"Are you unwell?" Mrs. Myers, the interviewer, asked.
"No, I mean, yes, I feel great, actually. I mean, I'm good, I'm happy. Yes, I'm good," Hannah Johnson said, the words spilling out as a blush darkened her light features. Her words were true, too -- Hannah felt fine, except for the anxious voice in her head that scolded her babbling inelegance.
"Good," Mrs. Myers said, tenting her fingers and leaning forward, "listen, Hannah, there's no need to be nervous -- I can see that you want this job, and you're well qualified."
"Thank you."
"Tell me about your last job again, but this time, only your
favorite
things."
Hannah swallowed and shut her eyes, trying to recall the best aspects of Gary's Famous Clothes. Her job had been lonely, counting shipments of clothes and then documenting the deliveries and sending them to retail. "I enjoyed the trust and independence my boss placed on me, and all of my coworkers trusted me, and I trusted them. That was the best part -- we were a team," she finally said.
"Excellent. I think you'll find here, at Dr. Yozkin's clinic, we're more than a team. We're family." "Thank you so much," Hannah said.
Mrs. Myers stood and shook Hannah's hand, and a minute later, Hannah was in the parking lot, walking to her car. She was a young twenty-four years, with a tendency towards twirling her locks or laughing so hard she snorted. She was slender, with long brown hair and pale skin that freckled in the summers. Hannah's young life had been carefree and sheltered, but if she got this receptionist job at Dr. Yozkin's clinic, she could finally afford to move out of her parent's home.
She slipped her keys in her pink Volvo's ignition, and soon she was cruising down the streets of Montpelier, watching trees and houses zoom by in a colorful panache that embodied small town America. Her cell phone vibrated in her purse, and Hannah fumbled for it as she eased towards a stop-sign.
There was a text from her boyfriend, Matt Brezinski, "Did you get the job???"
Hannah quickly typed, "Don't know yet." She stuck the phone back in her purse, and moments later, it vibrated again.
Dammit Matt
, she thought,
let me drive in peace.
Her boyfriend, the faithful Matt, was a tall, broad, man-child who worked as an intern at an electronics company. He was brilliant in the ways of science and math, but on the social scene, his clumsy manners and obnoxious laugh were beyond embarrassing.
At a red light, Hannah looked at her phone. "I know you'll get this job baby! You deserve it sooooo much! I love you!" Matt wrote.
Hannah responded, "love you too, see you soon," before powering off her phone. The light turned green, and then she was once again cruising, her thoughts turning to Matt. He was a nice guy, her boyfriend of three years, but lately, she found herself...uninterested. Their social life consisted of football games at Elle's Tavern, movies, and an occasional road-trip to see his parents in Derby.
Their sex was adequate, she supposed, though Matt was
always
more excited than she was. He was by-default flirty, touchy and horny, whereas Hannah
needed
foreplay, time to warm up, to get her juices flowing -- a task which Matt seemed less and less interested in undertaking. As a result, their sex was generally a one-sided, brief affair that was annoying and boring.
Thoughts swirling, Hannah parked in her parent's driveway. She got out and stretched her arms high, and then she was lifted off the ground, two strong arms crushing her ribs. "Ow!" she yelped.
Her assailant set her down gingerly. "Sorry babe, I just wanted to surprise you," he said. She spun to face Matt. He was wearing a black leather jacket, cowboy boots, and horrifyingly...a gaudy, multicolored bandana around his forehead. "What the hell are you wearing?" she demanded, running her fingers along tender ribs. She hated when Matt was rough.
"Oh, you like this?" he asked, delivering a half-cocked grin that would have sent Hannah swooning three years prior. "I'm trying a new look. I think I'll get a motorcycle, become a badass."
Hannah fought to suppress a giggle. Matt was serious -- his hopeful, naive expression told her as much -- but he might have looked threatening from a
distance
. Up close, his James Dean swagger and unspoiled clothes made him a caricature of a western villain: cartoonish, overdone...lame. "I liked your old vibe, you know, like a normal person?" Hannah said, smiling to lessen her word's impact.
Matt would have none of it. "You don't like it?" he asked, his tone implying that Hannah was either blind, fashion-deaf, or in one of her 'moods'. "This jacket alone cost 400 dollars," he said, as though that made him seem anything other than stupider.
"It's too drastic, sweetheart," she said, placing her hand on his forearm, "why don't you just be yourself?"
Matt swatted her hand away. "This is me."
"Look, I'm tired. I worked all morning and then I had a stressful fucking interview this afternoon. Can we just go inside, eat, and watch some TV?"
Matt's expression softened a fraction. "Say you like my new clothes."
"Fine, I like them," she said, rolling her eyes. Matt immediately brightened, and he stepped forward and lifted Hannah in his arms, picking her up with a
grunt
of effort.
"The cowboy look will grow on you -- you know what they say, everything's bigger in Texas."
"We're in Vermont, and you're not a cowboy."
"Which means the ladies will be that much more surprised," he said. "I mean, at the mall, they were practically all over me."
"For your money."
"Let's go in," Matt said, setting Hannah down and swatting her on the ass.
*****
A warm, hearty, family-dinner did nothing to lift Hannah's mood. Her mom and dad loved Matt, they had since the beginning of their relationship. Her dad could barely shut his mouth long enough to chew his mashed potatoes before he was joshing with Matt, speculating as though Hannah weren't even present.
"You think she'll get the job?"
"How is she going to work
and
