Epilogue
GIULIA - SIX YEARS OLD
“ Y ou may now kiss the bride,” a man in a robe said. He was a wedding something . Mamma had told me what he was, but I couldn’t remember now.
My mother was dressed in a long, beautiful white dress, so long I could hide under it. And my papa had on a pair of black pants, and a white shirt with buttons. His hair fell over his forehead when he kissed my mamma.
Some of the kids around me covered their eyes, but I was old enough not to do that anymore. Plus, I was used to it. They kissed all the time at home.
Mamma cooked? They kissed.
Papa washed the dishes? They kissed.
She went to work? They kissed.
They kiss me a lot too. I act like I don’t like it, but if Papa doesn’t kiss me before bed, I have nightmares. Thankfully, he never forgets, and when he’s away, he kisses me over the phone.
We’re a kissy family.
Our families cheered, and I did the same. Papa said that after Mamma takes his name, I’ll be his daughter in every way, and I liked that. I wanted to marry Papa when I grew up too.
Mamma said I would change my mind, but I didn’t think she was right.
After they kissed, Nonna gave me the signal we had worked on—tipping her hat—and I knew what I had to do. I stood up from my seat and walked through the chairs, making my way to my parents. I glanced down at my pink shoes and smiled. They were pretty, and they looked even prettier on the green grass.
We all loved football, so Mamma and Papa were married in a stadium. So romantic.
When I reached them, Papa scooped me up, and my mamma kissed my cheek.
See? Kissy family.
They last saw me only minutes ago.
“How’s my little bug doing?” Papa looked at me with his green eyes. He had tear stains on his cheeks.
“Did you cry?”
He smiled. “I did.”
“But, why?”
Papa looked at Mamma, then back at me. “Because I love you two so much.”
I knew he did. Everyone knew fathers loved their daughters, and daughters loved their parents.
“I love you too.” I smiled, then searched through the hidden pocket in my pink dress. “Here,” I whispered, and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
Papa threw his head back and broke into a laugh, but accepted my napkin. “Thank you, little bug.”
Mamma looked at me. “You don’t have anything for your mother?”
I nodded, biting my bottom lip, and took out a tube of lipstick.
She smiled. “What for?”
“You have red all over your face,” I said.
They laughed again. I didn’t know why they laughed so much when I had just said something true. Adults couldn’t take things seriously.
They were lucky to have me, because my mamma said they had an etenity—or etirety, I don’t remember—with me, and it was plenty of time to teach them serious things.
I was lucky too. Papa snuck me sweets when Mamma wasn’t looking. Mamma and Papa watched football games with me. Mamma braided my hair—it was hard. I wished my hair wasn’t so curly.
We were all lucky. We were a lucky, kissy family.
I loved my family.