‘You’re worried you’re losing your magic as a couple?’ Olivia asked.

‘Kind of. I look at our parents, and I don’t want that for us. I want something more,’ Jasmine said. She wished Olivia was older, grey haired and with large round spectacles that’s the kind of marriage counselor she wanted. Not early twenties, sleek jawed and toned shouldered.

‘What’s wrong with our parents? You’re so condescending about normal lives. As if we’re not normal. As if we’re above that. Superhuman, or something,’ Matt said, rolling his eyes.

I hope that this letter finds you well. My apologies for using such an archaic form of communication, but as you know Earth has yet to join the intergalactic web.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” Pastor Pete said as he placed his hand on my son’s head, the baby reached for his Christian fish necklace as it dangled over him. My husband, Joe, and I smiled at each other. It was our only child’s baptism. Joe and I weren’t exactly devout but we decided we would start going to church, a sort of tradition for our new son. The baby began to fuss as water rolled over his fuzzy little head, washing over my hand, cleansing me of my sins as well.

He stands up erect as she approaches the table. She is a vision of sea breeze and morning glory; her stride, a diaphanous runway walk. Subduing a rising blush, he slides out the upholstered chair and catches a tumble of soft brown curl as she folds into her seat. What a babe!

I have always loved the cheerful, expository music that greets me whenever I regain consciousness. It sums up the story of my life in just a few bars, plus it’s catchy and easy to remember. I am supposed to pull into my driveway just as the music winds down so I can hop out and pose in the doorway with my family for about ten seconds. Today, however, there was another car in my wife’s spot in the driveway. I didn’t know how to handle this change.