"Don't forget my parents are coming in this afternoon," Cooper reminds her over breakfast for what seems like the zillionth time. Like she's going to forget that they're about to have houseguests, and house guests that aren't that fond of her on top of that.

"I know," she tells him, pouring herself a glass of juice, and one for Mason, then putting the pitcher back into her brand new fridge. Her brand new fridge, in her brand new kitchen, in her newly remodeled home. It makes her smile just to think of it - when it isn't causing headaches, that is.

"So you need to pick up Mason from school." Another unnecessary reminder.

"I know," she insists, bringing the glasses to the table and setting one next to Mason's cereal bowl, the other next to her carton of yogurt.

"I don't want orange juice," Mason tells her sourly, and Charlotte fights the urge to sigh. For good measure he adds, "And it's not school, it's summer school, and it's stupid, and I don't want to go."

He's been like this for two weeks - ever since they moved in. The loft hadn't been big enough for three, and Charlotte hadn't wanted to move into Mason and Erica's place. There'd been a brief discussion of it, but she'd known that eventually the grief-stricken clinging would morph into a you're-not-my-mom phase, and she didn't think having her move into Erica's house, throw out all her furniture, and sleep in her bedroom every night would help with that. They'd decided on a fresh start - a new place, for the three of them. For this new little family that they were.

They'd spent a few weeks going through everything in the house Mason grew up in, letting him choose the things that meant the most to him, things he wanted to keep. The rest had gone into storage - she's not heartless enough to throw it all out just yet. And she'd kept a few things herself. Erica's bedroom set was in the guest bedroom now - refinished, and with brand new bedding, but still there in case Mason wanted to feel close to her. They'd slip-covered the sofa from Mason's living room and put it in the television room in the new house. Little things, here and there, to blend their lives together as much as possible.

Charlotte's not sure it helped.

Mason likes the pool, and he likes living close enough that he and his dad can take a long bike ride to the beach, but he doesn't like living in a new home. Not really. And he's doing a bang-up job of making it clear he doesn't care for this new life. He's sullen, and bratty, and protests every damned thing she puts in front of him.

Including juice, apparently.

"Well, orange is the only juice we have right now, so it'll have to do," she tells him plainly. "And you have to go, because we have to work. But I'll be there at two to pick you up, and then you don't have to go back until Wednesday."

Mason scowls and jams his spoon into his cereal, metal clinking hard against ceramic as it hits the bottom of the bowl. He doesn't eat, just swirls the spoon through a sea of Froot Loops that are rapidly coloring the milk.

"Are you excited to meet your grandparents?" Cooper asks him, and Charlotte wishes he wouldn't. The kid's just going to break his heart.

Sure enough, he looks up from his cereal and answers, "No," and Cooper's smile falters.

"Why not?" he asks his son, carefully.

Mason stirs his cereal again, then startles Charlotte by looking at her in a way he hasn't in weeks. Tentative, and almost a little pleading. "Are they going to sleep in my mom's room?"

"It's the guest room," she corrects gently, before adding, "And yes, they are."

"I don't want them to. It's her room. It's got her stuff in it; I don't want them in there."

"Mason…" Cooper begins, but Charlotte holds up a hand to wave him off.

She turns to face Mason full on, and smiles softly at him. "We talked about this. Remember, when I asked if you wanted to keep your mom's furniture for the guest room? We talked about how sometimes you'd have to share that room with other people."

"I changed my mind. I don't want to." He scoops up a spoonful of cereal, then tips it and lets it splatter back into the bowl. She's pretty sure he hasn't taken a decent spoonful since she's been in the room, and the loops are all going soggy.

"Mason, please don't play with your food," she tells him, and whatever momentary mood of forgiveness he'd been in is broken.

He glares at her, drops his spoon into the bowl with a clatter, and says, "You're not my mom. You don't get to tell me what to do."

Cooper straightens in his chair and takes a breath to speak, but Charlotte beats him to it.

"I know I'm not your mom," she tells him with a calmness that belies her rapidly waning patience. "But you live in my house, I'm married to your dad, and I'm responsible for you, so I do get to 'tell you what to do,' and I don't appreciate the sass."

"Well, I don't appreciate your—"

"Mason," Cooper cuts in, firmly, stopping the boy mid-sentence. "Enough. You do have to listen to Charlotte, your grandparents are sleeping in the guest room, and we have fifteen minutes before we have to leave for school, so start eating." After a second, he adds, "Please."

"I'm not hungry," he sulks, and Charlotte's quickly losing the battle to irritation. She stands, mutters "Fine," and grabs the bowl from in front of him, and her half-eaten yogurt and rounds the kitchen island for the sink.

"Hey!" he protests. "That's mine!"

"You're not hungry," she reminds, tossing the bowl in the sink with a clatter and turning the tap on until the milk goes watery and runs over the bowl, cereal loops spilling into the sink.

"Charlotte…" It's Cooper - he's clearly not impressed with her parenting style at the moment, but she doesn't care. She can be sympathetic to a point, but she's done for the morning. She has exactly five minutes before she has to be out the door, and she's not going to spend them having an argument about Froot Loops.

"But if I don't eat, I'll be hungry before lunch!"

"You weren't eating," she points out. "You were sulking, and griping, and generally being a sourpuss. Now, if you want to sit there and eat, and maybe adjust your attitude, I'll pour you another bowl that hasn't turned into rainbow-colored mush."

"Charlotte," Cooper says again, and when she looks to him, he shakes his head slightly, and that pisses her off more than all of Mason's bellyaching combined. How he picks his moments to undermine her, she'll never know, but if he could just stand by her on this one, maybe they'd actually accomplish breakfast.

"You gonna tell me I'm wrong?" she challenges him, and Cooper opens his mouth, shuts it again, opens it, then sighs. He may try to call her off a point now and then, but he's reluctant to actually argue in front of Mason, and she has no problem using that to her advantage right now.

Mason is watching them intently, but looking a little uneasy.

The silence stretches for nearly a full minute, a three-way stalemate that Mason finally breaks, deflating in his seat and asking quietly, "Can I have some cereal, please?"

"Yes, you may,' Charlotte answers gamely, reaching for a clean bowl. "More Froot Loops?"

"Um-" he starts to protest, then seems to change his mind, and nods, saying flatly, "Yeah, sure, that's fine."

Charlotte stops with one hand on the Froot Loops box. "Mason, if you want somethin' else, that's fine, but now's the time to speak up."

"Can I have Cheerios?"

"Regular or honey nut?"

"Honey nut," he tells her, his tone and expression basically amounting to "Duh."

She can't help smirking a little as she reaches for the box. Apparently the very idea that he'd want the cereal not coated in sugar is just plain silly. She fills his bowl, detours to the fridge for some milk, and then sets it in front of him. He mumbles a quiet, "Thanks, Charlotte," and since she knows he's acting out of pain and frustration, she lets the whole incident go and gives his shoulder a light squeeze.

"No problem. Now…" She glances at her watch, and confirms, "I have to go to work. So I will see you," she runs her hand over Mason's hair, "At two o'clock, and you," she glances at Cooper, "At the practice."

"Don't forget we're having dinner at-"

"Six o'clock, with your parents, yes, I know. It's all in my calendar; I will be there." She grabs her purse, and swings it onto her shoulder, adding, "You can stop reminding me."

If she lets him pull her into a conversation about this, she'll get stuck here and miss her morning meeting, so she heads for the door without waiting for his answer, calling behind her, "Love you both!"

They're hollering the same after her as she crosses the foyer, and before long, she's out the door and on the way to work.