Chapter 2

At eleven, the big screen did its final test run.

I'd just sat down when Gianna's laugh came from behind me.

"Where did you even dig this one up?"

On screen, seventeen-year-old Gianna was on Marco's back. Both in school uniforms. Marco was holding her half-eaten ice cream.

The next photo was Salvatore standing at the basketball court handing them water.

Then a graduation photo.

Gianna's family of three stood beside Marco, familiar as if they'd always been one family.

The growth video my dad made was supposed to be at the beginning.

Now it was only twenty-something seconds.

Three years old, riding on his neck.

Eight years old, his birthday, crouching behind the cake to put a paper crown on my head.

Six years old, missing a front tooth.

Twelve, first time on stage receiving an award.

Eighteen, dragging luggage to study in another city.

...

Every photo flashed by.

Marco pushed the door open and glanced at the screen.

"Looks fine."

I asked, "Why is my dad's video only this little?"

"The schedule's full. We cut some of the childhood part. The important ones are kept."

"Do you know he can't do this himself? He took them to a print shop, scanned them one by one, worked six nights?"

Marco walked behind me and looked at me in the mirror.

"I know Uncle put in effort. But everyone's mainly here to see us get married. If the video's too long, people won't sit through it."

Then he frowned.

"Don't move."

A hairpin was pulled out half an inch.

My scalp relaxed instantly.

"It's all red and you didn't feel it?"

He fixed my stray hair and checked in the mirror again.

"Better like this."

His movements were gentle, flawless.

The big screen happened to cut to my dad's video.

My eighth birthday, him crouching behind the cake, putting the paper crown on my head.

It stayed for one second.

Then cut away.

Gianna saw it too.

"Maybe delete a few of mine. Why is it all me today?"

The staff immediately looked at Marco.

Marco waved his hand.

"No time. Re-exporting now would take too long."

He crouched in front of me and held my chin to check my lipstick.

"Don't look so grim. No one's saying Uncle did badly. Just keep things smooth on site."

His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth.

"Later the photographer will make it look like I bullied you before the wedding."

Gianna laughed.

"You should stop provoking her."

Marco laughed too.

"I wouldn't dare."

Their familiarity didn't even need thinking.

I suddenly realized the truly piercing things were rarely a particularly cruel sentence.

It was that whenever they stood together, there was a set of habits I couldn't fit into.

Dad sat in the corner, watching the screen the whole time.

I walked over.

"You really did it for six days?"

"Not that exaggerated."

"How many days exactly?"

He touched his nose.

"Just fiddled with it at night."

"How many nights?"

"Six nights."

Dad lowered his voice.

"Photos used to be paper. Two were stuck in the album. They tore when I took them out. I was afraid you'd think they looked ugly, so I had someone fix them."

The screen flashed another photo.

College move-in day, Dad standing at the gate carrying my luggage.

His face appeared and was cut off.

Dad's voice was very small.

"I thought this one would stay a little longer..."

Marco heard.

He looked up at the screen and told the staff.

"Next loop, give this one three more seconds. Don't cut so fast."

Then he raised an eyebrow at me.

"That good enough?"

Three seconds.

He genuinely thought this was fighting for my dad.

The staff replayed it.

The photo indeed stayed three seconds longer.

Dad was happy.

"Hey, this time it's clear."

I stared at the screen without speaking.

Dad worked six nights on something that got cut to under half a minute.

In the end, Marco used three seconds to smooth everyone over.

And the most ridiculous part? In my last life, I was smoothed over the same way.