Chapter 3: Hannah
Listen, Han, you needto quit your job.”
Funny, after last night’s close encounter with my past, I was thinking the same exact thing. Not like The Tower is a bar that I expect Callaghan Entay frequents, but I don’t want to take the chance that he’ll be back. It took me long enough to get over him the first time around. I can’t afford to get trapped in his orbit again.
On the other hand, I can’t let my roommate Carlos know he’s onto something. He already thinks he’s God’s gift to the male species. I can’t stroke that ego any more by letting him think he’s a career counselor too.
But also, I’m curious. He was still out when I got home around midnight, so I didn’t get to tell him about my near run-in with the best—and worst—hookup I’ve ever had.
The one that derailed my life.
Not that I’m bitter or anything.
“What’s prompting this pep talk so early?” It’s after ten, but we’re both night owls, so that’s not saying much.
“You’re never going to get anywhere doing catering.”
“I’m going to get a paycheck. I’m going to pay rent and they let us eat the leftovers, so I get my fill of lamb chops. That’s all that matters.”
That, and the health insurance.
If my parents hadn’t had good health insurance, my medical debt would have ruined them. I may take crappy jobs, but they all at least have medical coverage.
That will always be the number one priority for me. Once you don’t have your health, you realize how little everything else matters.
Carlos rolls his eyes. I’m so used to him in his makeup that to see his eyes without liner and shadow and a set of lashes is a little bit disconcerting. “Girl, you’re pushing thirty.”
“Carlos, I’m thirty-two.”
He looks me up and down and shakes his head. “The fact that you admit that is a problem. But look at you. You’re still working the same type of jobs you’ve been doing for the past decade. You move from one to another without settling down. I thought you moved out here to make something of yourself.”
We have this talk about once a month. He means well, but damn if it isn’t starting to grate. I’m going to ignore him, just like I did last month.
“I’m fine with who I am. Serving food is an honorable profession.” I believe I heard that somewhere. Maybe from that girl in the bathroom last night.
“I’m not sayin’ it isn’t, but is it really your life’s dream? Before you go lyin’ to me, tellin’ me you’re content, tellin’ me you’refine, ask yourself, is this what you dreamed of when you were a little girl?”
I stand up, practically slamming my coffee mug on the counter. “That’s not fair. You know ... you know it wasn’t.” I want to storm out of the room and pout like a spoiled teenager. Except it seems oddly coincidental, and I’m not a person who puts a lot of stock in coincidence. First seeing him last night, and then Carlos bringing it up today.
I tend not to dwell too much on the past, especially since it took me so long to move past it. If you can call leaving home and going from job to job for a decade without ever pursuing my passion moving past it.
My life and mental health just work better if I stuff everything into boxes and put them way at the back of my brain closet. As long as they stay sealed and buried, I’m good to go. However, that also means I pretty much gave up on myself and my career.
Even my parents have given up on the “but you worked so hard for your degree” crap. I had a plan once, and that plan went immediately to shit with one night of impulsive behavior. I think my parents understand, at least a little. Hell, it took me years to figure out why I gave up on myself. Once I did, the panic attacks stopped and the insomnia even went away, for the most part. The only one who still rides me about not chasing my dream is Carlos.
Which is rich, considering he wants a career as a professional makeup artist, yet he’s teaching art at the senior center.
He comes over and pulls me into a hug. I’ve got two inches and about fifty pounds on him, so it’s not the comforting embrace I desire. But, still, it’s the thought that counts, and I’ll take it.
“I’ve got a plan for us, Han. For both of us. But it’s going to take time and dedication and a lot of hard work. If we put in the work, I think we can both get what we want at the end of this. All you have to do is quit your job.”
I roll my eyes. “Are you covering my rent? Are you buying my food? Are you making me lamb chops?”Are you paying my medical bills in the event of a catastrophic complication?
