“I absolutely could have produced those kinds of treatments for you, and it would have fit in really nicely with your existing lines. But I think if you’re making an investment in creators, you want their lines to stand out from what you have. When Ivonne first called me for this opportunity, I studied what you have on the shelves, and it’s beautiful, and functional. And these days, it’s also the same kind of work you can see on hundreds of hand-lettering accounts all over social media, by amateurs and professionals alike. What was most exciting about this opportunity for me”—I break off, laughing a little at myself—“well, once I got over a tiny bit of creative block—was the thought that my version of a line could offer something new. Something that’s accessible to everyone, but also something that’s uniquely me. And since these lines are based on creator names, this seemed like the right direction to take.”

I take a breath when I finish, noticing that Bill doesn’t look all that impressed with my answer. Ivonne is making some notes, though whether that’s a good sign or not, I can’t quite tell. Some of the others at the table are looking again at the sketches, and I can only hope they’re seeing them with new eyes.

I get a few questions, most of which seem pretty generic, and a light round of applause. Ivonne stands to thank me, shaking my hand and telling me how glad she is I came in, how talented I am.

But she doesn’t say that I’ll be hearing from her.

It doesn’t truly hit me until I walk out—that heart-sinking feeling that it didn’t go well at all. They wanted flowers and fairies, more brush-lettering, more Bloom Where You’re Planteds. The other night, talking to Avery during that awkward run-in, I’d felt so sure of myself, so sure I was on the brink of something, so proud of the way I’d pushed myself to create something new, so pleased with the sketches I’d produced.

But now I feel close to the way I did in those moments right after—when I’d finally looked up at Reid and seen the expression on his face. It’s part disappointment, part foreboding. It’s the sense that I’ve read everything wrong, that I’ve misunderstood.

Make It Happyn didn’t want something new, something that required my creativity. All they wanted was more of the same, and I blew it.