Miss Understood

Part 1 -- Hannah

I hate my job.

While I realize I'm not the only person in the world--or even in this zip code for that matter--who feels this way, I never expected this. This was supposed to be my career, my passion, my dream job. I was supposed to save families and heal hearts. I was supposed to give people the tools to help their love bloom. What could be more worthy than that?

I guess I should tell you I'm a couples' therapist. Seven years into this job, I'm one who has stopped believing in the institution of marriage, even stopped believing in true love. I've discovered people just want what they want, and as long as their goals align, it might work. Might. Even then, people change their minds about what they want. Even then, someone gets hurt.

Yet, in a weird way, despite my lousy mood, I'm happy about three things.

One. I'm glad my last appointment of the day has canceled, because I'm fairly certain these two were way beyond saving even before their first appointment months ago. While my goal is to give every couple their happily ever after, experience has taught me some marriages are more likely than others to make it. Couples like the Dunns make me feel guilty for taking their money even though their sessions are a teeth-grinding frustration.

Two. I just received a letter that said I'd been accepted to be a contributor to a textbook that will be used at universities. The chapter I'll be writing will focus on uncovering early-in-life experiences and their impact on relationships. It will give me a break from the day-to-day disappointment of my job and allow me to think about this from a more academic point of view. It may be that I'm just the world's worst couples' therapist in practice, but maybe I'd be a good teacher of others. At least it feels like a possible way to transition my career.

And three. It's Friday and National Margarita Day. I'm meeting my sister Bethany at Señor Gallo's to consume massive amounts of chips, guacamole and my favorite tequila concoction. The only downside to our Happy Hour is that we're going to discuss her impending nuptials. Yeah, I'm her Maid of Honor. There's still time for the whole thing to fall apart. I can only hope, otherwise she may be seeking my services in five years or twenty.

I lock my notebook and the files on my desk in the cabinet against the far wall. Then toss my keys in my bag and head for the door. At a small desk outside my office, my assistant Paisley is typing up notes from my earlier appointments.

"You should get out of here," I tell Paisley. "I'm sure that can wait 'til Monday."

"I'm almost finished. Only five minutes more. Oh! The Dunns rescheduled for next Tuesday, and Bethany called. She said she's already there and has staked out a primo spot at the end of the bar."

Beth's message makes me laugh. "She's never early. She must need a margarita more than I do."

"I thought it was funny, too." Paisley says. "Have a good weekend, Hannah. It looks like you could use one."

"Mexican food could probably solve the world's problems so I know it will help with mine. Have fun at Chortles/Guffaws." Paisley's best friend Jacob is trying out a routine for Open Mic Nite.

She has a tight smile. "I'm so nervous for him. I'll just be glad when it's over."

Paisley and Jacob are a perfect example of why I've lost my faith in true love. They've been best friends for more than ten years. She's head over heels; he's not. I like both of them and it seems like they'd be perfect together. One part of me wants to oversee a pre-marriage counseling session (without actually calling it that) to figure out what is holding Jacob back; the other part doesn't want anything to do with counseling two people I know and like.