It took my mom and dad two years to get married. I planned eight different weddings before they even got engaged. The one they ended up with was small, with a church for Dad and a fun party afterward for Mom.

I barely remember the mother from my childhood, the sad, intent woman who seemed determined to silently soldier on. She laughs so much these days, has such deep love with my dad and their lost-and-found friends.

She laughs at me now, watching me try to smash my suitcase closed. "Could really use some supermom powers here," I tell her, glaring at her from under my hair. I've known about my mom being the Slayer since that weird thing that happened with my mind, but it's never been a big deal in our house.

"Just use your teenager death beams on it. I'm sure it'll decide to just give in." And she walks away from my room, still laughing at me. I huff a sigh, but finally manage to zip the case. It's like she has absolutely no comprehension of the amount of clothing required for two weeks in Italy.

It's the first time I've been there since I was a baby. Mom and Dad surprised me with the tickets on my fifteenth birthday. Pretty exciting, although Dad has gone very overboard planning what Willow calls the "pay the respects to the homeland plus do fun touristy things" tour. I'm hoping that fun touristy things might include some Italian boys, but knowing Dad, the closest I'll get to that is paintings of some who have been dead for three hundred years.

Still, I smile at him as I drag my suitcase down the stairs. "All set?" he asks, taking it and putting it with the others by the door.

"Well, if I could have another suitcase, I'm sure I could find some other things to pack."

He flicks a hand toward me. "Go help your mother," and he goes back to fiddling with the camera. I'm glad I packed my own because that one will be broken for the rest of the trip.

I slide up to where my mother is making sandwiches at the counter. "International travel with small children. I hope that there's some Benadryl hidden in two of those." Although I love my sister and brother, small kids and thirteen hours of air travel is no one's favorite combo.

"No Benadryl, but I did tuck an anti-snotty teenager capsule in yours. It's not Fallon and Levi that I'm worried about."

"Tell me that when we hit our cruising altitude with no way down," I say, but I'm smiling, almost helplessly. It's just one of those sunny, gorgeous days and I'm about to be in Rome for the first time that I can remember.

Fallon comes in. She's been wearing her little travel backpack every waking moment for the past three days. "Mommy, Daddy says it's time to leave," she reports.

"Lucky for your dad, I'm ready to go." Mom swings Fallon up and settles her on her hip. Fallon cuddles close.

"Do you ever wonder how big happy can get inside of you before it comes out?" she asks.

Mom laughs again, a laugh that's half joy and half hurtful past. "Now I do, baby girl," she says. "Now I can."