The Happiness She Deserves

Chapter 1

Riley

I heave a sigh as I park the van for the next delivery of the day. Right now, it’s for one of the busiest bakeries near the city park, namely Le Pain du Parfait.

“Morning, Joe,” I greet the manager waiting for me at the backdoor. “Busy morning?”

“Oh, this is nothing compared to yesterday, Riley,” he replies, clapping my shoulders as he helps me unload the van. “Our boss had a crazy idea for a new product, so that explains the rushed delivery,” he adds, chuckling awkwardly.

I beam at him. “Not at all, Joe. This actually helps a lot. Gotta make a living somehow,” I tell him, handing him two stacks of boxes.

We both make our way toward the back of the bakery, and I help him pack up the stuff inside their pantry. The smell of freshly baked bread wafts in the air, and I realize I still haven’t eaten anything since work started at eight in the morning.

“Business is booming, Joe. I’m sure your boss is satisfied with this,” I compliment him as I make him sign the order forms.

He laughs as he signs the final line of the form. “Naturally! It’s hard managing this fancy place, but it sure is a pleasure working here.” He then looks around before taking a freshly baked baguette from the racks and packing it in a paper bag.

“Here, kid. You look like you need the energy,” he says, handing me the paper bag. “D’you want some butter with that?”

“Don’t the French find that offensive?” I joke, gratefully taking the bread. “The baguette itself is fine. I trust your store’s products, Joe.”

He smirks and crosses his arms over his chest. “Of course! There’s no other bakery better than Le Pain du Parfait!” he proudly claims, huffing his chest.

After much small talk and some offers to work at the bakery as a mess boy, I leave in high spirits, munching on the baguette as I go.

Ever since my family’s business collapsed, I’ve been doing particularly odd jobs here and there to pay for my father’s hospital bills and provide for my family’s daily necessities. While it is taxing, it’s something I should do in order to keep us afloat.

After all, we aren’t the great Andersons anymore. Even my father’s so-called closest colleagues rejected us when we turned to them for help.

“So much for business and friendship, I guess,” I mutter, placing my half-eaten baguette back inside the paper bag and on the passenger seat. It’s no use thinking about past relationships anymore, seeing as that’ll only weigh me down from my goal right now.

I start the van up again. Time to make some more deliveries before the day ends.

***

After all of my deliveries today, I immediately head back to my place to gather some of my painting supplies. It’s time for my second job.

“Gotta hurry for a good spot or else I won’t be getting customers today,” I mumble to myself, briskly walking to the city park.

I enter the park gates, and as usual, it is bustling with people. Right now, a week-long charity bazaar is being held, making it the perfect place to gather customers.

I quickly weave my way through the crowd, careful to not bump into anyone despite rushing. After some time, I find my usual spot under a cool tree shade and begin setting my station up, placing all of my art supplies on one side and a few finished paintings on the other.

Once everything is settled, I place a stand with my prices for both on-the-spot portrait commissions and my finished paintings. Then, all I have to do is paint the landscape to pass the time while I wait for people to line up and purchase my works.

In all honesty, keeping up with art has been difficult due to my circumstances. Back then, it was something I could do even in my sleep. But now, I spend every waking moment thinking about my next job or what I’ll be eating for the day in order to budget my expenses.

I still love to draw, truly. It’s my everything, and there’s nothing in the world I’d do to give up on it. Hence, I’ve decided to settle with making small earnings through it on the side, so I don’t stop completely.

“Time to get started with painting,” I tell myself, taking a finely sharpened pencil in one hand and a kneaded eraser in the other. I scope around the area, trying to get a feel of the hustle and bustle of the charity bazaar, then begin drawing the landscape on my sketchbook.

Maybe I’ll paint this with gouache today, though I’ll have to be careful of how I distribute my paint if I want to make it last until next month. I ponder, grumbling at how I can’t make this piece too detailed if I want to save up on paint.

Slowly, the minutes pass, and I begin to finally have a good sketch of what I want to paint today. With a few tweaks here and there, I complete the draft and bring a fresh canvas out of my supply bag.

I set up a second easel and begin transferring the sketch to it. I can feel the gaze of passersby as I build up the piece, starting with the stalls in the background.

“Excuse me? Do you do portraits?” someone in front of me asks. I look up to find myself looking at a nice, old couple, smiling brightly.

“Of course. Do you want one of you two right now?” I ask, smiling back as I usher them toward an empty spot, away from my supplies and paintings.

The couple steps aside quickly as I guide them, charcoal and special paper in hand. “We hope it’s no bother, young man. You seem engrossed with your piece right now.”

“It’s no bother, good sir. In fact, you’re my first customers of the day!” I happily tell them, asking them to take a seat on the stools I’ve provided. I instruct them on how to pose before I start sketching them.

A few minutes pass, and I finish their portrait. Satisfied, they give me more than my rate and with a tip to top it all off.

“Someone as talented and refined as you shouldn’t be working here!” the old lady comments as she pats my arm. “I’m sure you’ll find something better to do, lad.”

I smile somberly, feeling a sting in my chest. “I do hope so, ma’am.” I wave them off and head back to my spot.

However, as soon as the couple leaves, customers immediately begin pouring in, either wanting portraits or some of my pieces. Others even inquire about personal commissions, and I indulge them, happily talking about prices and art.

If this is what happiness is, I’d gladly take it even for a short while.