A Kind of Contradiction

I sat with my legs criss-crossed, sketchbook sprawled in my lap and pencil caught between my teeth, beneath a shady oak tree across from the town hall. It was a beautiful building — all red brick with a clock tower and copper-plated rooftops. The town hall was easily the nicest building in Brighton, with the exception of a few old houses with wraparound porches that I absolutely adored.

The skeleton of the building was already etched onto the page, and I was going to start in on the details when my stomach made a noise so loud I had to glance around to make sure nobody had heard.

Down the street from the town hall there was one of those vegan, organic, ultra-healthy cafes that has awesome smoothies and uses buckwheat instead of regular flour. It was called Persephone’s, and I didn’t really know why, but the springtime theme was pretty on point with the name. The interior of Persephone’s was like a greenhouse, with plants and flowers on every surface. It had terrible lighting and always smelled of incense.

When I stepped through the entrance, nearly getting a splinter in the process of pushing the door open, I did a double take at the sight of Julia’s brother, Patrick, standing behind the counter. He hadn’t seemed like an organic vegan type at the time, but I guess I didn’t really know any personal information about him.

Switching my heavy leather satchel to the other shoulder — it was more the bag itself, than my sketchbook and the copious amount of pens, pencils, and pastels that weighted it down — I stepped up to the counter and fixed Patrick with my most brilliant smile.

“Are you actually a vegan?” I asked immediately.

Patrick chuckled, something I noticed he did almost every single time I opened my mouth. I was starting to get suspicious. “Vegetarian, actually. Are you?”

“I think my aunt would probably think I had a mental disorder if I went vegan,” I said with a shrug, then realized that Patrick was not aware that I’d spent the last year living in San Francisco. “I, uh, used to live with her. My mom, on the other hand, would probably throw a party if it meant I’d lose some weight.”

“You don’t need to lose weight,” Patrick said with furrowed brows, his gaze travelling down to my hips.

I raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I’ll have a blackberry smoothie and one of those chocolate zucchini loaf things. Who knew vegans could eat chocolate?”

“Chocolate comes from a tree,” Patrick informed me, punching my items into an ancient cash register. “$7.50.”

“Jesus,” I muttered, handing him a tenner. “Why the hell does healthy food cost so much?”

“Because it’s better.”

“Sure,” I drawled, making Patrick chuckle again. He put my slice of chocolate zucchini bread onto a small plate with hand-painted flowers on it. The other employee, a girl with half of her hair buzzed off and a nose ring, went about making my blackberry smoothie.

I sat at a table near the window where I could watch Patrick without seeming too obvious about it, and ate half of my zucchini bread before the girl brought over my smoothie. It came in a mason jar, which was adorably environmentally conscious, but the straw was sort of a let down. Somebody needed to think of an eco-friendly alternative.

Sipping my blackberry smoothie, I flipped to a clear page in my sketchbook and grabbed a pencil from my bag. With architecture, everything was about precision. All the lines and angles had to be perfect, or else the sketch wouldn’t look right. But sometimes I just liked to draw skylines, taking inspiration from my favourite landmarks, and creating strange cities with unrecognizable silhouettes. The lines were rarely straight and nothing was in proportion, but that was the whole point. I didn’t think when I drew these skylines, unlike the razor-like focus I had when drawing anything else.

But I still lost myself while etching out the buildings, my mind wandering the globe for silhouettes and shapes I could incorporate into the skyline. I stole the onion domes of St. Basil’s and Koolhaas’s asymmetrical design of the Seattle Central Library.

“That’s cool.”

I dragged my eyes up from the page, staring at Patrick from beneath my lashes. He didn’t ask before sitting down across from me, setting his own smoothie down on the table. My lips parted slightly in confusion, and I went through a thousand different questions in my head before actually saying something out loud.

“Buildings are cool,” I said, and Patrick smiled. “Can I help you with something?”

“I’m on my break,” he explained, sipping his smoothie. It was green. “And you’ve been totally focused on that for the last forty-five minutes. I was curious. Do you want me to go?”

“No!” I said, far too quickly. Patrick chuckled, and I felt heat rising on my cheeks. I set down my pencil and promptly shut my sketchbook. As much as I appreciated the compliment, I didn’t like people looking at my work without asking, even if it wasn’t anything important. “No. You can stay. I probably need the company, anyway, I haven’t talked to anybody outside my family since Sunday.”

Patrick nodded, playing with his straw. “I also saw your other tattoo. Well, part of it. The one on your side?”

