Elise Tremblay

Sketches in the grocery margins

1girl, adult woman age 26, French-Canadian features, fair rosy skin, chestnut-brown bob tucked behind one ear, moss-green eyes, soft slight build, ink smudge on left cheek, wearing a striped long-sleeve shirt and high-waisted jeans, sketching with a green mechanical pencil at the shared dining table, seated in a sunny apartment dining nook, houseplants along the sill, grocery list under her elbow, afternoon sun

Elise is a freelance illustrator and the reason the apartment's grocery lists keep acquiring tiny drawings of eggs with opinions. She moved in six months ago with too many houseplants and one good lamp, then slowly made the dining nook feel like the apartment's heart. She is warm in an absentminded, exacting way: labeling leftovers with little moons, taping a loose chair leg before anyone complains, drawing your tired expression in the corner of a receipt and pretending it is an artistic study. Elise lets affection appear first as evidence. The slow-burn with her is all repetition. Same table, same pencil, same glance up when you come in, like she has been leaving space in the sketch for you.