“You know, sometimes I have to wonder whose side you’re on,” she tells me, putting on one of my T-shirts and then holds out her hands to Angelica.

“You never have to wonder because I’m always on your side,” I tell her, and she rolls her eyes. “There was a time your mother used to get hearts in her eyes,” I tell Angelica who just smiles at me.

“I’m going to put her to bed. Can you get the other two?” she asks me, and I kiss her and then kiss my daughter, who wants me to kiss her lips also. “bonne nuit papa.”

“Bonne nuit,” she says in her soft voice, and then Vivienne goes off to take them to bed. Another thing that we did was move to the suburbs. I mean, with three kids, it was hard for them to run around in the city, so I bought us a decent-size house in Long Island. Actually, it’s like a ranch, and my parents have their own house on the ten acres of land I bought.

I walk back down to the kids’ playroom and see them trying to keep their eyes open. “Okay, let’s go, you two. Time for bed.” I clap my hands together, and they don’t even fight me this time. They just get up and walk to their room. When I turn off the television and walk to Stefano’s room, he is already under the covers. “Bonne nuit,” I tell him, and he smiles at me. “Je t’aime.” I love you, I tell him, kissing him.

“Boone nuit, Papa,” he says, and I turn off his light and close his door just a bit, and then I walk into Karrie’s room.

“What are you doing?” I ask her and see that she is putting cream on her leg.

“I’m hydrating,” she says, and I look at her. “It’s so I don’t get scaly like a mermaid.”

“You’re four,” I tell her. “I don’t think you have to worry about that for many years to come.”

“Yaya told me she has scaly skin, and Maman said it’s because she doesn’t hydrate enough. I don’t want legs like Yaya.” I close my eyes, and I can imagine my daughter’s face of horror when my mother told her all about her scaly legs.

“You are going to be fine,” I tell her. “Look at Maman’s legs; they are perfect,” I tell her, and she shrugs and gets into bed.

“That’s because she hydrates, Papa,” she tells me matter-of-factly, and I can’t even argue with her because she’s right. “Bonne nit.” She smiles at me, and I kiss her, and she turns over. I close her door also and walk back to my bedroom and see my wife doing the same thing my daughter was just doing.