Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
"Come on, Eva," I mutter, fingers hovering over the keyboard. "It's just a website mockup, not the Sistine Chapel."
The client's brief sits open on my second monitor: "Something fresh but timeless. Bold but approachable. Cutting-edge but familiar."
I roll my eyes. Clients always want contradictions, never realizing they're asking for the impossible. I take a sip of my now-cold coffee and grimace.
I push back from my desk and stretch, feeling the uncomfortable pop in my spine from hunching over for too long. My apartment is quiet save for the distant hum of the refrigerator and the occasional car passing on the street below. The solitude used to feel peaceful. Lately, it just feels... empty.
In the kitchen, I open the refrigerator and stare blankly at its meager contents. Half a container of wilting spinach, some questionable cheese, and three different kinds of hot sauce. Adulthood at its finest.
The truth is, I could go to the café down the street. I could go anywhere. But the thought of small talk with the barista—of taking up space, of being seen—feels exhausting today.
My email notification chimes from my laptop.
Fine, universe. I hear you.
Back at my desk, I open the new message and blink in surprise at the sender: Town Council Administrative Office.
The subject line reads: Invitation: Meadowbrook Town Branding Committee .
"What the hell?" I mutter, clicking it open.
Dear Ms. Miller,
Based on your impressive portfolio and commitment to our community, we would like to invite you to join Meadowbrook's Town Branding Committee. Your expertise in user experience design would be invaluable as we update our town's visual identity and digital presence.
The first orientation meeting will be held next Thursday at 7 PM in the Town Hall conference room. Light refreshments will be provided.
Please RSVP at your earliest convenience.
Warmest regards,
Margie Henderson
Town Council Secretary
I read it twice, frowning slightly. My portfolio is online, sure, but I've barely been in Meadowbrook for eight months. My "commitment to the community" consists of ordering too much takeout from local restaurants and occasionally smiling at neighbors when I collect my mail.
Something feels off. Like someone's playing a prank, or they've mistaken me for someone else.
I google "Meadowbrook Town Branding Committee" and find a short announcement in the local paper from last week. It's legitimate, apparently. The committee will be chaired by James Adams, local motivational speaker and community leader extraordinaire.
"Of course," I mutter.
Everyone in town knows James Adams, or at least knows of him.
His face is plastered on banners advertising leadership conferences and community events.
I've never met him, but I've heard the whispers in the coffee shop: charismatic, successful, perfect smile.
The kind of person who probably never stares at a blank screen wondering if they're a fraud.
I hover my cursor over the "reply" button, already crafting my polite rejection. I have deadlines. I have clients. I have a business to run.
And you have no social life, a voice that sounds suspiciously like my sister Mia's pipes up. When was the last time you talked to someone who wasn't a client or a barista?
"Yesterday," I argue out loud. "I called Mom."
That doesn't count.
I groan and lean back in my chair. The truth is, I could use the networking. And adding "Town Branding Committee" to my portfolio wouldn't hurt future job prospects.
But committees mean group work. Group work means opinions. Opinions mean conflict. And conflict means the inevitable moment when I say something too blunt, too honest, or too... me. The moment when people's faces change, just slightly, from friendly interest to barely concealed annoyance.
The "too much" moment.
My phone rings, startling me. Unknown number, but local area code.
"Hello?" I answer cautiously.
"Hi, is this Eva Miller?" A friendly female voice asks.
"Yes, this is she."
"Wonderful! This is Margie from the Town Council I'm just following up on the branding committee invitation that was emailed to you this morning."
That was fast.
"Oh, uh, I was just looking at it, actually."
"Perfect timing then!" She laughs, a warm sound that somehow puts me at ease. "We're really hoping you'll join us. Your design work for the Riverside Café's website was exactly the kind of fresh perspective we're looking for."
I straighten up, surprised. "You saw that?"
"It caught my eye immediately! The way you balanced modern functionality with that cozy, hometown feel? That's exactly what Meadowbrook needs."
Despite myself, I feel a small glow of pride. That project had been one of my favorites.
"I appreciate that," I say. "But I'm not sure I have the bandwidth right now?—"
"It's just one meeting a week for six weeks," she interrupts gently. "And the first session is mostly orientation. Why not come to the first meeting and see if it's a good fit?"
I hesitate, fingers drumming against my desk. Six weeks isn't that long. And if it's terrible, I can always quit after the first meeting.
"Who else is on the committee?" I ask, stalling.
"We have James Adams chairing, of course.
He's been instrumental in coordinating these kinds of community initiatives before.
" There's something in her tone I can't quite place—amusement?
"And we have a few local business owners, plus someone from the historical society. A nice mix of perspectives."
My cursor hovers over the email again. Something about this feels important, like standing at a crossroads. Stay in my safe, quiet bubble, or step out into... what? Potential rejection? Potential connection?
"You know what?" I hear myself say. "I'll come to the first meeting."
"Wonderful!" Margie sounds genuinely delighted. "Thursday at seven, Town Hall conference room. We're so looking forward to having your creative input."
After we hang up, I stare at my phone for a long moment. What just happened? Did I really just volunteer for a six-week commitment with strangers?
I turn back to my blank document, but now, instead of anxiety, I feel a strange flutter of... anticipation? It's been a while since I've worked on something bigger than myself. Since I've had to present ideas to a group, defend my creative choices, collaborate.
Maybe this is what I need—a push out of my comfort zone.
Or maybe it'll be a complete disaster, and I'll be running out of the Town Hall in thirty minutes flat, vowing never to volunteer for anything ever again.
Either way, at least it's not another night alone with my laptop and wilting spinach.
I take a deep breath and start typing, suddenly inspired. The cursor no longer feels like a taunt but a challenge.
Thursday at seven.
I can do this.
Can't I?
The doubt creeps back in as quickly as it left. What if they hate my ideas? What if I'm too aggressive in my opinions? What if James Adams is one of those polished, corporate types who uses words like "synergy" and "circle back" without a trace of irony?
I grab my phone and text my sister.
Me
Just agreed to join a town committee. Am I insane?
Mia
Probably. But the good kind of insane. Proud of you! Details tonight.
I smile, then catch sight of myself in the reflection of my darkened second monitor. My hair is piled in a messy bun, I'm wearing a faded t-shirt with a coffee stain on the sleeve, and there are dark circles under my eyes from staying up too late working on projects.
God, I need to get it together before Thursday.
Which means I need to finish this mockup, invoice two clients, and somehow transform from a disheveled freelancer into a professional committee member in... I check the calendar. Four days.
"One thing at a time," I mutter, turning back to my work with renewed focus.
The cursor blinks, but this time I'm ready. My fingers fly over the keyboard, ideas suddenly flowing. Sometimes all it takes is a little pressure—the promise of something new—to break through creative blocks.
As I work, that strange flutter of anticipation returns. For the first time in months, I'm looking forward to something that isn't a deadline or a takeout delivery.
Thursday at seven.
Whatever happens, at least it won't be boring.