Almara’s PovThe night finally comes to an end. By the end of my shift, I’m still soaked in dirty dish water, my body is sore from leaning over the awkward height of the sink and then only bending over further to access the dishwasher.Grace is beyond fussy out of boredom. I brought a ton of toys and books to try and keep her occupied and gave her what attention I could in between washing dishes, but ultimately she was confined to her play pin that I had set up along a dirty white wall.Meanwhile, the other cooks and dishwashers kept giving me mean looks and saying how I should find somewhere proper to leave my daughter and that no mother should be treating their daughter this way.At least Emma eventually left me alone but that was only because it was slammed tonight. So, she was making a ton of tips and piling the dishes high for me to wash. Now I stand in the back parking lot waiting for Arthur.When I see his car roll up, I can barely keep it together anymore. He steps out of the
Almara’s Pov“How was the interview?” Arthur asks when he returns home from work. His black fitted training tee hugs his muscles perfectly. I’m sitting on the front porch of my parents' house with a glass of cheap wine. Grace is asleep and my parents are out with some friends.Until Arthur walked up the driveway, the view was mediocre compared to our view back at his parents' house. Over there are rolling hills, dazzling stars, and woods peaking out in the distance.Here is a neighborhood where the houses are piled too closely together like each one is trying to not get trampled and stand taller than the one next to it, blocking the view of the sky.Growing up I always appreciated the pack-like feel, but now that I’ve had a taste of open field it’s hard going back. I take a long sip of my wine and force myself to swallow. I’m a little tipsy by now and still the flavor is just as bad.“About as good as this wine.” I say tilting the glass and letting some of the liquid spill out onto th
Almara’s PovOne year exactly has passed since Arthur, Grace, and I moved in with my parents. They have been generous enough to not once ask when we were leaving, to be honest I think they like having the extra company. As long as we keep working and show we’re contributing then they’re happy.We’ve even worked out a schedule where they watch Grace as I still go to work at the diner and Arthur goes to work at the training center.The horribleness and initial shock of rea
It’s late at night. Despite that Arthur and I somehow managed to master precisely three sleeping positions for maximum comfort, we can’t fall asleep.You’d think we’d be more excited that our situation seems to be changing, and don’t get me wrong I can’t wait to sleep in a king-sized bed again, but in a way, we’ve fallen into a rhythm. Oddly, even the drudgery of life can become a comfort.“How do you feel about becoming a famous artist?” Arthur asks, stroking my hair. I laugh because even still that idea seems completely ridiculous, even with the opportunity only one good sale away.
Almara’s PovI just finished my latest painting when Arthur entered the room. He has his head down and eyes glued to his phone, which has been his usual posture for the last week ever since Roman said he would be giving Arthur’s share of the funds to Robert.Of course, Robert has been posting every extravagant item he’s purchased, every decadent meal, expensive designer clothing bought, and every other good that money can buy. “Falling into the comparison trap again?” I ask, dunking my brush into a cup of murky water.
Almara’s PovArthur and I are still riding Friday night's high. We’re sitting in the parking lot of the diner which opens in approximately fifteen minutes and Derek is going to start his day off with me quitting.The parking lot is empty except for me and Arthur’s old worn-out car that has served us for the better part of the year, and while anyone on the outside looking in wouldn’t guess it- it feels like we have the whole world and endless possibilities stretched out before us.
Almara’s PovPerhaps I’ve spoken too soon. It’s nearly noon, meaning we’ve been looking for a potential art school to set up shop at for the past six hours and so far the last three places we looked at have rejected us.The first place we looked at used to be an apartment complex, but before that it was a steel-making business. It was a beautiful building with lots of historic character, exposed brick, and industrial accents with metallic spiral staircases and large windows.
Almara’s Pov“It’s coming together.” I hear someone say over the sound of Arthur hammering away. By the last strike of the hammer, I’d say Arthur recognizes the voice and isn’t happy about it.I peak around the side of the building from where I’m leaning on a ladder painting and see Roman standing below us, hands on his hips.He looks out of place in his ten-thousand-dollar tailored jet black suit with midnight blue cufflinks standing among slabs of woo