I unlock my new door and look around at my barely put together apartment. The sectional sofa haphazardly arranged in the center of the living room with Lily nestled in the corner. The TV on the floor with no stand, unplugged, wires in a twisted tumbleweed. The mountain of boxes begging to be unpackedand put out of their misery. And yet, this new apartment, this building, still has Grant in its DNA.
I’m comforted by the fact he is still somewhere in my home, even if he is just in the walls. I hope I can make this place my home now. I have to. If I don’t, I’ll be back where I started.
I flashback to when I told Stuart I had to leave apartment 502. He asked me a question I still think about, even now.What if you took a chance on something new?This apartment is my something new. This move has to mean something. It will be the start of my new life. Where I’m not afraid to talk to people. Where I will find happiness, in whatever form it comes in.
2
Iwake up with Lily stretched across my bed. Listening to her soft snores, I lie around and imagine my day. Get up. Get dressed. Walk Lily. Make breakfast. Apply for jobs. Scroll through Instagram until lunch. Apply for some more jobs. Feed Lily. Walk Lily again.
Go to therapy and ruminate on everything that’s gone wrong in my life.
This routine is nothing new, but this time it feels off, and not just because of my new apartment. I’ve had my moments of happiness, of course. I was not always a miserable wench who has brought down everyone around her. I had been dreading the move terribly. But it was over now, and the relief washes over me in the way a cold shower does, shitty at first, but it gets you to snap out of the panic attack.
Now, I must decide on a new thing to dread.
Work. Money. Food.Loneliness.
Do you still get emails if you don’t check them? Does the news still happen if you don’t read it? Is my life falling apart even when I’m not living it?
I rub my temples, hair strewn over my pillow, my feet twisting in a whirlpool of blankets and sheets. I check my phonefor new emails, new notifications, any kind of sign that people still care about me. A calendar reminder for group therapy. A text from Stuart asking if I’m going to pick up my package that’s been in the lobby for two days. An email reminder to pay my WiFi bill.Fuck it.I get up, tossing my phone onto the bed.
After walking Lily and settling down on my table-designated Rubbermaid bin, I open my laptop to look for a job. Maybe today will be the day I find a new full-time gig—working part-time at the local Blick Art Supplies isn’t cutting it any longer—both monetarily and socially.
I have a little nest egg saved up from donations folks made after Grant died, but it’s starting to dwindle, and it’s going faster than I had hoped. Before he died, I was able to pursue freelance painting, picking and choosing my projects because Grant’s salary as an architect and freelance designer was enough for both of us.
In the years since he passed, I’ve worked on odds and ends, finishing up old projects that were long overdue. I do the occasional commission, but they aren’t enough to sustain Lily, let alone myself, in the long term.
I’m applying for pretty much anything I qualify for—other part-time jobs, illustrator jobs, curator jobs, freelance work. My Bachelor of Fine Arts in painting is feeling extra useless as I apply for jobs at cafes and nursing homes.
I open Craigslist on a whim. I have gotten commissions from there in the past and it’s been good for quick cash. An elderly woman looking for a portrait of her family of cats and a couple looking for custom art for their new bed and breakfast come to mind, but weeding through the multilevel marketing schemes, research studies and perverts is tedious.
A new submission comes through my artist website just as I’m checking my email.
Email: [email protected]
New Submission: Hi! I’m interested in a quote for a 8x10 foot mural in arestaurant with oil paint in a timeframe of six weeks.
Mae
The budget is more than reasonable for the size, but one thing stands out to me: that large a mural with oil paint, in a restaurant? It would take me twelve-hour days and avery, very careful handto finish in that short a time frame, and it would also depend on how intricate a design they wanted, and if the surface was suitable for oil paint.
If the restaurant were in operation, oil painting could be a potential health hazard, as it can stay wet for days. I hope they’d be willing to close the restaurant at least some of the time, otherwise it would be nothing short of a stressful experience for the owners and for me.
But the commission on this large of a budget is nothing to sneeze at.
I reply to the ad.
Mae,
Thanks for reaching out! Can you tell me a little bit more about what you’re looking for in terms of design? Feel free to attach some reference photos or a pinterest board. Then, I can give you a quote and sketch.
Thanks,
Riley
The reply comes back almost instantly.
Riley,
