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him standing at his mother’s knee, leaning slightly toward her. Her arm is around him, and his papa stands close behind. The three of them are so close the fabrics of their clothes touch. Nurse told me it was quite good for it being my first.
    It was not a very good painting. The older I grew, the more I saw the painting’s flaws. I thankfully became more adept at form and depth, andmy first works were put away, as they should have been, replaced by better pieces, including a self-portrait that my instructor said was the best he’d seen from me as an artist.
    But I still remember the peculiar joy that was mine as I gave my father his mama and his papa—an imagined moment, caught in oils, of a satisfied life.

6

    A few months before my father met Allison, he took me and Nonna to Disneyland. I was nine. My mother had suffered a miscarriage very early into a surprise pregnancy and needed a day with none of us in it. The loss of that much-wanted child would take my mother to an emotional place my father didn’t understand, which begins to explain—though doesn’t excuse—why he ended up having an affair. She thought a new baby would fill the holes in their marriage. He didn’t know how to handle her grief.
    But I didn’t know any of that on that day. All I knew was my dad was taking me to Disneyland and my mom couldn’t go because she had been to the doctor’s a few days before and wasn’t feeling well.
    Dad took me out of school on a sunny Friday—the most amazing thing a parent can do when you’re nine. We went on all the big rides, twice. The Matterhorn, three times. It was the most magical day of my life up to that point. Maybe it still is.
    I still remember sitting in a giant, pastel-pink teacup and holding on to the disc in the middle as Dad and I spun and laughed. On the other side of the ride, the world was a kaleidoscope of rushing colors, sounds, and smells: the calliope from the nearby carousel, the aroma of hot popcorn, and Nonna’s blurred image under the shade of the Alice in Wonderland ride as she watched us. I was amazed that the world could seem like it was spinning far too fast with the colors of everything familiar slamming together, but it was perfectly fine if you were with your father and you were both laughing. After our tummies recovered, we ate Mickey Mouse–shaped pancakesfor dinner. We didn’t leave the park until the announcement came over the loudspeakers that the park was closing for the night and guests needed to be making their way to the exits.
    On the way home I leaned my head against the car door window in the backseat and closed my eyes, reliving every fabulous moment of the day in my head so that I could tell my mother about it when I got home. Nonna and my father naturally assumed I was asleep. They began to talk about me as if I weren’t there, saying things I understood perfectly, like “Meg sure had a good time” and “Wasn’t Meg cute talking to Cinderella?” and “Meg sure can put food away.” But then they started talking about things I didn’t get at all. Not at first.
    My father asked Nonna if she’d given any more thought to his idea. Nonna seemed to hesitate before replying that Therese and Bianca didn’t think it was a good plan. I didn’t know what idea they were talking about. But I knew who Therese and Bianca were. They are my aunts; my dad’s older sisters.
    “Why did you have to bring them into it?” Dad seemed angry. He kept his voice low, but I could hear the frustration in it. “They don’t have anything to do with this. This is between you and me.”
    Again my nonna waited a second before answering. “You asked me to take out a mortgage on my house—the only thing I have left to leave you children—so it does have something to do with them. You know it does.”
    “But it isn’t going to change anything for you, Ma. I will pay the bill every month. It will be just like it is now. Like the house is paid for. You won’t have to pay a