands. 

"Fuck" he thinks. "There goes my second Christmas vacation."