Between the top of my high-waisted jeans and the hem of my cropped muscle shirt, part of the design going up my left side was visible. But only when I was hunched over in my chair, when the shirt rode further up my back. Which meant that Patrick had been not only been watching me draw, but he’d been looking at me as well.

“Want to see the rest of it?”

Patrick glanced around the cafe. There were only a few other people here, and they were paying absolutely no attention to us. Of course, we were at the window, so anybody who looked in from the sidewalk could see us interacting. “Don’t you have to take off your shirt for that?”

I grinned and stood up, turning slightly. I lifted my shirt so that it bunched around the underwire of my bra, and most of the geometric design was visible. I watched Patrick appraise the ink, then his gaze drifted off course to the exposed skin around it. A moment later I smoothed out my shirt and sat back down, waiting for Patrick’s response.

“Does it mean anything or did you just like the way it looked?” he asked.

“I just liked how it looked. It was my first tattoo,” I explained. “The style is different than my other two because I didn’t do proper research into all the different kinds, and I definitely like the style of the other ones better, but it’s probably the most important one.”

Patrick nodded and sipped his green smoothie, the contents of which I was trying to figure out.

“Okay, what the hell is that?”

“The smoothie?” he asked, and I nodded. “Kale, banana, and pineapple.”

“That sounds disgusting.”

He chuckled. “It’s actually pretty good. Wanna try?”

“Ew. No.” My phone buzzed with a text from my mom, requesting my presence at home. I had no idea why she was back in the middle of the day, but there wasn’t much of an option to just ignore her. She’d probably send out a search party. I looked at Patrick with a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”

“Your boyfriend beckons?”

“My mother,” I sighed dramatically. Then, realizing he’d just asked if I had a boyfriend, I had to bite back my smile. I stood and deposited my pencil and sketchbook into my bag, hefting it over one shoulder. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Patrick licked his lips, hesitating. “Will you have coffee with me?”

I grinned. “Not smoothies?”

“Not smoothies.”

“Sure.”

Patrick had me put my number in his phone, then promised to text me in the near future. I’d never felt giddy before, but there wasn’t really any other word to describe how I felt on the walk back home.

Unfortunately, that feeling dispersed when I stepped through the front door. Mom, who’d probably been waiting to hear the door open, called out from the study. I pulled down the hem of my top, making sure the tattoo was covered. But I kept my arms locked at my sides just in case.

There was no point in knocking when she knew I was coming, so I strode right in. Mom sat behind her massive desk, typing away on her laptop. Her study was like the ones from stock photos or movies, with bookshelves and lots of wood panelling. All it needed was a fireplace and some cushy chairs, but neither of those things was really Mom’s style.

“What’s up?” I asked, tucking my hands into my pockets.

“Where have you been?”

I frowned. “Out.”

Mom raised an eyebrow, obviously expecting more of an explanation.

“I was at the park, then I got a smoothie from that vegan place, Persephone’s. Happy?”

“Next time you disappear, I expect you to tell me where you’re going.”

“Why?”

“Because I like to know where you are, Cosima.”

“You don’t make Danny tell you where he is.”

Mom wasn’t impressed. “I don’t worry about Danny like I worry about you. He’s an adult now.”

I fought the desire to fold my arms and pop out my hip. But I stuck with a dramatic eye roll. “I am way more trustworthy than Danny.”

“Once, maybe. But I feel like I don’t know the girl standing in front of me.”

“Oh, so dying my hair makes me a different person?” I snapped. She did have a point, I had changed, but I refused to admit that she was right. I was too stubborn for that, and still offended she had so little faith in me.

“No, it’s your attitude I have an issue with, Cosima,” she stated, irritation brewing in her tone. “Next time, I would like to be notified if you’re going to be gone all day.”

“It’s two o’clock, that’s hardly all day.”

“Were you planning on coming home anytime soon when I texted you?”

I heaved a sigh, spinning on my heel and stalking out of the room. She’d probably yell if I slammed the door, so I left it open instead. Then she’d have to get up and close it herself.

On my way to the stairs, Danny came home. He smiled at me, but it quickly turned into a frown when he saw my expression. “Woah, hey,” he said, throwing out an arm and stopping me in my path. “What’s up, sis?”

“Mom’s being a bitch,” I snarled, still buzzing with energy.

Then Nash came through the front door sporting a singlet and board shorts, and I was absolutely done with this day. And to think it had started out so well. I broke free of Danny’s grip and sent Nash a glare for good measure, then took the stairs two at a time and very nearly slammed my bedroom door. Still wanting to avoid unnecessary yelling from Mom, I let it click gently shut and leapt onto my bed with a groan.