So Joey did.

*  *  *

The evening after the bachelorette party, Joey was sprawled out in a tangle of sketchbooks, paints, pencils, and a canvas when Edith trailed down the hall. Joey shot up. On Edith’s arms were bangles the size of bricks, giving her the appearance of a shackled marionette.

Her hand on the door, Edith turned. “You do realize the event is in three days? And you do realize…the wall is still blank.”

Joey could barely get out the words. “I do.”

“Mmm.” Edith hobbled out without a backward glance.

At the door’s click, Joey sank back to the floor. The navy wood floor with which she’d become intimately familiar.

Joey’s phone rang.

“Hi, Dad.” She wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder. “I’m at Edith’s.”

“JoJo! Real quick. Lily told me Leo’s in town.” Joey froze. “Leo Winn.”

“Yes.” Her pencil slipped from her grip. “Leo’s here for the wedding.”

“I had no clue you were still in contact with him! How wonderful. I haven’t seen Leo in…oh, it must be—”

“Fifteen years.”

“Fifteen years! My goodness. You must invite Leo over for dinner this week.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Leo has work stuff this week, and I’ve got Edith’s and last-minute wedding—”

“Tuesday night works though, right? Lily told me Leo was planning to come to you and Grant on Tuesday night. So that night should be clear for all three of you. And now you won’t have to cook, or Grant won’t have to, so I’ll take something off your to-do list. I’ll barbecue, and we’ll all catch up! Just like old times.”

“Uh…” She grappled for an excuse, but none arose. “I’ll see if it works for Leo.”

“Of course it will work for Leo. Just find out, he hasn’t gone vegetarian on me?”

“I’ll find out, Dad. I gotta go.”

Joey hung up, her head in a tailspin. There was the family dinner with potential bombs abounding. There was the white wall in front of her. There were oils, a bamboo stick, a long piece of charcoal, and her notebook of evil eyes. One of the eyes caught hers. Maybe it spoke to her.

Joey thought of the email that had arrived from Demetris. She’d contacted him in a panic. She was going to fail, and in turn, she would be defined by this failure. By Edith, by Lily, by critics, by Vogue, sure, but worse, by herself. She was going to give up on herself, and then who would be left believing in her?

When was the last time you were inspired, paidi mou? My advice is simply to follow your curiosity. If you fail, fail epically. Fail having placed your heart on the platter. Fail having said to your brain, Brain, you and I need a little break now so I can create.