Charlotte's sitting on the couch, licking ice cream off her spoon, when Mason walks into the living room. She turns her head and smiles. "Hey, sleepyhead. You want some ice cream?"

Mason nods. "Yes, please."

She stands up and follows him into the kitchen. "You get the bowl and spoon. I'll get the ice cream." She opens the freezer and pulls out the carton of strawberry ice cream. "How's your homework comin'?"

"I finished math, and I'm halfway done with my essay."

"I thought it was a short-story," she says, scooping some ice cream into his bowl.

"It can be a short-story, a couple poems, or an essay. The only requirement is that it's true. I was gonna write a short-story, but I changed my mind."

"Ah, I see." She pauses. "So what're you writin' 'bout?"

"You'll know when you read it."

She laughs. "It's a secret, huh?"

He nods. "Mmhmm," he mumbles as he sticks a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

"Go to bed early tonight, Mase. You almost fell asleep in your mac-n-cheese, and have been passed out since seven."

"I will, momma, just as soon as I finish my essay."

She kisses the top of his head and leans against the counter, finishing what's left of her ice cream. "How's dessert?"

He gives her a wide, ice-creamy grin. "Delicious."

"I'm glad. You want some more whipped cream?"

"Yes, please."

She runs water in her bowl and puts it in the top dishwasher. She shakes the whipped cream canister and presses the nozzle. "Tell me when to stop." She sprays the whipped cream on top of his ice cream.

He holds up his hand. "Stop."

She laughs. "That sure is a lot of whipped cream."

"I looove whipped cream."

She puts the canister back in the fridge and washes her hands. "I'm gonna go lie down in the bedroom. Put your dish in the dishwasher and shut off the light when you're done."

"Are you still gonna read my essay?"

She nods. "Put it on the counter when you're done with it. I'll read it before I go to bed. Do you want to use my computer?"

He shakes his head. "I have to practice my handwriting. It's kinda sloppy."

"I hope I'll be able to read you essay, then."

He laughs. "I hope so too. I'll try really hard to write it really neat." He smiles.

She messes up his hair and smiles back at him. "If I can't make out your scrawl, you'll just have to read it to me on the way to school tomorrow mornin', but I am a doctor, so I'm used to reading illegible handwriting." She pauses."Goodnight, sweetie."

"Goodnight, momma."

She kisses the top of his head and walks out of the kitchen.

Around nine, Charlotte walks into the kitchen and rummages through her candy drawer at the counter. She's craving something sweet, preferably something made of chocolate. She turns around and notices the pieces of paper on the island counter with a post-it stuck to the top sheet, reading: Please read me. She smiles and grabs a water bottle from the refrigerator. She sits at the island and pulls the post-it off. Pretty neat. She eats her Hershey chocolate bar while she reads Mason's essay:

My Life: As Told by a Nine Year-old Boy

By Mason Warner

I lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, thinking about her. I feel her arms around me in my dreams and sometimes even in real life. I can see her and I can touch her sometimes too. She sits on the edge of my bed and reads me my favorite book. She messes up my brown hair and tickles me. I HATE that. She walks back and forth, quizzing me on my times tables and long division. She smiles and laughs. She constantly runs her hands through her brownish-blonde hair as she talks to me about what heaven is like. She says that she plays poker with the angles every night and they always let her win. I know she's going to disappear soon when she says I love you. I just know that she'll be gone right after I finish saying it back, just like the first time.

I'm not a typical kid, I never was, and it has nothing to do with me being able to see, touch, and feel my mom though she's not alive anymore. I can't see ghosts, just one, but even I know none of that's real, just part of my imagination. Ghosts aside, I'm just a kid, who grew up without a dad and with a mom who worked all the time. I didn't care that much. That was my life, I couldn't change it, but I didn't have to. It changed all by itself. It changed a lot and it's still changing now.

It was a Tuesday morning and my mom had laid out my favorite blue shirt and some jeans. She told me we were going to see the doctor. I thought that was weird because I hadn't been to the doctor in over a year (Shhh, don't tell anyone), but it got me out of school, so hey, I'd get dressed and go to the doctor. It took us about a half hour to get there, but that half hour car drive would change my life forever and I literally mean forever. You see, I wasn't going to see just any doctor. I was going to meet my dad (yes, my real dad), except I didn't know he was my dad at first. He's pretty cool. He's got some killer magic skills. The best part is that he knows all about Pokémon. Who over the age of ten knows about Pokémon? My dad, that's who. At first, it was just me and my dad hanging out together, but my life was about to change again: I met his wife. We started to do things together, all three of us. I liked that better because it was fun having someone almost as good at Wii as I am. (No offense, dad).

You're probably wondering why after eight years, I was meeting my dad and his wife for the first time. I was wondering that too. I was confused and knew something was wrong when my mom and I got into a car accident. My dad and his wife wouldn't let me see my mom at all. I also knew something was wrong when my mom said we were all going to Seattle. That's right, me, my mom, my dad, and my stepmom. Who has a family vacation with all those people? It wasn't a vacation. My mom was sick. There was a tumor in her brain and she needed some really important operation. She survived that, but my life was about to change again. The doctors found more tumors. My mom was really sick, and this time, no one could help her. I said goodbye and almost a week later, I said goodbye again, but this time it was for real. When I left that room, it was because she was dead.

I'm a nine year-old boy, living in California with my dad and my momma. I call my stepmom momma now, just like she calls her mom because I love her. I can't call her mom because I already have one, I can't call her by her first name because she's earned way more than that, and I can't call her stepmom because who calls someone stepmom? It's just a title, not something you call someone to their face. Besides, she's much more than a stepmom to me. She's much more than the woman who's married to my dad. It's been less than a year since me and my mom drove that half hour to where my dad works, and I've survived a lot of change in that time, but I'm about to face yet another change: I'm going to be a big brother.

Charlotte swallows and closes her eyes. Her hands are shaking and tears are dripping down her cheeks. Her chest is tight, making breathing difficult, and her heartbeat is rapid and uneven. She slips off the stool and walks into her son's room. She crosses her arms over her chest and stands in the doorway for a few seconds, watching him sleep. She puts his essay on his desk and tucks him in, pulling the covers up to his neck. She kisses the top of his head and smiles. "I love you too, Mase," she whispers and backs out of the room.

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